Coppermine Read Online Free PDF

blew three perfect smoke rings from his cheap black panatela before posing the question.
    “So, at what point do you decide to eat your partner?”
    The contents of Creed’s Ross-Begley report had been circulated.
    “You have to be damned hungry,” Svenson, a tall, muscular blond man with a stained moustache, concluded.
    “Or damned irritated.”
    “Two winters in a one-room cabin could do it,” a little Yorkshireman named Woodard speculated.
    “My question is,” Dewey continued, “was it the irritation or the hunger? When you can’t stand him anymore, do you slit his throat and then say to yourself, ‘My, what a tender little shank.’ Or is it the other way around? And what the hell d’you eat first?”
    Corporal Lyle Cowperthwaite spoke through the laughter and speculation. “This is all sick, and you’re ruining my digestion. Begley was obviously an insane murderer.” Cowperthwaite was slight, with jet-black hair framing a pleasant, cherubic face often given over to indignation.
    “What if we were out on patrol and I died of starvation before you, Cowper?” Dewey inquired. “Would you die before eating me?”
    “Yes!”
    “You’d be a goddamned fool.”
    “Come on, Cowper. If the man died of natural causes—” Woodard prompted.
    “Doesn’t matter. Human flesh is sacred.”
    “So is human life. Isn’t it?”
    “This case isn’t about survival. This is about the murders of four men. Almost five. Imagine what Creed’s been through. Surprised he’s still sane.”
    “Assuming he was.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Cowperthwaite glared at Dewey.
    “Creed’s a bit of an odd duck.”
    “He’s just quiet, unlike some!”
    “Do we know anything about him? Where he’s from? What he did before the force?”
    “He put in his war service, like Ralph and Frank here.” Cowperthwaite gestured to a trooper with a glass eye and another with a wooden leg. “I heard he saw the worst of it.”
    “Was he wounded?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Don’t get me wrong, he seems a good fellow—”
    “Jack Creed is one of the finest troopers—”
    “Oh, shut up, Cowperthwaite. We all love Creed. We’re just talking …”
    All fell silent as Creed entered the barracks and put down his knapsack.
    Cowperthwaite stood up. “Hi, Jack.”
    “And here he is,” Dewey said expansively.
    There were reserved greetings all around, several condolences for the lost men, and acknowledgement of the tough patrol. Creed smiled thinly, a little awkward in their midst as he shook their hands, warmed by their respect. He ended with Cowperthwaite, who leaned in to ask quietly, as if in collaboration, “Did you take the new assignment?”
    Creed looked at him. “Yes.”
    “Up to the Coppermine. Alone?” Dewey asked. They all knew.
    “They’re short of men at Hay River. I don’t mind.”
    “My God, man, it’s almost to the North Pole.”
    Sergeant Freeman looked up from his book through wirerimmed glasses. “You’ll be meeting Paleoeskimos.” Freeman enjoyed a photographic memory. While most of the troopers owned a couple of books, Freeman’s parents had sent him an entire Encyclopaedia Britannica, which he’d set about reading from page one, and he retained most of it.
    “Oh, listen to who’s got to the Ps.”
    “Paleoeskimos: probably the most primitive humans on earth. Quite distinct from our Indians, you know. Closest relatives: the Chukchi people of northern Asia and the Koryaks of Siberia. It’s now universally accepted that they crossed the ice bridge from Siberia thousands of years ago.” Freeman looked around at the faces, pleased with himself.
    “Well, I think it’s brilliant,” Cowperthwaite continued. “Patrolling that far north. Rescuing people, bringing civilization to the remote corners of the country.”
    For a second Creed’s face flashed impatience. “I don’t want to bring civilization anywhere, Lyle. Just want to see that the priests are all right. There any hot water