The snow was a blinding curtain of white, blocking out any chance of seeing where he was going. Only the small compass in his hand gave him a direction that he knew to be true. Stumbling on, the young Mountie had to try to resist the temptation to just lay down in the soft snow and give up his struggle. Fatigue and the cold has sapped his strength, and only the importance of the package he carried drove him on. The vital medicine needed in Nome was in his trust, and as he staggered on through the blizzard, he thought of the lives in the balance. Earlier, he had made a fire in a small thicket of pine trees, using his trusty Hudson Bay camp knife, he'd shaved down the resin rich wood so it would take the flame from his wax coated match. After he'd warmed himself, and his trusty dog Balto, he'd once more set to fighting the blizzard that kept him from his task.
Finally, at the very edge of his endurance, the faint outline of the cabin could be seen through the driving snow. Closer he stumbled, and then he fell against the door, pounding with the last of his ebbing strength. Any refuge from the freezing storm was welcome. The door opened and Walter fell across the threshold...
"Really Walter, it's been an hour since you went to the store! It shouldn't have taken you that long to walk two blocks, even in this light snow. Did you get everything on the list? Now run upstairs and change, the Hendersons will be here for dinner in less than an hour and your father is due home any time. Hurry!" said Walter's mother.
The 12 year old boy looked up from his day dream, and replied "Yes Mother."
"And dry off Lucky, I won't have him tracking wet paw prints all over when company is coming!"
"Yes mother." said Walter, as he looked down on his wet brown and white mutt, Lucky. The dog looked wet and bedraggled so Walter took a dry towel from the old ones at the bottom of the closet and did as his mother told him, then went up to change for dinner. Emptying the pockets of his jeans on the dresser, he picked up his pocket knife. Only a few months ago his father had given him the beautiful Camillus scout knife for his birthday, and Walter loved to look at the knife and admire his most prized possession. The scout motto 'Be Prepared' was bold on the delrin handle. He opened the blade and saw the now dry pine sap on the spear blade, and went to the hall closet and looked for the can of lighter fluid his father used to fuel his Zippo lighter that fired up his pipe. Walter sat on the edge of his bed, and dripped a bit of the fluid on the blade and wiped off the sap with a piece of dry tissue. Lucky the mutt, watched his master carefully. Having cleaned the blade, Walter decided to touch up the blade where it had cut through a pine stick at a knot, and slowly, with great care he stroked the lightly patined blade on the stone. As he did so, his thoughts turned to wondering how often someone sharpened a blade when
The young knight honed his sword carefully, for tomorrow would bring their great attack on the walls of Jerusalem, and many would fall in the fight to free the Holy city from the evil grasp of the Turks. Walter Of Blackmoor felt little fear, as their cause was just, and he had the strong faith of his chosen path. Only the year before, Walter had taken the oath of the Templers, and was proud of the Cross on the tunic. Nearby, his wolf, Fang, watched carefully, as his master honed the great sword given to him by his father when left for the Holy Lands. Walter had raised Fang from a pup after finding him in the Black Mountains, and
"Walter!"
The strident cry from the doorway broke his revere and he looked up at his mother standing there with hands on hips.
" Hurry up and change, the Hendersons will be any minute, so stop playing with your knife. Really, your day dreaming is getting out of hand."
"Yes, Mother." Walter replied. He folded up the scout knife and did as he was told, reflecting on how mothers are so good at bringing unwanted reality to one's dreams. Lucky the mutt watched all with a careful eye, never giving away his thoughts on the matter.
Finally, at the very edge of his endurance, the faint outline of the cabin could be seen through the driving snow. Closer he stumbled, and then he fell against the door, pounding with the last of his ebbing strength. Any refuge from the freezing storm was welcome. The door opened and Walter fell across the threshold...
"Really Walter, it's been an hour since you went to the store! It shouldn't have taken you that long to walk two blocks, even in this light snow. Did you get everything on the list? Now run upstairs and change, the Hendersons will be here for dinner in less than an hour and your father is due home any time. Hurry!" said Walter's mother.
The 12 year old boy looked up from his day dream, and replied "Yes Mother."
"And dry off Lucky, I won't have him tracking wet paw prints all over when company is coming!"
"Yes mother." said Walter, as he looked down on his wet brown and white mutt, Lucky. The dog looked wet and bedraggled so Walter took a dry towel from the old ones at the bottom of the closet and did as his mother told him, then went up to change for dinner. Emptying the pockets of his jeans on the dresser, he picked up his pocket knife. Only a few months ago his father had given him the beautiful Camillus scout knife for his birthday, and Walter loved to look at the knife and admire his most prized possession. The scout motto 'Be Prepared' was bold on the delrin handle. He opened the blade and saw the now dry pine sap on the spear blade, and went to the hall closet and looked for the can of lighter fluid his father used to fuel his Zippo lighter that fired up his pipe. Walter sat on the edge of his bed, and dripped a bit of the fluid on the blade and wiped off the sap with a piece of dry tissue. Lucky the mutt, watched his master carefully. Having cleaned the blade, Walter decided to touch up the blade where it had cut through a pine stick at a knot, and slowly, with great care he stroked the lightly patined blade on the stone. As he did so, his thoughts turned to wondering how often someone sharpened a blade when
The young knight honed his sword carefully, for tomorrow would bring their great attack on the walls of Jerusalem, and many would fall in the fight to free the Holy city from the evil grasp of the Turks. Walter Of Blackmoor felt little fear, as their cause was just, and he had the strong faith of his chosen path. Only the year before, Walter had taken the oath of the Templers, and was proud of the Cross on the tunic. Nearby, his wolf, Fang, watched carefully, as his master honed the great sword given to him by his father when left for the Holy Lands. Walter had raised Fang from a pup after finding him in the Black Mountains, and
"Walter!"
The strident cry from the doorway broke his revere and he looked up at his mother standing there with hands on hips.
" Hurry up and change, the Hendersons will be any minute, so stop playing with your knife. Really, your day dreaming is getting out of hand."
"Yes, Mother." Walter replied. He folded up the scout knife and did as he was told, reflecting on how mothers are so good at bringing unwanted reality to one's dreams. Lucky the mutt watched all with a careful eye, never giving away his thoughts on the matter.
Last edited:
.-Jim
