Devil's Pass by Sigmund Brouwer

Author:Sigmund Brouwer [Brouwer, Sigmund]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Performing Arts, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories, JUV031040, Music, JUV013000, JUV028000
ISBN: 9781554699384
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

Webb jumped at an explosion of noise and movement in front of him. Almost immediately, he realized it was a bird.

But the two Germans—Fritz and Wilhelm were their names—began to laugh. Webb couldn’t tell them apart by looking at their faces, but Fritz wore black pants and Wilhelm wore navy blue. Webb didn’t really care if they wore different pants on a different day. He had no intention of getting to know them.

Wilhelm pointed at Webb and said, “Little bird! Big jump!”

He laughed with a meanness that Webb knew all too well was the laugh of a bully.

Webb ignored it and watched the flight of the bird. It was smaller than a chicken, with brown feathers mottled with white. It stopped briefly and blended in with the rocks. It squawked again, getting closer to Webb.

“Ptarmigan,” George explained. “A male. Trying to lure you away from its nest. The hen is somewhere nearby, hunkered down. We’ll see lots of these displays as we hike.”

“Stupid bird,” Fritz said. “Very stupid.”

He threw a rock and hit it in the head, slamming it onto its side. The ptarmigan spasmed briefly, then stopped moving.

Fritz and Wilhelm laughed again, but froze instantly as George spun on them, anger obvious on his face.

“What?” said Fritz. “Little bird. Dead bird.”

“You treat this land with respect,” George said. The top of his head only reached the Germans’ shoulders, but there was no fear in his voice. Just anger. “We only kill what we can eat.”

“Yah, yah,” Fritz said.

“That means,” George said, “you killed it. You eat it.”

“No, no,” Fritz said.

“And to eat it,” George said, “you slit the belly and remove the breast meat. We take it with us and cook it over a fire later.”

“Not me. You. We pay you to be guide.”

“And if you don’t skin it and gut it, the helicopter takes you back right now. Think that pilot is going to listen to you or to me? Now pick up that bird, and I’ll tell you how it’s done.”

“Get blood on my hands?”

George kept staring at him. “When you killed it, you got blood on your hands. Now are you going to do it, or go back to Norman Wells?”

The German shrugged and walked over to the dead ptarmigan. He nudged it with his foot to make sure it was dead. Then he picked it up, trying to hold it away from his body.

“Good work,” George said. “Now get that fancy knife of yours and slit the bird’s belly open.”

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