“I’m waiting for info on the owner of the claims adjacent to Snook’s. In the meantime, I plan to dig in to Tyne’s background.”

“Good luck.”

Our eyes held for a moment. Then Ollie reached in and stroked my cheek with one knuckle. “Do you still think I’m the most magnificent creature to ever cross your path?”

“I think you’re a narcissistic pain in the ass.” Smiling.

“I may start calling you again.”

“Keep in mind they’ve tightened the laws on stalking.”

Ollie laughed and stepped back.

*  *  *

Back at the Explorer, I booted my laptop and entered the name Horace Tyne.

Google sent me to an old photo of a Second Lieutenant Horace Algar, gazetted with the Tyne Electrical Branch of the Royal Engineers.

I tried a more detailed string. Horace Tyne. Caribou. Alberta. That bought me a link to Friends of the Tundra. Ryan was right. The site was primitive.

I decided to take a different approach. The Fifth Estate.

I started with the Yellowknifer but could find no link to its archives. I looped through a number of newspaper portals. The Deh Cho Drum. Inuvik Drum. Nunavut News. Kivalliq News. Each had interesting headlines and colorful photos. None offered access to archives.

Frustrated, I returned to the Yellowknifer and tried clicking through some of the drop-down menus. One presented a graphic of the newspaper’s seventy-fifth anniversary collector’s edition.

The cover displayed a black-and-white of a man in coveralls and a miner’s hat. I clicked on it and downloaded the PDF file offered.

I was studying a shot of the Con mine circa 1937 when my mobile sounded.

“I’m thinking this is worth a lot more than cookies.”

“What did you find, Pete?”

“Maybe buns?”

“Uh-huh.”

While I listened, I scrolled to a story titled “The Golden Age of the 50s and 60s.”

“Fast Moving is an LLP, a limited liability partnership. It’s registered in Quebec. Because it’s a partnership and not a corporation, this may take a bit longer.”

“OK.”

I moved on through a series of ads to a color shot of the Old Stope Hotel burning down in 1969. Prince Charles’s visit in 1975. Strikers protesting in 1992.

I kept scrolling.

My eyes fell on a photo.

I stared in disbelief.

Chapter 38

THE WORLD SHRANK IN AROUND ME. NOTHING EXISTED BUT the image on my screen.

The article was titled “Ice Road Truckers.” The black-and-white photo showed four men, all wearing parkas, fur-trimmed hats, and safety vests.

Three of the men were smiling and squinting as though facing into the sun. I recognized two of them.

The fourth man had his face turned from the camera. Though I couldn’t see his features, something about him looked familiar.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here, Pete.” Squeezing the phone between my shoulder and ear. “That’s incredibly helpful.”

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Really. You’re awesome.”

“I know.”