Excerpt: The Adventures of Black Mask and Pale Rider: Legend of Choulaska

Peter Turnowich wiped his brow as he took a rest from the day's labours. He'd been up before dawn, hitched up his oxen and began plowing the fields. Already it was noon, and incredibly warn for this day in May. Peter had been at this for the past three weeks, ever since the snow finally disappeared from the fields. He'd grown used to such weather, as it wasn't that much different from his native Ukraine. This Saskatchewan Territory had it's extremes, however. Hot summers, cold winters. But Peter lived by a simple rule. What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. It was an inner strength that pushed him on, and perhaps the encouragement of the neighbours he had made in this area of the South Saskatchewan River Valley.
He leaned on the worn handles of the plow and sighed as he looked skyward. Something was brewing, he could feel it in his bones. There wasn't much that he could not tell after so many years. All one needed to do to see the signs was simply look and listen.
"Wha' you see, Ol' Man?" a voice called out behind him. Peter turned slowly, an annoyed look in his eyes as he furrowed his brow. It was the hunter, Dumont Wolf-Blood, the Metis from Quebec that had taken to farming in this river valley. Sometimes Peter thought Dumont's ability to sneak up on him was just a game. But to see the large man straddling his horse one would not think such a man could be stealthy. However, Peter did not mind the interruptions from this one, they had grown to be good friends.
"Storm is comink," Peter informed Dumont as he returned his gaze to the sky. Dumont's eyes followed and he inhaled the air around him. He could smell something on the wind. "Could be in for, nasty storm." He slowly turned to look upon Dumont, a smile crossing his lips. "So, friend Dumont. What bring you here dis day, eh? You come just to sneak up on Peter?"
Dumont snorted a laugh as he dismounted the horse. "No, Ol' Man," he smiled as he pulled a satchel from his mount. "De sun, she be 'igh in de sky. Mean it lunch. I figger I bring you sometin' to eat, eh. You must be 'ungry."
Peter took a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands as he slowly made his way to Dumont. "I had been workink so much, I had not noticed," he laughed. These visits from Dumont usually ended in food and conversation. But mostly at night. Dumont's appearance was another sign to Peter that something was coming. "But, I will not say no to food offered from a friend."
The pair set about making a small area to eat in the middle of the field, and soon lunch was served. Smoked meat, bannock, berries and a few other items, all washed down with water from the river. They ate heartily, keeping quiet as they did so, only speaking when the last of the meal had been completed. Peter took out his pipe and tobacco and went about his ritual of filling and lighting it, then handed the pouch of tobacco to Dumont. The old Ukrainian sat back and looked to the sky again.
"So, Dumont," Peter said with a wry smile. "You know what I'm gonna ask, so why don't you tell story, eh."
Dumont let out a laugh as he sat back, cradling the pipe in one hand. "I tell you before, mon aime, when you finally quit farming, I tell you my real last name." Peter chuckled at the comment, knowing full well what was coming. He had to ask at least once again. Maybe one day, Dumont would tell him. The large Metis man look to the sky this time as he furrowed his brow. "I tink you right, Ol' Man. Sometin' is comin'. Maybe storm, you know." He looked over to Peter and motioned toward the oxen. "You wanna get dis field done, you gonna need help, eh."
Peter only nodded in reply as he looked to the sky. After a few moments of silence, and a few puffs on his pipe, he finally rose to his feet and spoke. "If storm come, it come. I cannot stop will of God." He looked to Dumont with a kind smile. "But if you say you help, den I can guarantee some cabbage rolls and perogi tonight for supper."