Free The Great Alone by Janet Dailey Page B

it,” Chuprov persisted. “Tell him his people can build themselves a better boat.”
    “He promises he’ll consider it.”
    Chuprov motioned toward the trade goods. “Have him look over our wares and consider what he might like in trade.”
    Accepting the suggestion, the chief joined his villagers and surveyed the merchandise on display. Some of the promyshleniki mingled with the natives, but Luka remained on the sidelines watching. Soon the villagers were taking the presents Chuprov had given them and were piling into the baidar to leave.
    “What about the boat?” Luka stared at the native vessel.
    “There’s much work to be done before we can begin hunting. We have plenty of time,” Chuprov stated, smiling faintly. “The chief appears to be cooperative. I think we can persuade him to part with it.”
     
    During the next two weeks, the promyshleniki established their base camp on the bay and concentrated on laying in a supply of food. The waters provided a bounty of fish, and the skies overhead supplied a multitude of seafowl. To the delight of the promyshleniki, a variety of sweet grass grew in the valley, assuring them of a winter’s supply of liquor. The sun seldom made an appearance, but the thick fog and wind usually did. Yet the mild climate of the island seemed almost balmy compared to the brutally cold weather of Siberia.
    The third week Chuprov divided the promyshleniki into five groups. The largest one would remain at the base camp under his personal leadership to hunt, superintend the distribution of supplies, and guard their hostage, the son of the tribal leader. The other four would go to different points on the island to make contact with other villages and establish outlying camps from which to hunt.
    In addition, he appointed the four men who would be in charge of each hunting party. As Chuprov was about to name the promyshlenik to lead the group Luka was in, Luka noticed the way the Cossack Shekhurdin squared his shoulders and stood a little straighter. There was little doubt that he expected to head the party. When Nikolai Dimitrovich Belyaev’s name was called instead, Shekhurdin stiffened and clenched his hands into fists at his sides. Luka smiled faintly, knowing how much the Cossack hated Belyaev, and how doubly galling it was for Shekhurdin to lose out to him.
    “Those of you I have just named to be leaders of your group”—Chuprov began the instructions—“I want you to keep a close eye on your men. Keep them honest. Make certain they hide nothing away for their own use. Watch closely so that they don’t eat secretly. And you, promyshleniki, watch your leaders, and make certain they obey our rules. All infractions are to be reported to me when you return.”
    The meeting was concluded with a prayer for a successful hunt, then the promyshleniki dispersed. Those who were leaving went to gather together their gear and supplies to make their trek over the island and establish outcamps.
    Later in the morning the four groups of hunters set out, each to its own quadrant of the island. Luka’s band struck out for the southeast side, an area with which he was already familiar. His pack was heavy and cumbersome. Everything they needed had to be carried on their backs. In addition to his personal belongings, each man ’ s load contained a few days’ food supply, including a bag of flour for the making of bread on Holy Days, fox traps, harpoons and nets for the taking of sea otter. They went armed with muskets, swords, lances, and pistols. Belyaev had charge of the vital sourdough starter.
    About midafternoon, Belyaev called a halt, ordering a short rest stop. Luka shrugged out of his heavy pack and lowered it to the ground, the muscles in his shoulders and back aching from the strain of carrying its weight. He sat down beside it, stretching and flexing to ease the stiffness. As he glanced over their back trail, he recognized the cliff where they’d captured the boy. Since their approach