He had squatted inside the tunnel, at the far end in the dark, watching the men as silhouettes as their picks rose and fell, the great din of metal against rock ringing in the man-made cave they had created. It was as if the men were a shadow-theatre, the kind his mother had made with her hands on the tipi wall from the light of the fire to amuse them as children – exquisite shadows of birds and animals, made alive by her delicate fingers. These were dark figures of men at toil against the arch of blinding white that the snow fashioned with its glare. The man McEwan had been in and out of the tunnel all day, glaring at Hunting Wolf, often fanning away a smell from his nose when he was near, and once spitting close to where he crouched. No matter. He would remain. Not because of these faceless white men and their childish fears, but because he had to remain, to face whatever there was for him.

The light was fading. The white arch was growing grey which meant that the men would soon abandon their task and return to their cabins. Nothing the man McEwan could say to them would make them continue their work by torchlight. The fools. As if the weak winter sun behind its storm clouds could protect them from a spirit as powerful as this. As Hunting Wolf had watched the men at their toil a small motion on the ground at the entrance attracted his attention. A ground squirrel entered the tunnel, its tiny stripe-backed body erect on two hind legs as it surveyed the warm interior of this hole in the mountain.

The man at the entrance saw it and kicked at it thoughtlessly, making it scuttle for a crevice in the wall. Hunting Wolf felt the blood drain from him. He had seen a ground squirrel at this time of year only once or twice in his life. They were sleepers. They slumbered through these ferocious months, until spring woke them gently with the sound of dripping meltwater and the scent of sap. This one could be like the few he had seen: lost, disorientated, doomed unless it found its way back to the nest, but he knew it was not. Oh it was doomed for certain. But only because something evil had ripped it from its slumber and entered its innocent body.

He stood up and shouted at the men, waving his hands in the air and stamping his feet for them to get out. Though they could not understand his words they understood clearly his message.