Nook had been assured of a good time.
They had promised to pay his family well for the three days of work to role-play the parts of American Indians for this 'educational program'.
So he took a well-earned holiday from the cannery, hand-chose nine idle friends -who all needed the work, especially with winter coming on and the price of heating oil going up all the time-to accompany him. Getting through the winter with enough heat always sat atop his thoughts, and the autumn wind had indeed begun to blow in the city of Yakutsk.
Nook and his boys were from the city and cared not for country life, which generally meant a forlorn life with the caribou herders. He knew little about life without the modern conveniences of gas, electricity and running water, and no one had any interest in experiencing a world without these conveniences. Three days in a tent was more than enough for these men.
Unable to secure any food from the Americans, Nook, with a tight expression, mounted his horse and led his 'braves' back to their little camp on the other side of some low hills to the north. They had practiced the mounting and dismounting earlier in the day-for the sake of authenticity (and they didn't want to be embarrassed in this way).
He didn't turn back as they rode away; none of them were in the mood for any joviality. On their first day in the rough the Yakuts were already suspicious of what had been promised.
It was beyond strange, really: The Americans didn't even know they were in Russia-such ignorance! Yet this odd collection of "colonists" possessed warm huts and food, all the amenities-while Nook's people slept in the old tents, with meager, meatless rations.
Nook had little enthusiasm for the project he had been wrangled into. He just wanted the payment, and to go home in three days time. He wasn't looking for trouble; it didn't have to be 'fun'-though his braves, mostly younger men, had expected some festivities at some point. So far they were disappointed.
These men didn't take disappointment well.
No one had said anything about such awful rations when they were choppered out here in that faded, pink Soviet-built transport helicopter, one that seemed to barely make the trip. But it was better than being jeeped in to this isolated valley, so cut-off from everything.
Who in their right mind would try to live out here? Those Americans were woefully prepared for the Rusian winter; they would all be dead by December-with or without the huts; there was nothing Nook could do about that, except hasten their demise, if his men decided to take all the food.
They wanted that pork. Surely, he could barter something for it the next day-trade a horse, maybe (no one wanted to eat the horses.) If the Americans were stupid enough to refuse them the pig in a fair trade, well, these men were used to getting what they wanted.
Like taking candy from a baby.