I wake and open the tent flap the next morning to see a cow caribou 60 yards off and running away. Charlie is gone. Jonathan and Roy are still asleep. I climb up the dome to look for Charlie. I walk for an hour, trying to stay downwind of where I think he might be, before I see him returning. He has killed a cow farther on for camp meat, which explains the other cow I saw running. He saw the group again and says they should be passing close to here in a couple of hours. We walk back to camp, have a quick cup of coffee, and all head up in the Argo to get the cow. Jonathan and Charlie make short work of field dressing the animal, making it look as easy as slitting open the mail. Jonathan removes a lacy membrane of fat covering the stomach so that it's a single piece, almost like a doily, and hangs it on a bush to dry. "Icha'ats'a chu, we call it," he says. "Old-timers used to use the stomach as a cooking pot," he continues, rolling the carcass so the guts spill downhill. "They'd clean it out and put pieces of meat in it. Then they'd dig a hole and put hot rocks in, some dirt, and then that stomach. In an hour or so, it'd be ready. That was before we had pots." This is the most I've heard Jonathan say so far. We load quarters into the Argo and return to camp, where Jonathan starts to fry up some of the meat, and Charlie uses the moment to stand atop the Argo and glass for our bulls. The group must have changed course or moved faster than he thought, because the next thing I see is Charlie jogging across the tundra with the .270 in one hand. The fact that he said nothing tells me how dire the situation is. I take off after him. By now, he has slowed to a brisk walk, which is good, because I sure as hell can't run in this stuff. At every step I sink 4 inches into the ground. It's like running in cement. He is headed for a rock outcropping about a mile away, which must be where he hopes to shoot from. Even a brisk walk winds me, and I start removing layers as I heat up. Within 200 yards, I've removed my parka, vest, hat, and fleece pullover. Meanwhile, Charlie is pulling away from me steadily, long legs scissoring away.