COLD RUN

MEET THE MAN WITH NO NAME. WHEN THE SNOW FALLS, HE'S RUNNING.

By all appearances, Cy Ford is no more than a quiet loner living in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. He works as a conservation officer and prefers the company of his sled dogs. What nobody suspects is that Ford’s past is a fractured one, and all of it, down to his name, is a lie. During the winter months, Ford moonlights as a drug-running dog sled musher, a lucrative sideline that’s allowed him to amass a small fortune. With Christmas around the corner, Ford has decided to get out of the game, but it won’t be that easy. When a turf war breaks out between his Canadian employer and a Detroit-based mobster, he finds himself forced into one last run he and his team may never reach the end of.

What People are Saying about Cold Run

“I read every piece of fiction and non-fiction about sled dogs that I can get my hands on, and no author or poet better captures the Klondike culture — at least no one since Jack London and Robert W. Service. The poet Service was right when he wrote that strange things are done in the midnight sun. Michael Dault proves it with his exquisite novel Cold Run.” —Del Jones, author of The Cremation of Sam McGee

"A bold, unique and intriguing approach to action-adventure fiction." —Suzanne Parrott, Author, Publisher, Speaker
“I’m always prepared for a journey when reading Dault’s work. His stories move you, tug at your heart, open your eyes in ways that life doesn’t let you. A master storyteller that takes you on a ride every time, Cold Run had me captivated on every turn of the page.” —Kevin Interdonato, Actor/Producer: City on a Hill, Sopranos, Bad Frank)

“As you embark on this Cold Run, the story will take you on a powerful, exciting, and emotional ride, filled with twists and turns to a gripping conclusion. Dault is masterful at bringing all the characters in the book to life.” —Kenyon Kemnitz, Sports Announcer

Excerpt

The look on Ford’s face had long showed that he was ready, reminiscent of an athlete before an important game. When the morning’s sun was at its highest, Ford clicked his tongue twice and he was off to the races. His lead dog North led the sled with command and grace as Ford steered by yelling “Speed” when he wanted them to run faster or “Slow” when he wanted them to slow their pace. “Whoa” when he wanted them to stop. For right turns, he yelled “Gee” and for left turns he yelled “Haw.” On quick turns, he’d lean his body any which way and kicked his foot behind the sled to use it as a rudder.

Trail-to-trail the team pivoted and sprinted that afternoon as they ran the same planned routes they’ve taken so many times in the past. There was something beautiful about the way the sled glided along the changing terrain. Almost as if they were poetry in motion, the dogs ran and ran, slowing and speeding in unison, whatever Ford desired. They were never winded, giving evidence to his claim that dog power was more reliable than any auto’s horsepower. Most trails they rode were heavily used by snowmobiles, but over the last decade or so, dog sleds were increasingly becoming a staple of winter travel in more rural communities across the northern frontier.

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