The Great Alone Read Online Free PDF Page A

fingers tightly embracing its barrel.
    “You are more bloodthirsty than those savages, Nikolai Dimitrovich,” the Cossack Shekhurdin accused contemptuously. “They may have come here to trade. What if they have otter skins?”
    The argument didn’t sway Belyaev. He grinned wickedly; if the natives were killed, Belyaev believed, he would still have their sea otter pelts—if they had any—for nothing. Such cruelty was neither shocking nor repellent to Luka. He had lived in the Siberian wilds long enough to have learned that survival among hostile inhabitants often depended upon intimidation through fear. Luka regarded it as a necessity. Besides, he didn’t trust any native. They were a treacherous breed, all of them, and the Aleutorski—or Aleuts, as they were often called—more than others. He traded with them when he had to, but he never turned his back to one of them.
    At the railing, Chuprov hailed the natives on the beach and waved the packets over his head to attract their attention. His action appeared to excite them. As they hopped wildly about and beckoned him to come ashore, the drumming grew louder. Ignoring their invitation, Chuprov heaved the packets toward the beach. When the waves washed them onto the sand, several barefooted natives scrambled to retrieve them. The rest of the party massed around them on the beach, creating a mass of strangely designed, highly decorated hats. The packets’ contents were displayed, to the wonderment of the group, and the items passed around to be examined and tested by various individuals. It wasn’t long before the natives reciprocated and threw freshly killed birds to the shitik.
    “They want to trade.” Shekhurdin was quick to assure his fellow Russians that he had accurately guessed their friendly intentions all along.
    There was more beckoning for them to come ashore. Cradling the musket in his arms, Luka glanced sidelong at Chuprov. The promyshlenik continued to view the natives’ wild antics with skepticism.
    “We do need water,” Chuprov said quietly.
    “Yes.”
    Following Luka’s grim acknowledgment, Chuprov turned from the rail. “Hoist the dinghy over the side.”
    Luka was among the five men selected to accompany Chuprov to shore. Armed with muskets, they climbed into the wooden rowboat, taking with them one water cask to be filled, and waited for Chuprov to join them. When Chuprov climbed into the boat, he had with him more articles of trade—tobacco and pipes. They set out for the beach, with Luka and another man at the oars.
    Several yards from shore, they reached shallow water and shipped the oars, letting the crest of a wave carry them closer. Grabbing his musket, Luka swung over the side and waded in the thigh-deep water to haul the boat onto the sand. Several of the natives rushed forward, and his muscles tensed, but they came to help pull the boat onto the beach.
    He had a good look at their weapons, which consisted of primitive stone-tipped spears and arrows. He moved quickly to Chuprov’s side when the promyshlenik stepped onto the sand. Individually, they could be overpowered, outnumbered as they were by these Aleut natives, but as a group they presented a formidable opponent.
    The air was cool, but Luka could feel the sweat dampening his skin as the natives crowded around them talking excitedly in their strange tongue. He licked his dry lips and adjusted his grip on the musket, keeping a finger close to the trigger. Blood pounded in his ears while he kept his glance moving.
    The natives’ long coats were made of bird skins—mostly cormorants, puffins, and murres, the feathers worn on the outside—and trimmed with the throat fur of sea lion. Their strange hats were made from thin strips of wood bent into shape, then glued together. They were brightly painted with swirling geometric designs. Some were adorned with feathers or carved ivory figures. But Luka was more interested in the faces beneath the projecting hats. They shared the