Ice Dogs Read Online Free PDF Page A

pirate, but I ignore his question. I help him stand and have to crane my head to see him towering over me. My head comes to his armpits.
    He sways back on his feet, leans on me, and staggers to the sled. Then he seems to notice the dogs for the first time.
    â€œAugh! Where’s your sled?”
    â€œThis is my sled.”
    â€œNo, your real sled. Your snowmobile.” His voice cracks slightly.
    â€œThis is way better than a snowmobile,” I say. “It doesn’t wrap itself around trees.” But then I remember the time I did break the brush bow on a tree that had jumped in front of us and Dad lectured me for days about being too reckless. I argued right back that the dogs were completely fine, so what was the big deal? If I could take back every argument I had with Dad, I would.
    The dogs bark with excitement when they see us moving toward the sled. Chris shrinks back and glances around with cornered eyes.
    â€œUm, I don’t think they like me.” His gaze darts from me to the dogs, then back to my face. He seems to study me, as if recognizing me from somewhere.
    â€œThey don’t even care about you. They’re not barking because they want to attack, they just want to run. Huskies aren’t guard dogs.” My words are harsher than I intended, but I stand tall ready to defend them. Part of me wishes for the easy way that Sarah has of talking to boys. Maybe I need to start spending more time with other people like she keeps telling me.
    â€œAnyway, just get in. We’ve got to hurry.” I push him down into the sled bag and run back for my first-aid kit. The dogs scream and lunge forward, and I jump on the runners just as the snow hook pops.
    The dogs immediately fall silent as we lurch ahead. I lean forward to make sure Chris is settled. He’s perched on top of the gear, sitting upright with his knees bent and his head and shoulders leaning back against the handlebar. One hand grips the side of the sled bag, and the other awkwardly presses on his bandage. He stares at me with wide eyes. I gesture with the top flap of the bag to get him to tuck it around himself to keep the snow out.
    We head into a narrow, twisty section of trail and I have to concentrate. The extra weight in the sled slows us so it’s harder to steer around trees. Snow falls steadily, so thick that it shrouds Bean and Blue from my view. I glance behind us and notice our tracks are covered almost as soon as we make them.
    This trail is out of Dad’s old trapping area. I’ve never been here, preferring to stick to the trails I know. I’m relying on Chris to lead so when we get to a fork I ask which way and Chris says left and that’s what we do. At another fork we go right and after nearly an hour of narrow corners and fallen trees, my apprehensions about Chris returns. How could he have come through here with his snowmobile? And why?

6
    J UST AS I NOTICE THAT I’ M squinting to see through the gloom ahead, we break out of the trees into a marshy area dotted with black spruce. Snow fills the air like a swarm of bees stinging exposed skin. Now that we’re in the open, I realize how much the wind has picked up. I hunch my shoulders to cover my bare neck.
    â€œAre you sure we’re going the right way?” I glance down and notice with alarm that Chris’s eyes are closed and his face is pasty. “Hey, are you all right?”
    â€œB-b-brilliant.” His blue lips quiver as he talks.
    What am I doing? He’s hit his head and he’s just going to get worse if I don’t start thinking. He needs to lie still, not jerk around in a dogsled. And he has to get warm. Right now. I stop the team and set the hook.
    â€œGood dogs.” I grab the picket line from beside Chris in the sled bag. “Stay in the bag for a minute. I have to settle the team.”
    I string the cable between two spruce trees, and then unhook the dogs one at a time to transfer them to the