Ice Reich Read Free

propeller had become two wooden stumps. One wing was crumpled. The wheels and struts were gone and if Ramona had still been strapped on she'd have been crushed. His plane was finished, and so was he. He had no money to repair the damage, and, after this, precious little reputation to get a loan.
    "Damn, damn, damn." The world was a white blur of gusting snow. He assumed he was near Anaktuvuk but had no idea how far. There was no real danger, he thought: the storm would soon blow over this time of year. He'd just have to wait.
    He dug out his parka and some jerky, throwing a bit to the dog. Then he sat in the cockpit. Jesus! Well, he could still probably find a flying job in the Lower 48, running a mail route and going crazy from boredom. Or he could chuck the whole business and stay up here and fish. To hell with it. To hell with everything.

CHAPTER TWO
    A low growl from Ivan prodded Hart from sleep. The dog had its nose up: it sensed something, or maybe smelled it. The light was dim and the pilot peered into the thinning snow, trying to spot what the husky was so uneasy about. Then the curtain of flakes shifted and a huge shape ambled along the edge of the bar. Grizzly!
    The bear's cinnamon coat was flecked with snow, the muscles of its neck and back rippling along its hump. Hart groped behind his seat for his sheathed Winchester .30-.30 and levered a shell into the rifle's chamber. The bear took no notice of the click. Then Ivan began barking excitedly and the grizzly's muzzle came up, not so much fearful as puzzled. Slowly it put its nose down and began ambling casually downriver, as if to retreat without admitting it. Hart glanced around the cockpit. The airplane's metal skin suddenly seemed not only cold, but thin. He was relieved the bear had moved on.
    Then he remembered Ramona. Of all the luck! It would be less than easy to explain to the village of Anaktuvuk Pass that not only had he used one of its natives as an aerial bomb, he'd allowed her to be devoured by a wild animal as well. Death had not robbed her claim for final decency. He'd have to go get her.
    He climbed out of the plane with the Winchester at the ready and began walking back toward Ramona's body, his skin prickling with unease. The grizzly's tracks were huge, like dinner plates with claws. Soon the Stinson was invisible in the fog behind him and he began to turn around periodically, looking for stalking bear. The rush of the river hid all other noise and he couldn't smell or see a thing. Perhaps his own scent would scare the animal off, letting him retrieve the body in peace. "Bear!" he shouted, to encourage the animal to continue on its way. The noise seemed inconsequential.
    He saw the grizzly before he saw Ramona. It was a twitching boulder at the limit of his vision, bent over the red blanket and working at the body with a massive paw. He waited to see if the animal might lose interest but the grizzly showed no sign of doing so. Slowly he raised the rifle up, its stock cold against his cheek, and fired deliberately a few feet to the right of the bear's muzzle, watching splinters of gravel fly. Its head jerked up in surprise, grunting.
    "Go away, bear!" Hart shouted, without much hope.
    He fired again past the animal's head, the bullet kicking up a splash in the river. Rather than flee, the grizzly snarled and reared up on its hind legs, trying to make out this intruder with its dim eyesight. The pilot waited to see if the animal would charge or run, meanwhile sliding replacement shells into the chamber.
    Then the bear attacked.
    Hart was nearly certain he saw a ripple in the grizzly's shoulder where the first shot struck home, but the animal didn't slow at all. Roaring, it devoured the intervening space between them in a few heartbeats, the beast a wall of furred fury that swelled to consume all of the pilot's vision. He levered and fired, levered and fired, levered and fired, nightmarishly without seeming effect, praying that the bucking