Mountain Refuge

(Book three of Einars Saga) He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust. -- Psalm 91:1-2 _______________________ The banner of the chieftain, Far, far below us waves; The war-horses of the spearman Cannot reach our lofty caves. Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold Of freedom's last abode. For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God. (from, Hymn of the Vaudois Mountaineers) _______________________ He stood, silent, unmoving, barely appearing to breathe as the snow filtered down through the dense network of spruce boughs above him and settled on the rich brown and gold fur of his hat, wolverine, front legs of the pelt tied behind his head, thick fur covering his neck and upper shoulders, his arm drawn back, ready to throw a dart with his atlatl as soon as the creature stepped out into the open, bear hide mitten on his left hand, its mate tucked into the nearly empty pack he wore. It was with obvious effort that the man held his arm up and in the proper position, clothing that hardly appeared adequate for the cold hanging loosely on a frame some forty or fifty pounds too light for its build and stature, face hollow, shadowed, lined from long days of care and struggle and striving at the very limits of strength, but he was doing it, and that, in itself, was a tremendous accomplishment, considering the events of the past weeks. The man knew it, eyes sharp and bright and filled with a joyful, barely contained energy at his newfound mobility and at the opportunity that awaited him just on beyond those last few aspens before the clearing began. There. The doe, graceful, wary, sensing something, perhaps, but unable to quite quantify it, left the trees on the far side of the little meadow--over half of its area covered in boggy, cattail-inhabited swamp during the summer months--and began pawing at the snowy ground, hungry, looking for a taste of last seasons dried grass before heading down to lower country, as she should have done earlier, would have done, had not the intensity of the storm caught her off guard and left her curled up beneath the spruces to await the lessening of its fury. The dart took her just behind the shoulder, forceful at that close range, the doe jumping, taking three hesitating steps and falling, the

blood on the snow beneath her frothy, pink, steaming, and she was no longer at risk of becoming one of the first casualties of the cold and the rapidly deepening snow, and neither was he. The man let his breath out in a long sigh, white and billowing in the chill air, shivering slightly, relieved at the opportunity to relax his focus just a bit, and breathe. Reaching back and stashing the atlatl and remaining darts in his pack, he took the spear that had been stuck in the snow beside him and, leaning on it slightly for balance, he began moving at something approaching a normal walk in speed and cadence, though decidedly different, too, as the knee of his right leg--the broken one--rested on a platform carved and burnt out of a split section of aspen log, well padded with soft, springy usnea lichen and bound at a right angle with bear sinew to a sturdy, hip-high branch that acted in place of his leg, allowing him to walk fairly normally while keeping the pressure off of his injured and casted lower leg. Having bound the upright branch to his upper leg just above the knee and again just below the hip, the device moved with him, allowing him to take confident if stiff-legged steps through the snow, having fitted the foot of the device with an improvised snowshoe of willow branches and bearskin rawhide, the rawhide strips protected from the snows moisture with a good thick coating of spruce pitch. The wooden leg was, though slightly heavy and a bit cumbersome at first, a huge improvement over the improvised crutches that he had been using to get around since breaking his lower leg. The crutches, while they had allowed him to move, after a fashion, had begun hurting his under arms terribly after a while, especially on the left side where he was still trying to recover from the old shoulder injury, hands going numb in the cold after a few minutes of gripping them, and they had also prevented him, of course, from having the use of his hands while walking. Which while a real disadvantage in daily life down in the valley, could have easily proven to be no less than life-threatening, in the sort life he was living. Skirting around the clearing he went to the deer, keeping to the trees, placing his feet carefully so as not to leave sign in the more open areas. Halfway through cleaning the deer, the man glanced up sharply at the subtle sound of boots crunching through the snow up on the slope above him, wary, getting to his feet, dart fitted in the atlatl, face taut and strained, only to relax in a big grin the next moment when he caught sight of the young woman, bearskin coat and knit cap protecting her from the cold, hurrying down through the trees towards him. The grin faded a bit when he saw the look of distress and concern on her face, and he stood staring at the deer, waiting to see just how much trouble he might be in. Einar! I got back to the den and you were gone. Good thing that snowshoe contraption of yours leaves really distinctive tracks! What It was time, Liz. Had to start getting out again, seeing what I could do--felt like I was gonna turn into some sort of a vegetable just sitting there in the den all the time. A root vegetable, a beet or potato and grow roots and never move again--but I figured you might have something to say about itso, I just took off while you were out checking the snares. Meant to be back before you got done, but I started tracking this doe. Dont know what she was still doing up here, with all this snow, but we can use the meat. And the hide. Can really use the hide. He shivered again, some of the energy and excitement

that had come with exercising his newly acquired mobility and continued as he tracked and took the doe fading, reality returning in full force to leave him leaning a bit more heavily on the spear as he stood there, weak and shaky and beginning to feel the cold rather acutely. Liz offered him the bearskin, small, from a yearling, folded with a slit cut in the top for a head hole and tied around her waist with some parachute cord, warm against the bitter wind that swept thin and piercing down from the nearby peaks, but he refused. Nah, still too heavy for me. Legs holding up pretty good, only fallen a couple times, but I doubt I could carry much of this deer up the hill, if I was weighed down like that with the coat. Might have worked on the downhill, but not up. Im alright. Well, I would have left the coat for you, if youd have told me you were coming down here She said it lightly, playfully, almost, knowing very well that Einar Asmundson, fiercely independent mountain wanderer, most wanted man in America and perhaps one of the most absurdly, unrelentingly stubborn and pigheaded, too, was certainly not in the habit of telling anyone where he was going or when, and could not be expected to adopt the habit simply because she was there. She shook her head, smiled at him--hed been sleeping when she left that morning to check the snares for rabbits, tucking the bearskin sleeping robe in around him and leaving some stew to stay warm in the coals of the fire, and she had hoped to find him the same way, when she returned--and crouched down to help finish skinning out the deer. They worked together in silence for a time, Einar planning how he was to use the deer hide--they really were in desperate need of more clothing for the winter, and would soon be facing the need to replace badly worn and disintegrating boots, as well--and Liz watching him, marveling that he had been able to get up and go like that after a week spent lying seriously ill and feverish in the den, barely conscious much of the time, having pushed himself beyond the limits of even his substantial endurance in the climb up to the canyon rim, where he had set off an avalanche to halt the federal search that had been about to discover her hiding place in a rock crevice. It had been quite a journey, but that was all past, now. He was awake, walking, beginning to put on a bit of weight, even, though he did not look it, yet, but that would come. Hoisting one of the deer quarters onto his shoulder Einar started up the slope, Liz beside him, her pack loaded and the other quarter over her shoulder.

The week following their return to the bear cave had been a difficult one for Einar and Liz, starting with the morning after their feast upon returning to the den--their marriage feast, as they would later come to recall it, as it was on that day, standing snow-covered and half frozen in the storm just outside the den, that Einar had asked Liz to stay with him, as his wife, and she had joyfully agreed. After that it seemed that, finally having the opportunity to rest a bit, and knowing it, Einars body began shutting down entirely without his consent, demanding he get that rest, leaving him with a great heaviness, a tremendous weakness that gave him little choice but to lie there wrapped in the bear hide as Liz prepared a breakfast that he seemed unable to wake up quite thoroughly enough to eat. He fought it, struggling to rise when the faint, filtering glow of daylight came

seeping into the den and he first heard Liz stirring about, adding wood to the fire and preparing their breakfast of boiled bear meat and dried chokecherries, but to his great consternation, he could hardly seem to lift his head. The fever came, then, and Einar lay sweating and shaking, only half aware of his surroundings, staring with bleary eyes at Liz and at the firelight that seemed to flicker and splash weirdly, crazily, on the walls of the den, knowing that he needed to get up and check on things outside, make sure that the storm was still going furiously enough for the fire Liz kept stoking to be a safe thing, wanting, if he was not able to check, himself, to let Liz know that it needed to be done, but he couldnt seem to find the words to tell her. She tried to give him some breakfast, managed to rouse him just enough to take a much-needed sip or two of water before he lapsed back into a state that was somewhere between stupor and sleep, Liz finally deciding to let him be, let him rest, give his body a bit of time to start rebuilding itself after the tremendous effort he had put it through over the past days. They were beginning to run low on firewood, though, and, not liking that she must take the bearskin doorcovering to wear as a coat, but seeing little choice, she bundled Einar up in the larger bear hide--she was still somewhat amazed that he had been able to drag that heavy hide up to the den is his condition, let alone kill the creature in the first place and get it skinned, carved up and the meat hung from trees within easy reach of the den--and piled around him great armfuls of the grass and duff padding that the bear had collected in the den, dry, insulating, and she hoped it would all be enough to keep him reasonably warm while she was gone. Outside the snow was falling rather heavily, the storm still in full swing, and she hurried to break off a load of dry sticks and carry them back to the den, glancing in at Einar before heading out again and seeing that he appeared not to have moved. Which he had not, but certainly not for lack of trying. Dimly aware of Lizs departure and wanting desperately to be of some use while she was away, Einar again fought to get himself moving, finally managed to raise himself on his arms and crawl over to the fire, adding a few sticks and lying there on his side watching as the flames began consuming them. He wasnt especially cold, thought he ought to be, as Liz had taken down the door to use the hide as a coat, and wondered if he might be a bit feverish. Didnt have to wonder for long, though, as he was soon sweating again and feeling as though the little fire was stifling him, the close, formerly cozy world of the den interior swirling and dancing crazily around him when he tried to move, closing in, threatening to crush him, and he struggled out of his shirt, grabbing a handful of snow from just outside the entrance and eating it, the coldness in his throat a welcome relief. OK. Better. Now, whats wrong with you? Got a warm shelter, food to eat, and The thought trailed off and he couldnt seem to pick it up again, sat staring around at the flickering firelight on the den walls for a while, still feeling that he must do something productive, must make use of the time while Liz was away, finally getting his slow, foggy brain to cooperate in deciding that finding and collecting the flat rock slabs necessary to begin building the stove would be an excellent start. A number of appropriate rocks were visible just outside the den entrance, protected from the deepest of the snow and, he hoped, from freezing to each other and to the ground--by the little ledge of overhanging rock, and he dragged himself over and stuck his head out into the storm, glad to find that the rocks had been drifted over with only a light covering

of snow. Choosing a few, he began bringing them into the den, angry at himself when he found that he could lift only one of them at a time, and that only with great difficulty, but glad to see the pile of carefully chosen slabs growing, just inside the den. Great! Ill have this stove done, or well under way, anyhow, before Liz gets back, and we can be cooking on the stove tonight. It should really cut down on the amount of wood we need for cooking, and the rocksll hold the heat, too, help keep the place warm. Not that he was especially focused on keeping the place warm, at the moment, as he was still burning up, the ground seeming to rise up with increasing frequency to contact his head and leave him lying there sick and dizzy for a minute or two until some of the vertigo passed, upon which he would struggle again to his elbows and go after another rock or two. Einar knew he needed water, found some once over by the fire in the small pot and drank it, expected that Liz would have filled a water bottle or two that morning, but could not find them, so ate the occasional lump of snow when his throat became too dry, knowing it was not enough but somehow not quite able to translate that knowledge into the action that would have been necessary to scoop up some additional snow in the pot and set it to melt. He did manage to drag himself over to the entrance, though, in one last and final hunt for another few flat rocks with which to construct the stove. Liz descended a good ways down the slope below the den in her search for firewood, as she did not want to simply collect all the close, convenient stuff first, knowing that if anything happened to her before Einar had recovered some and was able to get around better, they would both be most appreciative of a ready supply of nearby firewood. Following the ridge down a good distance, intrigued by the occasional glimpses she was catching through the swirling snow of what appeared to be a flatter, more open area down below, Liz discovered a small, aspen and spruce-encircled meadow, replete with the brown, snow-weighted leaves of cattail, hundreds of the brown fuzzy heads still standing on their stalks. Exploring the area, she saw that the meadow--the section that held the cattails, at least--was a natural collecting place for snowmelt water and also for the water of a small creek that trickled, sluggish, near frozen, down from the ridge that held the den, forming a boggy area that was apparently ideal for the growth of cattails. Cutting off a number of the fuzzy cattail heads, she shook the dry snow from them and stowed them in her pack, filling it, after that loading down one of the large trash bags she carried, thinking that the heads could be used to make an insulating and probably fairly comfortable mattress on the sleeping platform Einar had created, either by stripping off the fuzz and stuffing it into something--not that we really have anything to stuff it into, right now--or by simply leaving the fuzz on the heads, and lining up row after row of them until they covered the platform, laying the bear hide over top. Excited at the prospect of being able to contribute something to the comfort and warmth of the den, she spent a good while collecting the cattail heads, stopping when the bag began growing heavy and full enough that to add many more of the brown, fuzzy heads would have meant it dragging on the ground as she climbed, which would have resulted in tearing the bag to shreds, she knew, on protruding branches and rocks. Gathering firewood as she climbed back up towards the den, Liz found a small diameter dead aspen not far below the little levelish area outside the den, leaning, rootless, but not lying in the snow, and paused to kick it loose so that it could be dragged along. She was not entirely certain

how they might go about breaking it up into useful lengths, but supposed if nothing else it could be stuck in through the den entrance and into the fire--at least until Einar was able to build that stove--and burned that way. Unless Einar had a better idea, which she suspected he might. She found Einar face down in the snow when she returned, shirtless, lying where he had fallen when his badly overestimated supply of energy had finally run out for good, his front half out in the snow, legs still inside, and she hastily dropped her burden of cattails and firewood, dragging him back into the relative warmth of the den and building up the fire, talking him into drinking a mixture of leftover bear broth and honey as she worked to thaw him out again. Einar revived fairly quickly--he had not, it seemed, been out there too long, as his temperature seemed to return to something like normal in a fairly timely manner, though he never did quite wake up all the way or manage to form a coherent sentence longer than two or three words as he tried to explain to her what he had been doing out there, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the rock pile. Other than a bit of frost nip on his nose and, of all places, on his ribs where they had been pressed into the snow, his fingers seemed to have got the worst of it, and Liz, as she thawed them in a pot of tepid water and smeared them with a mixture of bear fat and hounds tongue leaves, knew that she must get some mittens made, and soon. Well, I should have plenty of time for making mittens, if I can figure out how, because it looks like Id better not be leaving him alone for too long at a time, at least until this fever goes down and he stops trying to wander all over the place. She wished she had something to give him to help him sleep, help him relax and be willing to lie there and rest, at least, some chamomile, even, but she had nothing, and knew he would likely have a strong objection to her giving it to him, if she had. He can object, then, but I have to try something, because Ive got to be able to leave the den without wondering every time whether Ill come back to find him frozen solid out in a snowdrift, or something. The only thing she could think of was yarrow, of which they had dried a good bit during their time back at the crevice before that first snow had come, and she pulled out the rawhide bag in which the leaves, dried, brown and almost springy in texture because of their numerous fine fernlike fronds, were stored, stirring a good sized pinch into some heating water. She did not want to deplete their supply too much, as the leaves were so useful as a coagulation aid for wounds, which use, if required, would be much more pressing than the current one, but as they had managed to collect and dry a wad of leaves approximately the size of a softball, she doubted the tablespoon she was taking would be a problem. The yarrow, she knew, ought to help bring down his fever if nothing else, and she remembered Susan telling her that it tended to have a mild sedative effect on many people, too, so there was at least some hope that it might help him relaxif she could get him to drink it. Which she knew was doubtful. Einar had returned to a more wakeful state while Liz worked on the tea, taking a good-sized bear bone fragment that had been left over from his construction of the chimney-digging tool and beginning to work it with his knife and a rough chunk of granite with the thought that it ought to make a fine atlatl dart point, but ending up sitting there in a daze after a minute or two of such work, staring into the fire, the mere act of remaining sitting demanding all of the energy and focus he could summon. She brought him the tea, put a hand on his arm and offered it to him,

holding it up for him to drink. He looked up at her, eyes distant, unfocused. Sorry Liz. Stovemeant to finish it but the rocksuhstarted getting awful heavy. Didnt mean to go to sleep out in the snow out there, either. Feeling kinda weird right now, I guess. Youve got a fever, and you really need to rest. Here. Drink this. What? Yarrow. Itll help bring the fever down. He grunted, held his hand up in front of his face to ward off the pot she was urging him to drink from. Feverll be OK. Im justworn out. Nothing reallywrong with me. Dont like to drink yarrow. Tried it once. Makes me...real sleepy, weird. Einar, youre already pretty weird, and you need to sleep. This isnt going to hurt you. Now, please But he would not, turned to face the wall, resting his forehead on it, suddenly dizzy and unsure where the floor was, or what his relationship to it might be, and not wishing to fall over on his face, right there in front of Liz. She shook her head, tried again to persuade him to take the tea, but he told her he couldnt, said she had better just go ahead and drink it, herself. He was getting cold, shaking, and she tired to convince him to turn around, return to the bear hide where he could be warm, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, somewhat suspiciously. Can I be sure youre not gonna hold me down and pour that stuff down my throat, if I do that? She smiled, shook her head, well, Id sure like to, you stubborn old mule, because I think this stuff would do you some good, but No, Einar. I wouldnt do that to you. But I do wish youd change your mind. Now, come on and get wrapped up in this bear hide before you start freezing again. OK. Sorry about the tea, but I cant. Ill explain it sometime not right now though. Youre right. Got to sleep Which he did, Liz adding some sticks to the fire and sitting by it, tending it, watching him as he tossed and fretted in his sleep--it appeared that even in sleep, he was struggling with himself, attempting to force his exhausted body to cooperate so he could get up and do something--sipping the yarrow tea herself and knowing that the next few days were likely to be rather long, difficult ones for both of them, but immensely relieved that they were together again, had food to eat and a dry, wind-free place to shelter in as the storm raged on outside.

Einar, to Lizs relief and surprise, slept most of the day as she kept the fire going, cooked up another pot of stew and carefully spread out the dozens of cattail heads she had cut, turning them now and then where they lay covering the sleeping platform, wanting the be certain they were completely dry before turning them into a mattress and covering them with the bear hide. The fever left him periodically--during which times he lay shaking in the bear hide, seemingly unable to get warm despite the warm fur and his proximity to the fire, which was heating the small space of the den quite thoroughly--but it always seemed to return, and Liz frequently offered him water, lifting his head and attempting to rouse him enough to take a drink, but was seldom successful. The cattail heads, freed of their coating of dry snow before she brought them into the warmth of the den, dried quickly, and Liz spent much of the morning arranging them on the sleeping platform, packing them in tightly so that they did not move when she lay down on them and finding them to be wonderfully cushioning and insulating from the cold of the dirt. They would, she expected, eventually come apart with enough use, the buoyant, fluffy white fibers that were designed for lifting and floating the tiny seeds to new locations separating and leaving the bed a mess of fluff, but she hoped that by then, they might have come up with a way to contain them. Several deer hides, perhaps, sewn together to form a mattress which they could stuff with the cattail down, with great heaps of usnea lichen, if they could find enoughOK. Thats way in the future. For now, this will be a great improvement, and will get Einar up off of that cold floor, and out of the draft from the door! I can feel that its a lot warmer up here, even two feet off the floor on this platform. That must be why he built it. She would have to wait to move him, though, until he woke, and he had shown no recent signs of being inclined to do so. Towards afternoon Liz began to grow increasingly worried about Einar as he lay there slipping in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently and throwing off his bear hide covering, sweating and shaking with fever, skin appearing terribly pale through its flush, nearly translucent. Not wanting him to become too dehydrated, she prepared a warm mixture of bear broth and chokecherries, straining it through a clean sock so there would be no chunks for him to potentially choke on and carefully dripping some of it into the side of his mouth, knowing that, whatever was going on with him, he would be needing continuing fluid and nutrition if he was to get better, glad when after a time he responded by opening his eyes and taking a sip from the pot when she offered it. Squinting at her in the dim, flickering light of the fire, he struggled to sit up, took the pot from her and nearly drained it. Oh! Thats good stuff. Guess I fell asleep. You better just kick me if I fall asleep again. Got no business sleeping in the daytime like this. He rubbed his eyes, tried to stand but listed to the side, dizzy, Liz supporting him and easing him back to the ground before he could fall. His speech was making sense for the first time in many hours, but, eyes bright and glazed and a bit wild-looking, Liz could see that the fever had not yet left him entirely. He was awake for the moment, though, and she supposed that she ought to take advantage of it to see if he could eat some more, went to the fire and chopped a few more chunks of bear for stew. Einar crawled over to the door, urgently wanting to see the state of the storm, whether it was continuing to offer them its protective cover and for how long it appeared likely to continue doing so, glad to see that the snow fell unabated, the

wind nearly taking his breath as he stuck his head out into it. Billows and drifts of snow, windblown, deep, had piled up around the den entrance, having already obliterated Lizs tracks from the last time she had gone out--this morning, I guess--and Einar pulled himself out into the shallow dusting of snow beneath the ledge and did his business in the shallow outhouse hole they had scraped into the dirt beneath the little ledge--got to move this over somewhere further from the entrance, before long. Only getting away with this because its so cold out here, and everythings freezing up pretty quick--before hurrying back into the den, dropping the bearskin door flap closed behind him and securing it against the wind with the two rocks that they had been using for that purpose. Safe. No way theyre going to find our tracks down from the canyon rim, after this. Something struck him as odd in the den when he turned around, something had changed while he was sleeping, and Einar scanned the small space, quickly noticing the cattail-covered sleeping platform, scooting over to inspect it. Huh. Youve been real busy. This sure looks warm. Whered you get all these? Theres a little meadow, a ways down the ridge from here. I saw it when I was out getting firewood, and went to take a look. There are thousands of cattails; I just brought back what I could carry. Einar grinned. Great! Then we can spare one? Sure, Id say so! What are you? She did not need to ask, as it turned out, as Einar had chosen one of the cattail heads and set in on the flat rock she had used for baking bread the night before, touching it with a flaming stick and barely moving back in time to avoid singeing his eyebrows when it went up in flames, the fluff burning off like kerosene and leaving a little black spot on the den ceiling. Liz hurriedly stomped out a burning chunk of cattail down that had come loose and fallen to the floor, rolling over dangerously close to a pile of dry grass, shaking her head and glaring at Einar. Why, you crazy pyro Which he probably wouldnt have denied, but she quickly saw that his current experiment apparently had other, perhaps more productive purposes as well, as he was scraping intently at the charred rock, blowing lightly on the pile of debris to scatter the burnt bits of fuzz and stalk that remained, leaving behind a little pile of flattish, black seeds, which he dumped into his hand and held out to her. Here. Taste. The seeds were crunchy, easy to chew, having been roasted by the fire, and had a pleasant, almost nutty flavor, though the yield from the entire seed head amounted to barely a small spoon full. If theyd had any spoons to measure with. Wow! I didnt know that you could eat cattail seeds. Not very many of them here, but that sure seemed like an easy way to harvest and roast them, all at once. Yeah, theyre tiny, but they are pretty good to eat, and if there are as many cattails down there as it sounds like, it might be worth our while to gather up a bunch of them and burn them off for the seeds, once we have as many as we need set aside for things like bedding, pillow stuffing, felted floor padding, stuffing for those two big overstuffed

recliners were gonna build when we get everything else done and therere still four months of winter left He grinned mischievously, Liz swatting at him with another of the cattail stalks. Right. Overstuffed recliners. Do they come before, or after we find a convenient waterfall, build a water wheel from spruce slats, sneak down to the valley and pull down some phone lines, and build a little hydro plant so we can have electric lighting in this place? You probably wouldnt know what to do with electricity if you had it, now after all this time out here, would you? And you certainly dont need a recliner, because I almost never see you sit still long enough to use one. Did you even have furniture at your house, before all this started? He laughed. A little hydro plantnow youre thinking! But no. I seriously doubt well do that, or much furniture, either, at least not in this place. And no, I never really did have much furniture, aside from a few workbenches and of course bookshelves. Slept on the floor, had a little table and one chair, and that was about it. How much more can a person really need? But cattail fuzz was used commercially as a furniture-stuffing and insulation up through the 1950s or 60s, at least--I wouldnt be surprised if it starts coming into fashion again, with all this talk of environmentally friendly or green products that you hear these days--and mattresses and furniture were filled with it as far back as Colonial times. Some of the seeds were knocked loose and separated out as that stuff was being processed, and in the 40s, a few studies were done on the feasibility of collecting them to produce a commercial cooking oil, since the seeds account for about forty percent of the weight of the entire seed head, and have a lot of oil in them. Seventeen percent, or so, of their weight, if Im remembering right. I dont know if the oil ever was produced commerciallybut anyway, here the seeds are for us to use, so we might as well do it. Finishing his elaboration on the historical uses of cattail fuzz, Einar sat silent, staring in a daze at the seed head in his hand, seemingly exhausted by the talking, head sagging. Liz laid her hand on his arm and he jumped, startling back to wakefulness and quickly scooting back over to the sleeping platform, replacing the cattail head into the slot from which he had removed it, crawling back over to the fire, cold, as the fever was in its downswing, at the moment. Pulling out the bear leg fragment and his tools, he began scraping away at it once more, wanting to complete the dart head so he could begin on one for a new spear, his last one having been broken when he drove it into the bear whose den they were inhabiting. He had grown accustomed to carrying a spear, did not feel at all right in its absence. Not that he could carry one, currently limited as he was by the use of crutches. Need to do something about that, for sure. Itd almost be easier to get around, if I had a wooden leg in place of this broken one. Then at least my arms could be free, or one of them, if I still needed a cane or something. The thought of a wooden leg gave him an idea, a vague picture in his mind that he thought perhaps he could work with, could develop into something that would give him his hands back, while still keeping the weight off of his broken leg, for awhile. Later. For the time, his head was swimming too badly to focus on hands-free crutches or anything else too detailed, the hot, confused feeling of fever returning, and he fought it, doggedly stuck with his work

on the atlatl head, finishing it, despite several small slices to fingers too clumsy to adequately hold the tools and numerous breaks during which he had to stop and lower his head to dissipate the blackness that was trying to engulf him, and then, finally, the project finished, he gave in to Lizs gentle suggestions and allowed himself to helped up onto the cattail-padded sleeping platform, which she had draped with the bear hide, fur-side in, and he was asleep again, would remain so until well into the next day. Curious about Einars mention of felting cattail fuzz for making floor coverings--though for all she knew he might have been joking about that, also, just as he had been the recliners--she took a number of the extra cattail heads that had been left over from the mattress-making project, working them to free the down, amazed at the volume of it that was packed into one of the heads--it seemed to triple, at least, when freed--and packing some of it into the snow-melting pot, whose contents she first emptied into the water bottles. Pouring the contents of one of the bottles back over the fuzz, she stirred it with a stick until all if it was soaked, pouring off the excess water and letting the resulting mat of damp, sorry-looking fuzz sit for a few minutes. She had watched Susan felt wool, had no idea whether cattail fuzz would behave similarly at all, but was very curious to find out. Already she could imagine all sorts of potential uses for thick pads of the insulating felt, if it turned out--slippers to keep feet warm in the den, insulating insoles to add warmth and protection to the future footwear they would have to make to replace their boots as they wore out--perhaps mittens, even, if the finished product came out strong and flexible enough, which she doubted, considering the relatively short length of the fibers--and of course thick, warm rugs for the den floor. Carefully loosening the mat of cattail fibers in the bottom of the cooking pot, she eased it out onto her hand, spread it flat on the cooking rock, and pressed it with a second hot, smooth rock, anxious to see what the results might be as it began drying.

Sleeping off and on the rest of that evening and into the night, Einar was occasionally aware of Lizs presence, or thought he was, though unable to wake up and confirm it, his mind eventually consigned her to the realm of dream, along with the wonderful, terrible, hunger-bringing odors of boiling stew that assailed him in the morning. Dreams, all of it, but at least they were good ones, so who was he to complain? The fever had been coming and going all night, bringing at its height terrible visions reminiscent of the ones that had plagued him, robbing him of all sense of time and place and reality, after he had been hit with the darts containing a tranquilizer concoction intended for bringing down black bears, and he struggled violently against his sleep then, desperately wishing to return to reality--if it existed--before he could manage to sink any deeper into the black, clinging mire. More than once during those times he sat up, grabbing for his spear and-as he had not even begun constructing the new one yet--not finding it, reaching instead for his knife, coming up short against the den wall that pressed in close at his edge of the sleeping platform and attacking it furiously before finally getting himself turned around and attempting unsuccessfully to scramble to his feet, sitting there on the edge of the bed swaying and trembling and quickly growing chilled without the bearskin, staring at Liz in the dim glow of the firelight as if he had never seen her in his life. Sitting there, Liz

keeping her distance but speaking quietly to him the entire time, he finally returned to something like wakefulness, shaking his head and apologizing profusely, wondering aloud why she was willing to be there with him at all, but she told him it was alright, that she understood, that it would pass, cautiously approached and sat beside him on the bed, gave him a drink of water and calmed him with her slow, even words, gradually convincing him to lie back down with her, warming, sleeping again, grateful beyond measure. After several such incidents, Einar crawling out of bed the second time and finding his knife and the one atlatl dart that he had finished the day before, bringing them back to bed with him and making her a bit nervous, Liz switched places with him on the bed--she had at first given him the spot nearest the wall because it seemed the most protected from drafts and allowed her to more easily rise to check on the fire, but she realized now the error in that thinking, saw that it left Einar feeling trapped and probably contributed to his distress upon waking. He slept more peacefully for a while after that, chilly at times as he lay perched there right on the edge of the platform, less than an inch from falling off, the atlatl dart clenched in his hand and Liz pressed against his back for warmth, terribly weary, herself, hoping that the exhausting routine was not to go on night after night, hoping very much that he would realize she was a friend, if he startled awake like that again. Which he did, rolling off the bed before Liz even realized he was stirring and crouching--as well as one can, with one leg in a cast--at the den entrance for a while, holding open the door flap and listening to the night, relieved at the feel of the stormdriven snow that stung his face, the night silent but for the sound of the wind. Finally, shivering, he crept back to the bed and hauled himself in, Liz helping, glad to see that the fever had gone down for the time, Einar responding in a normal, rational-sounding voice when she spoke to him, leaving the atlatl dart propped beside the bed instead of insisting that it must remain in his hand. They slept, daylight eventually creeping in under the door flap and waking Liz. Having tried unsuccessfully several times to wake Einar that morning so she could give him some broth or at least water, Liz sat beside the sleeping platform as she ate, wondering if she might have time to go out and break up some of the firewood she had brought back into manageable-sized chunks, before he woke. Well, Ive got to give it a try, because were down to a few branches and sticks and that dead aspen I hauled back up here, so you just sleep for a while, OK Einar? He stirred, drew his nose in under the bear hide, and went on sleeping, Liz beating some of the accumulated ice off of the yearling hide and slipping it over her head, crawling out into the snow to work on the firewood. Knocking the nights accumulation of snow off of the little aspen, which she had leaned up against a spruce to prevent it being buried, she stared at it, wondering just how she was supposed to break it up without any sort of a saw or an axe, finally settling on propping it horizontally between a large rock and the enormous, uprooted spruce that lay over to the side of the den, standing up on the spruce and dropping rocks on it. The tree, long dead, dry and somewhat brittle, cracked and crunched and eventually split with repeated droppings of the heaviest granite slab she could lift, and many frustrating, tiring minutes of searching through the powder for lost rocks, thawing half frozen fingers against her stomach and climbing back up onto the spruce trunk to start the process all

over again, Liz had stacked up a good fifteen or twenty lengths of firewood beneath the protective ledge outside the den. Some of the pieces had split in half or even splintered into fourths or smaller as they broke, and she hurried to get the little kindling sticks into the den before snow could begin accumulating on them. Stacking all of the wood up in the corner beside the chimney, she checked on Einar--still asleep--and left once again, warmed by the work and wanting to find another small tree or two to break up, since she was already covered in snow and wearing the bear hide. Hearing Liz as she stacked the wood and finally, several minutes after she left the second time, managing to get his mind and body to work in concert and allow him to sit up, Einar peered around the den, seeing that Liz had put the fire out and wondering if that meant that the weather had cleared. Better check. Outside the snow continued falling, though--sure turning onto one monumental storm!--and he supposed Liz must have either been of a mind to conserve firewood, or, spooked by his behavior or perhaps something he had said during the night, had opted to eliminate their heat signature for the time. Either way, it was alright with Einar, as he had spent much of the previous winter fireless and often freezing, and was more than grateful simply to have the dry, windproof shelter of the den, the warm bear hide to cover himself with and plenty of food to eat. Speaking of eating, he was feeling terribly hungry, and, remembering the dream-smells of cooking food from that morning, he found the cooking pot where Liz had left it near the coals to stay warm, and nearly drained it of broth. Near it, on the cooking rock, he discovered a thick, matted circle of what he thought he could identify as sodden, compressed cattail fuzz, wondered about it, thinking that it looked useful, warm, potentially, but wondering if it could possibly be very sturdy, as it appeared likely to crumble if bent or handled too roughly, and he wanted to experiment with it, but figured he had better wait for Lizs return and find out what she had planned for it, before doing any such thing. The stove rocks lay in a pile where he had left them, and, a bit dizzy and still feeling terribly weak after the restless feverishness of the night, he slowly began moving them over near the chimney, carefully choosing and placing several for the start of the stove, supposing they could be used as a fire-ring of sorts if he did not manage to finish the construction before they next wanted a fire. Which he was beginning to do, just a bit, finding himself quickly chilled in the absence of the bear hide sleeping robe, digging around in the ashes of the fire until he found a still-warm rock and pressing it between his hands, curling himself around the lingering heat of the fire-warmed ground for a minute before returning to his work, the wolverine hide wrapped around his shoulders, stocking cap pulled down to his eyebrows. Slowly, the placement of the granite slabs being a rather exact and tedious thing and the rocks seeming to him a good deal heavier than he thought they ought to the stove began taking shape, two rows of rock and then three, tapering as he went up, nearly twice as deep as it was wide to accommodate longer pieces of wood. A large flat rock, thin but not, he hoped, so thin that it would crack easily after repeated heatings, he placed over the top of the front half of the stove, meaning it to serve as a cooling surface and perhaps later as an over floor, if they decided to add such. Near the front he left two small gaps between stones, long and narrow and easily plugged with small flat granite slabs so that more or less air could be allowed in, as needed. The rocks appeared to be fitting together pretty tightly, but he supposed that a mixture of mud and

spruce needles could always be smeared into the cracks later, if they ended up being problematic. Some kind of a damper, Einar knew, would be a good idea and ought to increase the efficiency of the little stove--if it works at allnever really done this before--and as he narrowed the stove, bringing the rings of rock closer and closer together as they rose to meet the chimney opening, he left a big gap in the front, two inches high and as wide as the chimney, itself, sorting through his pile of leftover slabs until he found one that was close to fitting it, and working to grind and carefully break the granite piece until it slid into the gap. OK. Pretty tight. Im sure there will be gaps around it even when I close the damper by pushing it all the way in, butbetter than nothing. I can always take everything apart and start over, if this turns out to be a miserable failure. Filling the gaps between the stone structure and the chimney opening in the ceiling with small stones and clods of dirt, Einar sat back and scrutinized the stove, finally shrugging, shivering, beginning to feel a bit confused as the fever returned. Wanting to test the stove before Liz returned, and before he ended up curled up in a corner without any idea of what he was supposed to be doing, if that was where things were headed, he once again checked on the state of the storm before breaking up a few sticks and arranging them in the firebox, huddling close as the flames climbed up through them and adding a larger piece of wood from the stack that Liz had piled nearby. The stove seemed to be working, the chimney drawing and no obvious leaks existing, and, some of the feeling in his hands finally restored after several minutes of holding them near the flames, he slid the flat door-rock into place, closed the damper partway and retreated to the bed, rolling up in the bear hide, resting, thinking that things were going awfully, unbelievably well, everything considered, or would be, if only I could get rid of this doggone fever Einar had not been resting for long before Liz came hurrying in, brushing the snow from her coat, the look in her eyes telling him that something was terribly wrong, even before she spoke.

Liz did not even take the time to shrug out of the yearling hide, propping a frozen section of bear ribs against the cooking rock beside the stove and warming her hands, barely seeming to notice the work Einar had done on the stove, in her absence. Her face was white, eyes big as he scrambled out of the bed and hurried to join her by the stove. Somethings taking our food. Two of those big pieces that you had hanging in the spruce, and everything that was in the firits like something climbed the trees and jumped at them, pulled them down. Theyre gone. The strings you had them tied up with are still hanging there, but the meat Were there tracks? Yes, but with all the snow, I couldnt tell what kind. You could see where it dragged the meat, though, and it must have come back several times to haul all of that off. You can

still see the trenches, the drag marks, for a little ways where the trees are heaviest, but then theyre all drifted over with the snow. I just came to see if I could take that atlatl dart you made, and Ill go look for more tracks, see if I can find that trench again and follow it where the trees get thick again, see if I can get our food back. No. Cat. Cant think what else it could be, and you sure dont want to be following after a big cat through the dark timber and trying to take his meal, armed with just a dart. Let me do it. She looked at the floor, weighing her answer. Einar, youve been sick. That fever, and I think you hardly slept at all last night Liz, weve got to have that food. When this storm clears off its gonna get cold, a lot colder than its been so far, I expect, and youll be surprised how fast we start having to go through whatever meat is left out there, just to stay warm. And thats even if they dont start bringing choppers and planes in over here and make it a real bad idea for us to have a fire, which you know they probably will. Now that cats probably already eaten a good bit of what he pulled down, especially if he came during the night, but hes bound to have stashed some of it up under a tree somewhere, to finish later. Thats what they do; Ive seen it. Kinda kick some needles over it, hide it partway. If I can find his trail, pick it up and follow it, theres a good chance that we might be able to get at least some of that meat back. Whats left out there, anyway? Just the ribs? Mostly. And that one little piece, maybe five or ten pounds, that Id been carving off of. Its still there. Doggone it. Knew I should have secured that stuff better. What we really need is a cache, the kind they use up North, where you make a tall platform, and build a little log shed sort of thing on top, to keep all the critters out of the meat you stash in there. But I couldnt. Barely managed to get the stuff hung up there. And it would have started spoiling here in the den. Im gonna go have a look at those tracks, you stay and get warmed up. Look like youre freezing. Gathering up his atlatl, the one completed dart he had for it, his near-empty pack and some cordage to help him drag back the meat that he hoped to find, Einar hauling himself to his feet there in the den, bent over there under the low ceiling, barely lasting for two seconds before he pitched forwards and met the rocky floor near the entrance rather sharply with his forehead, the world spinning absurdly around him. No. You have to get up. Have to be able to do this. Tried again, Liz supporting him, the second attempt no more successful than the first, and he sat on the floor, sagging forward with his hand pressed to the gash in his forehead, accepting the water Liz offered him. Get up. And he did, onto his knees, at least, despite the whirling confusion of the world as it spun around him, distorting his senses, crawled to the door and out, following Lizs tracks where she had come from the food-tree. She was there beside him, twice kept him from sprawling out in the snow when he lost his balance, retrieving and carrying the atlatl and dart when he dropped them from his pack unheeded, and by the time he reached the tree, even Einar

was ready to admit that climbing the ridge above the den in search of the cats stash--for that was the direction he determined it to have gone, after some looking--would have little chance of ending particularly well, as he found himself quite unable to keep to his feet. Liz again offered to make an attempt to follow the animals trail, but it was plain to both of them that between the fury of the wind, which had drifted over the marks in many places, and Lizs relative lack of tracking experience, there was little sense in such an endeavor. They returned to the den, warming in front of the stove, which Liz just then really noticed, admiring it, setting a pot of snow to melt on the rock slab that served as its lid. This sure will make cooking easier! I guess well really have to get every bit of nutrition we can out of whats left of the bear, now. The carcass is still down there buried under the snow, I guess? If youll tell me where, I can go down and see if I can get some more bones off of it. Maybe there are some bits of meat left, and we can always boil down the bones for broth. Well get by. I can go set some snares out, too, just as soon as the storm stops Staring into the fire, Einar nodded grimly, shoved another chunk of aspen branch into the stove and slid the door-rock across the opening, angry at himself for not taking steps to better protect their food supply, angry and frustrated, most of all, that he could not seem to gather his wits or his strength or whatever on earth it was that had left him feeling so weak and scattered and useless since returning to the den, and do what needed to be done, climb that ridge and see if he couldnt find the cats trail, retrieve the meat, or what was left of it. He glanced up, supposed Liz was waiting for an answer about the snares. Yeah. Well have to do that. But I have another idea, too. It wont come close to replacing all of the meat the critter took, but itll be something, and will keep this from happening again. At least with that cat. Need you to go out and find as much spruce pitch as you can, dry yellow globs from around where porcupines have stripped off the bark, fresh oozing stuff, everything and anything. Gonna need a lot of it. And some strips and squares of bark from that big fallen spruce just outside the den, too. The flatter the better, but curved ones are OK, too. With a little steam and heat and some heavy rocks, I can flatten them. Catll be back for more, no doubt, but well be ready. Curious, unable to picture just how a bunch of spruce pitch and some flat strips and squared of bark were supposed to have anything to do with the mountain lion that helped itself to a good portion of their food, Liz held her hands over the stoves warmth for another few seconds, got the yearling hide back over her head, and hurried out to search for the requested ingredients. And Id better finish bringing in this firewood that I dropped, too, in my hurry to tell Einar about the meat, before it gets buried under the snow. Einar, fighting a nearly overpowering urge to crawl up on the bed and curl up in the bear hide, sorted through the pile of sticks that lay beside the stove, choosing a sturdy, hiphigh spruce branch, dry and yellow and free of bark but not in the least dry-rotted, laying it parallel to his bad leg on the ground, picturing in his mind the device that he intended to construct, which, if it worked at all, might give him back the use of his hands, while

still keeping his weight off of the healing leg as he worked and traveled and as I run the snare lines. Because it looks like were going to be eating a lot of rabbit, before this winter is done

When Liz returned with the quantity of pitch and the slabs of spruce bark requested by Einar, it was to find him sitting just inside the shelter, holding a piece of split aspen trunk in both hands, blowing gently on several glowing orange coals that he had set near its center, producing a good quantity of smoke, but no flame. Setting the bark and the bag full of pitch chunks down well away from the fire, she joined him at the entrance, watching as he moved the coals from place to place on the flat, split surface of the wood, continuing to blow and keep the smoke coming but always stopping just short of fanning it to flame. After a time the coals began cooling, losing their living, dancing orange and growing increasingly black, and Einar, breathless and a bit red-eyed from the smoke, scooted over to the stove and dumped the nearly dead coals back in, scraping with his knife to remove the charred wood that the coals had left behind near the split logs center. Curious, Liz sat down beside him to watch. What are you making? Besides smoke Well, Im using the coals to burn out some of the wood from the center of the log, here. You can make bowls this way, spoons, big cooking pots, dugout canoes, even, if youve got a big fallen tree and a lot of time. But right now Im just working on a platform for my knee to sit onin, actually, and when I get it all done Ill take some of this soft dry grass and stick it in the depression Im making for padding, or even better, maybe Ill be able to find some usnea for padding. That would be springier and last longer, too. Then Im gonna carve out a little notch in the front of the split log, one of the short ends, and slide this spruce stick into the notch. Ill use a bunch of sinew to lash the horizontal platform to the spruce upright--hopefully thatll be enough to hold it. I think it will, though if I happened to weigh much more, it might not--and rest my knee on it so the broken leg doesnt touch the ground. Have to shorten the cast some for this to work, so I can bend my knee, but it seems that its probably time for that, anyway. Knee needs to move; I can feel it. Ill take a couple strips of bear hide and lash my leg to the spruce stick, once just above the knee and once below the hip, and hopefully itll all hold together well enough for me to walk on. Expect Ill be pretty clumsy on it at first, but if it works, itll mean that I can walk and hopefully even climb, without having both of my hands tied up by those crutches. How am I supposed to use an atlatl or do much else, either, when its taking both of my hands just to stay on my feet? Ill still use the crutches some around the den here when Im not going far, because I know I need to start putting small amounts of weight on this leg to help the bone heal and strengthen up, but itll be good to have both options. Dont know if thisll work, but its sure worth a try, I figure. Been thinking about it for a couple days, but that cat this morning convinced me I needed to hurry up and give it a try. Sure dont care to be hunting any cat, on crutches! Liz shook her head. No, I certainly wouldnt think so! You said something about

making bowls and spoons by hollowing out pieces of wood with hot coals like that. Can you show me how? A couple of spoons and some bowls sure would make mealtime a little more pleasant, around here! Well, theres not much to it, really. Just pick out the right piece of wood, do a little carving with a knife to rough it out and flatten the surface youre going to be burning, set the coals on it and give them some air to start the burning process, but sure, Ill show you. After we get this trap done. Choosing the smallest of their two cooking pots, Einar emptied into it all of the pitch chunks and blobs Liz had collected, adding two good sized lumps of bear fat--an amount equal to approximately one third the volume of the pitch--setting the pot on the stove to begin heating. Got to be sure this stuff doesnt actually catch on fire, which it tends to be pretty inclined to do, if you get it too hot. Will you watch it, while I work on theses bark pieces? With Liz tending to the heating mixture of pitch and bear fat, Einar turned his attention to the bark strips, shaving down the thicker areas with his knife, removing much of the outer bark until he was left with only the thin layer of inner bark, backed by a thin, dark brown crust of harder outer bark. Lining a number of the bark pieces up on the flat area of dirt den floor just in front of the stove, he sprinkled them generously with water from the snow-melting pot, taking several flat rock slabs--leftovers from making the stove--which he had leaned up against the stove to heat, and easing them down on top of the bark slabs, careful to go slow so as not to break the slabs. While the bark pieces--ranging in size from four inches square all the way up to strips that were several inches wide by nearly a foot long--steamed flat, he checked on the progress of the melting pitch, which had begun to bubble and smoke a bit as Liz attentively stirred it with a stick. Good. This looks real good. Dipping a stick into the pitch, he dripped a bit of it onto some snow near the entrance, allowing it to sit for a minute and cool before digging down in the snow and removing the little lump, glad to see that the addition of the fat had kept it flexible, but a bit disappointed that it had not remained sticky, as well. It needed to be sticky. More fat. And he added it, realizing that the only ingredient the resulting solution lacked in order to be pine tar soap was some lye, which he knew they could make by allowing water to slowly filter through a good quantity of wood ash from the fire. Huh. May have to try that, if we ever get time. Which we will, if we actually end up living through the winter, and arent forced to run again. Plenty of time. Though I do seem to remember hearing that hardwood ash will make a stronger lye solution, and we dont have any hardwoods here to burn, at all. But I imagine it might still work. Bet Liz would like to have some soap. As soon as the added bear fat had melted in and combined with the pitch mixture, Einar again tested it in the snow, greatly pleased when the stuff remained tacky enough to briefly stick his fingers together. OK! This ought to do it. Leaving the pot on the stove to stay warm, but moving it to an area near the edge which was somewhat cooler than the center of the cooking surface, he took a handful of black, fibrous inner bark shreds from one of the few pieces of aspen firewood that still had bark, using them as a paintbrush to smear a thin layer of hot pitch onto each of the pressed bark

strips and chunks, which had by that time dried thoroughly and were, after their steaming, staying quite flat. Finishing all of the pieces and seeing that there was a bit of pitch left, he poured it onto one of the smaller of the pieces, setting the leftovers aside for future projects. Alright, he addressed Liz, who had watched quietly as he worked, all we need now is some bait, and this thing will be finished! Figure we might as well just lower one of those rib sections--a good small one--for bait, arrange all these squares around the hanging bait, and well have the critter. She looked skeptical, wrinkling up her nose as she studied the bark squares and looking at Einar out of the corner of her eye for any sign that he was joking with her, about to burst out laughing at her expense, but seeing none. He seemed entirely serious, and she wondered if the fever was back, and affecting his judgment significantly. Thats it? I guess I dont see how this is going to trap a mountain lion Oh, its not, exactly. But it sure is gonna slow him down. Well set this up in the evening, since cats are active at night, and when he comes back down here after the rest of this bear, and goes for the stuff that we leave hanging down good and low, hell get some of these squares stuck to his feet. You ever watched a cat--just a house cat--with something stuck to his paws? Some chewing gum, or something? Critter cant think about anything else, until he gets every last little bit of the sticky stuff off his paws. Catll tend to just sit down right there wherever he is, to clean his paws, and of course in this case, that will mean he gets more bark squares stuck to him, to his belly or his sides or hind end, and then hell have to work to get those off, too, before hell want to go anywhere. As particular as cats are, that can take quite a while. The Incas used to trap jaguars, this way. Only they didnt use spruce pitch, but some other sticky resin from a tree that grows in the foothills of the Andes. So, the lion will step on the sticky squares, stop to chew them loose and clean his pawsbut then what? Well, then I go in and take him with the atlatl first thing that morning, while hes all distracted. Thats what. Have to make a few more darts, and I got to finish this handsfree crutch thing, so Ill have my arms, or one of them, anyway, available for throwing. Liz was not especially pleased about the fact that Einar still intended to go after a mountain lion, armed only with an atlatl and with one functional leg, but said nothing about it for the moment, searching instead through the woodpile for a suitable branch, intending to begin making a spoon and hoping as she worked to come up with a way to dissuade him, before evening came and they set out to place the cat-delaying sticky traps. Watching for a minute as Liz began carving at the stick from which she intended to make a spoon, Einar returned to the construction of his crutch replacement, carefully notching the end of the coal-hollowed split-aspen piece to accept the spruce upright, scratching a

slight depression--he did not want to make this too deep and potentially weaken the upright--in the spruce on its outside arc so the sinew wrappings could be more firmly seated as they wound their way up through the notches he had carved to accept them on either side of the hollowed aspens short ends. Fitting everything together and scrutinizing it, he wondered whether the knee support might simply collapse under his weight, supposed that it probably would, and searched through the woodpile until he located a likely-looking aspen chunk out of which he could carve and scrape a triangular piece to secure beneath it for additional support. The small chunk of wood--secured with pitch glue made by adding ashes from the fire to some of the remaining pitch and fat mixture from the cat trap and wrapped in place with sinew--would add minimal weight but, he hoped, might significantly strengthen the setup. Not that this thing is gonna be especially useful in all this snow, unless I make some sort of a snowshoe-like device to attach to the bottom of it. Otherwise, itll just sink into the snow and throw me forward like the crutches do, only the thing will stick in the ground as I fall forward, and Ill probably end up breaking the femur, too. Not good! Definitely not an improvement, at all Wish I had some willow, Liz. You seen any around here? Down near where you found all those cattails, maybe? Seems like a spot where some ought to grow. Why, is your leg hurting pretty badly? She moved closer, put her hand on his leg. Do you want me to take the cast off and rub it for you, again? Uhit hurts some, yeah, but its sure been worse. Really need the willow for snowshoes, right now. We each need a pair, if were going to be getting around much this winter, but I was just thinking that this one-legged crutch thing is gonna be worse than useless, without a snowshoe on it to keep me from sinking and sticking in every drift I try to walk through. So if you see any Ill keep my eyes open for it. And the silence returned, a comfortable silence for both of them as they each worked on their projects, punctuated only by the crackling of the wood in the fire and the howling of the wind through the trees outside and against the bear hide, as the storm continued. Einar picked up the spruce stick, inspecting it once more. Alright, time to smear some glue on this thing, get the triangular piece in place so I can start wrapping the pitch on the knee support. Poking and prodding at the large, still-sticky clump of pitch-bear fat mixture that had been scraped out of the pot and stored on one of the bark squares, Einar realized that in continuing to add fat to keep the stuff flexible and sticky, he had ended up creating something that would probably be less than ideal as a glue. The pitch glue he was used to making generally consisted of five parts pitch to one part fat, with one part wood ash and sometimes a bit of finely powdered plant material--dry grass, leaves or even a ground up deer or elk dropping--for strength. The sticky-trap mixture had far more fat in it than his usual glue recipe called for, but Einar supposed the stuff could be make workable again, if he melted in a few more chunks of pitch and added some ash and finally powdered grass from the quantity the bear had gathered in the den. Reheating

the pitch mixture and modifying it to make a better glue, Einar smeared a generous amount on the spruce stick where he had flattened one surface to accept the triangular brace, holding it in place until the glue began to cool and harden. Doing the same for the horizontal knee support, gluing it to the top of the triangular brace as well as to the spruce stick, he set the device aside so the glue could sit undisturbed for a few minutes, and scooted over to the row of flat rocks against the back wall, which Liz had been using for shelves. There had been a good quantity of sinew--obtained from the yearling bear and from the deer he had taken back at the crevice before Liz had shown up--stored in the backpack, and he hoped it might still be there, wishing to save the sinew from the bear whose den they were inhabiting for other future projects, including, he hoped, a bowstring or two. The sinew was still there, a number of stiff, round clearish rolls of leg tendon and the longer sheets of backstrap sinew from which he knew could be pulled long, sturdy threads, with a bit of work, and he chose one of the backstrap pieces--they were so valuable for backing bows and other large-scale projects that he seldom used them for simple joining work, but was willing to make an exception, in the case of his crutchreplacement--beginning to work it back and forth in his hands, watching as it went from nearly clear to white and opaque with the handling. The thicker, tougher bundles of leg sinew needed a good bit of pounding--done with a heavy piece of wood or, more carefully, with a smooth-edged rock--before they would begin to flatten and separate and release the individual threads that were so handy for projects ranging from hafting spears, arrows and atlatl points to sewing buckskin clothing and moccasins, but the thin strips of backstrap sinew could simply be worked a bit with the hands, and then pulled apart. Which Einar attempted to do, quickly discovering, though, that his hands had grown too chilled and clumsy as he had sat there basically immobile, working on the glue and the sinew, his hands--and the rest of him, for that matter--shaking pretty badly. Liz, who had been watching in silent curiosity as he worked, keeping the fire going and carving a bit here and there at her spoon-stick, saw his difficulty, led him over closer to the stove and wrapped the wolverine hide around his shoulders, pressed a pot of broth into his hands, warm, nourishing, and he took it, shivering harder at the warmth it brought him and looking up at her over the rim of the pot with grateful eyes as he drank. It looks like you got a lot done, there. Time for a little rest, maybe? Still shaking, Einar nodded, sinking to the ground right there in front of the stove, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly weary, entirely unable to keep his eyes open. Liz had allowed herself to hope, watching him work for hours on the traps and crutch with an unwavering intensity, that the fever had finally left Einar for good, that he was on the mend and was hopefully through with the frightening--to her, at least, and she could only imagine that they must be to him, as well--incidents during which he woke scrambling for the nearest weapon, apparently unaware that he was, for the moment at least, out of immediate danger. Her hope had been premature. The fever was back--whats wrong with you, Einar? Sure wish I knew how to help--Einar responding only with an unintelligible series of grunts when she asked him if he wanted to get up on the bed so he could wrap up in the bear hide, and she lifted him, helping him crawl over to the sleeping

platform and getting him settled in the bear hide, lying down with him for a time, until he was asleep again. Returning to her place beside the stove--this thing really is keeping the place a lot warmer than it was, before--and doing a bit more carving at her spoon, pausing to break up a couple of the bear ribs with a rock and get them in a pot of melted snow to simmer, Liz watched Einar as he lay there sweating and shaking and mumbling in a troubled fever-sleep, wondering once again how she might help him get over his present difficulty, aside from continuing to make sure he had a steady supply of broth and stew to keep him going, and urging him to get rest, when he seemed willing. She wondered whether he might be suffering from an infection of some sort, but none of the wounds that were visible on his ribs and arms from the struggle with the bear appeared infected, or even particularly inflamed after repeated applications of hounds tongueinfused bear fat, and she was at a loss as to what could be causing his ongoing trouble. She would have suspected pneumonia, as he had mentioned dealing with it in the past after inhaling too much river water, but he seemed to be having no trouble at all with his breathing. Well. She tucked the bear hide, dislodged by his shivering, back in around his neck, smoothing the hair away from his eyes. Youre just worn out, I think, and its no wonder. Rest, Einar, and this will pass, soon enough. The fever worried her some, though, as he felt awfully hot, and she wished she did have some willow to give him, as he seemed not to have the same objection to partaking of it as he did the yarrow tea. Seeing that Einar finally appeared to be sleeping somewhat peacefully, Liz slipped on the yearling hide, added another log to the fire, and went in search of some willows. The blast of icy air that entered the den with the first big wind gust after Liz took down the door flap woke Einar, and, thinking that it felt terribly good on his flushed face, he threw open the bear hide and lay there flat on his back for a good five or ten minutes as the fever went down and he began shivering, finally wrapping back up and propping himself up on his elbows, wondering where Liz had gone. More firewood, I guess? He didnt know, doubted it, as the stack in the corner seemed quite sufficient, for the time, rubbed his eyes and shook his head, not liking the slow, confused feeling that seemed to be lingering after his little nap. Never should have gone to sleep like thatnow, what was I doing? Slowly scanning the dim interior of the den--we need some light in here, now that the stove is enclosing the fire. Got to work on a couple of simple bearfat lamps--his eyes came to rest on the thin sheet of deer backstrap sinew that he had set down to accept Lizs offer of broth. Yeah. That. Rolling out of the bed and dragging himself over, he retrieved the sinew, meaning to sit there by the stove and finish preparing it, as he knew that he must have the crutch replacement finished, tested and usable before he could set up that cat trap. Now that he was thoroughly cooled down, though, he could not seem to get warm again, and sat there shivering uncontrollably in the draft from the door, teeth rattling and hands nearly useless, finally hauling himself back up onto the bed and wrapping up in the bear hide on his stomach as he worked the sinew, slowly warming. Twisting, folding, rubbing and separating the thin, strong fibers, he finally ended up with a good sized pile of long, flexible threads, onto which he dabbed a bit of water to further increase their flexibility before beginning to lash the triangular brace and knee support to the spruce branch, anxious, now that he was so close to having it ready, to give the device a try

Carefully lashing the triangular brace and knee support to the spruce stick, Einar set some of the remaining pitch glue on the stove to soften, brushing it over the sinew lashings to waterproof, protect and further secure them. All that remained before he could test the device, he supposed, was to add some padding for his knee, and cut the bear hide strips which he intended to use to lash the stick to his upper leg. Well, that, and find a way to keep myself on my feet for more than a few seconds at a time without getting so awfully dizzy. Just have to make it work, somehow. Returning to the bed, he cut two strips, each two inches wide by nearly three feet long, from the bear hide, thinking that it would be a good idea to be able to wrap them at least twice around his leg, before tying them in place. Then, gathering up a good sized handful of dry grass from the den floor, he pressed it into the coal-burned depression in the knee support, knowing that an equal volume of usnea lichen would have provided more padding and been more resilient and durable, too, but supposing that for the time, he could certainly make do with the grass. OK, time to give this a try. Leaning against the bed in the only spot in the den that came close to having a high enough ceiling to allow him to stand--bent over, but still standing-Einar carefully got the improvised crutch replacement positioned in front of his right leg, scooting forward and resting his knee on it, hanging onto the hip-high top of the spruce upright for support and holding his breath as he eased his full weight onto it. There was a good bit of creaking as the support pieces settled in against their sinew bindings, some scary crackles that led him to believe something was about to snap loose, but nothing did, and Einar finally allowed himself to breathe, a slow grin spreading across his face as he realized that he was standing, alone and without leaning on a wall or a tree or Liz or his crutches, for the first time in weeks. There was nowhere to go in the den, though, and he used the bed to lower himself to the ground and scooted, dragging himself backwards to the entrance and, with difficulty, back to his feet in the rocky, partially protected area beneath the den-ledge. Movement with the device was clumsy, awkward, and he could see that it would take some getting used to, but after ten or twelve steps he found himself already moving more easily than he ever had on the crutches--dizzy, though, and feeling awfully weak, just keep going, ignore it for now--and he could tell that the device was going to work. Needs to be a little shorter, though, especially if Im gonna put on a snowshoe attachment of some sort. Which is looking like a real good idea, and He lay on his stomach in the powder, spitting snow out of his mouth and laughing breathlessly, feeling around for the crutch and wiping his face to free his eyes of the clinging whiteness. And I really, really ought have used those bear hide strips and tied my leg to this thing before giving it a try. Pitching to the side a bit when the crutch had begun sinking into a snowdrift, Einar had fallen off of it, lost his balance and taken a tumble into the snow, and despite his rather chilly hands and face and the wrenching ache in his bad leg where he had twisted it slightly in falling, he was jubilant, excited. It was going to work! What wasnt working, though, were his efforts at getting back up again, even after he had located the crutch and used it to push and shove and support himself as he attempted to rise, failing at that but sinking deeper in the powder with each attempt. Finally, exhausted, coughing and out of breath after ending up with another mouthful of powder snow, he flipped over onto his back and lay there for a minute, panting for air and looking for anything he might grab, a tree branch or nearby boulder, anything, to further aid him, but seeing nothing, and

realizing that he was going to have to return to his stomach and swim out of the soft snow, scrambling on his belly until he reached a spot where the snow was not so very soft and deep. In a minute. Have to get my breath, first It was in this situation--which would have been somewhat comical, had he not been so very, visibly cold by that time-that Liz found him some minutes later when she returned with a big bundle of willow shoots over her shoulder, and seeing Einar--legs sticking up strangely from the deepening pit he had unintentionally dug with his efforts to free himself, every inch of him crusted with snow, straining with the effort of holding his back and shoulders up out of the snow with the crutch--she hastily threw down her burden of willows and helped him up, kicking a trench through the snow so he could move a bit more freely. WorksLiz! Gonna work! What works? Lying in the snow until you freeze to death? I would have thought you already knew that worked. No need to continually test it like this! Now, come back inside. How long have you been out here? Wait. Crutch. He grabbed it, brought it along as she helped him into the den, anxious to show Liz how greatly his walking was improved with the use of the device. Until he hit the deep snow with it, anywaybut seeing that she had brought willows, and plenty of them, he knew that was one problem that would soon be remedied. Liz was having none of it, though, shoving the bundle of willows out of his reach when he went for them, anxious to begin constructing the snowshoe, and keeping them away until she had helped him into some dry clothes, given him a pot of broth to drink and--over his repeated, halfdecipherable objections that he was just fine--got him warmed up some. As he sat there wrapped in the bear hide and sipping the broth Liz had given him, Einar showed her the crutch replacement, explaining excitedly how it worked and how everything, from helping her collect firewood to hunting with the atlatl, was going to be so very much easier, as he got used to using it. Liz nodded, admired the crutch and told him that it was great he had found a solution that would allow him to get away from using the cumbersome crutches all the time, but he could tell there was something more she wanted to say, something that was troubling her, and he stopped talking for a minute, waited to see what it might be. Einar, you really need to rest, stay in bed for a while. Wandering around in the snow out there isnt going to help you get better Aw, now Liz, I didnt go far, andbesides, Id have to be dead before I could stay in bed all day, or at least unconsciousif Im alive, Im gonna be doing things, moving around, or trying to, at least. Unconscious, huh? Well if thats what it is going to take and she eyed the firewood pile, wondering half-seriously whether she would be able to move quickly enough to choose a likely-looking aspen chunk and get in a good hard whack at his head before he sensed her intentions and did something about it, but she just sighed, shook the droplets of melting snow from the willow bundle and handed it to him. I brought lots of these

willows. Want me to make you some tea? Looks like your legs bothering you a little, since we came back in. He looked up from the willows, which he had already begun to sort, choosing a long, sturdy one to bend for the outer frame of the snowshoe, nodding. Sure. Please. As Liz shaved the bark from one of the smaller willows, collecting all of the thin, reddish slivers and dumping them into some simmering water, breaking up and adding the narrow tips from many of the branches as Einar had previously shown her to do--makes a stronger tea, that way, and its quicker than slicing off all that bark--he held the chosen willow shoot over the steaming pot, softening its middle and slowly, steadily bending it until its two ends met, forming a rough oval. Wrapping and tying some sinew around the two ends, lashing them together, he set the loop aside, choosing another stout stick and cutting two pieces out of it, notching their ends and carefully widening the oval created by bending the first stick, inserting the two shorter ones horizontally into the loop and wrapping more sinew where they met. Laying the two-slatted snowshoe frame on the ground, he chose two more sticks, cutting them roughly the length of the oval and notching them, also, fitting them overtop the two horizontal sticks and lashing the four together--using rawhide cut from the bear hide, this time, to save the sinew--allowing the newest additions to stick out a bit over the front and back of the oval, for support. Next he retrieved his crutch from its place leaning against the bed, shortened it by two inches, which it had been needing when he tested it, and would especially need, now that he was adding the height of the snowshoe, and squared the end with his knife, fitting it into the roughly square hold left between the four crossed sticks in the center of the snowshoe. Ha! Its gonna fit! Weaving and tying additional strips of bear hide across the still-open spans of the snowshoe, he set the remaining pitch glue on the stove to soften again, brushing it over all of the rawhide strips to help protect them from absorbing water and stretching. The snowshoe was a crude thing, ugly, awkward--yeah, a lot like me--and could definitely be improved upon when he had time, but at the moment Time to go set up this cat trap, Liz!

The snow was still coming down as Einar and Liz left the den to place the sticky bark sheets, and Einar, gingerly testing his new crutch with its newly-completed snowshoe base, was a bit concerned that blowing snow could end up covering enough of the squares that the trap might be rendered ineffective. He didnt worry about it for long, though, because his entire attention was soon consumed with the attempt to stay on his feet and navigate the snowy woods. The crutch and snowshoe were not, as it turned out, the problem. They were working wonderfully, improving his balance, the snowshoe preventing his wooden leg from sinking a foot or two into every snowdrift he encountered and pitching him forward onto his face as had happened with his initial experiment, but his left foot, having no such advantage, was sinking instead, making travel difficult and extremely tiring as he braced himself on the snowshoed crutch-foot, leaning heavily on a stout stick for balance as he struggled to free his left leg. Huh.

Clearly need two snowshoes, and it looks like Liz could really use a pair, too. That may be a project for tonight. Starting them, anyway, because I got atlatl darts to make and hopefully a spear for Liz, and one for me, too, before we go after this cat in the morning. If he even comes back tonight. Bet he will. Those critters eat eight or ten pounds of meat a day when they can get ahold of it, from what I hear, so I cant think why hed pass up on the opportunity to raid our meat-tree again. They had, by that time, reached the tree, the going a good bit easier for Einar in the shallower snow there under the black timber, though he was having to watch carefully to see that his snowshoe did not hang up on rocks or the protruding branches of fallen trees, and he stood staring with a clenched jaw at the mess the cat had left of their meat supply, spruce-root ropes snapped and hanging, empty, where many pounds of food had been, and he lowered one of the remaining pieces, a section of ribs that he had hacked out and hung--no wonder this wasnt the critters first choice, but I bet hell be back for it--leaving it within easy reach of a leaping cat, but not so low that every fox and ermine that passed might dine on it, leaving less of a tempting target for the hungry cat. The bait in place, Einar took some of the sap-covered bark squares from Liz and began carefully placing them in a rough circle around the hanging rib section, covering the edges of each square with dirt and small rocks that he had scraped loose from beneath the duff, wanting to make sure they would not blow away before the cat had a chance to come along and--hopefully--end up with a number of them stuck to his paws and fur. Liz took the other side of the tree, arranging the remaining sticky squares in a rough half circle that met Einars, securing them as he had been with dirt and rocks, even going back and adding dirt to the corners of a few of his, as he had been unable to be quite as thorough as he would have liked, due to the limitation the crutch put on his ability to crouch down and reach the ground. You dont think the lion will smell us all around here, and stay away? Oh, hell smell us, alright, but it didnt seem to concern him too much the first time. Thats another thing I dont like about this. Dont want him getting too accustomed to us, losing his fear of the human scent. Cats are usually no threat, but that--over familiarity-can create a dangerous situation where we start looking like food, especially those of us who may be sorta gimpy in one leg, for the moment. AlthoughI certainly wouldnt want to be the cat who attacked a person wearing a contraption like this, he joked, tapping on the crutch. Hed come away from that encounter with a splitting headache, and no meal to show for it. Unless he managed to knock me down, and then Yeah. Best not to let him get too familiar with us, too accustomed to our presence. Besides, you ever eaten cat? No. Not that I know of, anyway Well, its some of the best stuff youll ever taste. Real white meat, pretty tender, actually. Would be a great change from all this bear, and the hidewe can certainly use all the hides we can get ahold of, right now. Hopefully this trap works like the Incas and those old guides Ive talked to said it does! Guess well find out, first thing in the

morning. Liz nodded, still thinking that it sounded like a very bad idea indeed for a one-legged man who had, for the past several days, been experiencing periodic difficulty with staying on his feet and awake for more than minutes at a time, to deliberately corner and take on a big cat, but knowing there was no dissuading him from the plan, she resolved simply to do her best to back him up in his efforts. Speaking of the intermittent fever and its effects on him he was, even at the moment, swaying, staring off into the snowy woods as if he had suddenly forgotten where he was, why he was there, jumping and glancing up at her with a bit of a lost, confused look in his eyes when she spoke to him. She felt his face, found it hot despite the bitter wind. Lets head back, OK, if were all done with the trap? I left that stew near the fire, and wouldnt want it to boil dry He nodded, took a halting step back away from the trap-tree, got himself turned around with her help and headed across the slope towards the den, shuffling a bit, dragging the crutch and bad leg behind him for a few steps as he hopped along on his left leg, leaning on his walking stick. After a minute of that he stopped and scooped up a big handful of snow, eating part of it and shoving the rest up under his hat, pressing down to start it melting, Liz watching in dismay and wondering if she ought to try and stop him. Shivering as the icy water began trickling through his hair and running in a thin stream down the back of his neck, Einar wiped his face, shook his head and looked up at her, grinning. Whew! Thats better. Now whatd you say about that stew? Back in the den they ate, Einar hanging his hat to dry on one of the exposed spruce roots above the stove and, as he gobbled chunks of bear rib meat and rehydrated chokecherries, spreading the contents of his pack out on the floor, including several atlatl heads that he had been working on over the past few days, and one larger point, carved from the bears front leg bone, that he had intended as a spearhead. Beside it he set a very similar, though not quite finished piece, scrutinizing it and picturing the needed modifications that would turn it into a second spearhead. Among the willows Liz had brought back from the cattail meadow were several that looked sturdy enough to make passable spear shafts, and he intended to complete work on both weapons that evening, wanting both he and Liz armed with one, when they went for the cat. Handing Liz the stew pot, from which he had eaten a healthy portion--the walk down to the tree and the feeling that he was, finally, managing to get something useful done for a change, rather than spending most of his time holed up in the den, had left him with a better appetite than hed had in days, despite the fever--he chose one of the willow shafts and carefully split it, inserting the base often spearhead and softening a bit of sinew in his mouth, removing it when it was soft and pliable and wrapping it around and around the split section of the willow, binding it securely back together and using another piece to wrap up around the notches he had carved on either side of the spear point, further securing it to the shaft. Looking it over one final time, he handed the spear to Liz. This is yours. Want to come lion hunting with me?

Taking the spear she drew it back, poised, looking to Einar as if she was ready to charge at the cat without any hesitation, and he gave he a goofy little smile when she lowered the weapon and glanced over at him, not entirely sure what to make of her sudden aggressive stance, the natural confidence with which she handled the weapon, but supposing that he liked it just fine. There was no way you were going to talk me out of it, Einar! Of course Im coming with you. Wellgood! He grinned at her, shrugged and looked away quickly, wanted to tell her that he would be most honored to have her along, that she was a companion that any hunter would be more than proud to have standing beside him, but couldnt think of a way to say it that did not sound terribly goofy, so he dropped the matter. Now, Liz, I think Ill be able to get in a pretty good hit with the atlatl--throwing will be a lot easier, now that Im not on the crutches anymore, and Im gonna have a total of four darts when I get done working here tonight--but I need you to be ready to back me up, alright? We still need to get you some practice with the atlatl, and I can make you your own pretty soon here, but for this, better just stick with the spear I guess. Big cats have been successfully fought off with such things--hiking sticks, even--and theyre highly unlikely to attack a person at all, would much rather avoid contact, but of course, in this case, were the ones initiating the contact, sobest be ready. Liz nodded, handed him a fresh pot of spruce needle tea. That night as Liz and Einar lay bundled up in the bear hide, weary, their work finally done and thoughts of the morning on both their minds, the mountain lion, a three year old male, returned to the spot high on the ridge above the den where he had cached his stolen supply of bear meat, finishing it, and, still hungry, heading down the ridge for the spot where he knew that more awaited him.

Weary as he was, Einar did not get a tremendous amount of that sleep that night, troubled as he was by ongoing dreams that had him startling awake more than once, holding himself rigid against the powerful impulse to jump up and get his hands on the atlatl or knife--no need to get up, knifes right here under the rolled-up wolverine hide were using for a pillowfeel it? See, still there--and remaining still with the greatest difficulty, wishing very much to avoid disturbing Liz but feeling an almost overwhelming urgency to leave the bed, the den, to flee out into the night and find a suitable tree to dive beneath, and huddle there for the rest of the night, wakeful, watching, listeningbut he did not. The fever was gone, it seemed, his thinking clearer--even as he lay there sleepless, trembling, almost tasting the need to run, to move--than it had been when hed woke thus during the past several nights, and he was very thankful for the change, glad to be himself once again, such as he was. Which sure isnt much, at the moment! Now will you please go back to sleep already? Got a cat to take, and morning coming pretty quick, here. Easier said than done, but he did finally sleep, Liz, who had been awake, herself, and aware of his struggle, sleeping also, waking before he did in the early predawn darkness,

certain that morning had come or was about to, slipping out of the bed and stirring the fire back to life, melting a pot of snow for them to drink before heading out. By the time the snow was melted and the water heating, Einar had joined her by the stove, rubbing the sandiness from his eyes--and the feeling back into his fingers--and fitting his snowshoe into place on the end of his crutch, once more inspecting their small arsenal of four atlatl darts, two spears and a good fixed blade apiece--Well. Sure hope it doesnt come down to that, because the cat would end up ahead, Im pretty certain. Looking at those tracks, the critter weighs more than I do, by a good twenty or thirty pounds--and hoping that it would be enough, that his skill and strength might be equal to the task that hopefully waited for him with sticky feet and a stomach full of stolen meat, out near that big spruce. It was his turn with the pot of warm water--infused with spruce needles and a good dose of honey for energy in the cold; he could tell by the smell--Liz holding it out to him, but he knelt there for a minute leaning on his spear, head bowed, seeking strength, for wisdom, asking that Liz, at least, might come through the morning without being injured in any way. Finished with his prayer, Einar accepted the pot, drank, and Liz helped him into his buckskin vest and got the wolverine hide wrapped and secured around his shoulders, wishing he could take advantage of the yearling hides warmth, but knowing that he was not yet strong enough to carry both its weight and his own. Soon. Hes eating, getting some rest, seems to be over the fever. It wont be long. And, knowing that the morning air was certain to be bitingly cold, she freed the hide from its spot above the door and slipped it over her head. Quietly, slowly, avoiding areas of harder packed wind drift that might crunch and prematurely give away their presence, Liz and Einar made their way across the slope towards the meat-tree, the cat-tree, stopping frequently to listen, but hearing nothing, nor especially expecting to. It was light, or nearly so, the snow continuing to fall but not nearly as heavily as it had been the past several mornings, and Einar squinted into the whiteness as they approached the stand of trees that held the trap, saw the tracks, fresh, hours-fresh, it appeared, if that, took another step and was finally able to make out the spruce-root cord that had held the rib section, dangling, broken, empty, and he fitted a dart into the atlatl. Stopping behind a clump of stunted firs, Einar, every sense taut, listening, reaching out for clues, scanned the snowy shadows beneath the nearby trees, the dark smudge that was the exposed duff where he had scraped up dirt to pin down the bark and pitch strips, the somewhat less dark smear over against a fallen aspen, that hadnt been there the evening before! Holding his breath, raising his arm with a motion so slow as to be almost imperceptible, he focused on that smear, held himself rigid, still, waiting until he could make out a shoulder, an ear, a cat, and a big one, working intently on a front paw where it must have encountered one of his sticky traps, and he took another step, cautious, as stealthy as one can possibly be, with a wooden leg and snowshoe, getting himself out from behind the tangle of little firs that had been obstructing his shot, threw the dart. And missed, the cat rising and streaking away across the snow all in one swift motion, a shadow, a ghost, a swirl of snow and then nothing, Einar fitting another dart by feel as he watched it but refraining from throwing, the creature long gone into the black timber of

the ridge. Hobbling over to the spot where the lion had reclined against the aspen trunk, Einar found his dart, retrieved it, a mere inch or two from the impression left by the big cats shoulder where it had lain in the snow, shreds of bark attesting to the efficacy of the trap. Well. Gone. Liz was there beside him by that time, staring at the large, fresh tracks and up into the dark woods where the creature had disappeared. It was beautiful, wasnt it? She whispered, awe in her voice. Einar stared at the dart in his hand, face grim, stony. It is gone. And so is most of our food. I messed up, Liz. Bad. And, grabbing what remained of the rib section they had used for bait, he turned without another word to head back for the den, knowing that if he gave himself time to consider the matter, he would decide to track the cat, would have to, and probably wouldnt make it back from such an excursion. No sense in that. Cats gone. Back in the den Einar sank heavily to the ground beside the bed, leaning on it, silent, shoulders bowed, shivering in his snowy clothes until Liz insisted that he join her by the stove to warm up, practically dragging him over and pressing broth into his hands, telling him to drink. Dont take it so hard, Einar. You missed. It happens Yes. Happens a lot. He was staring at the ground, rolling a dart back and forth between his fingers, wouldnt look at her, continued, speaking quietly, firmly despite the exhaustion evident in his voice. Did you know that in the wildand this is definitely the wilda healthy, fit predator will usually only be successful at taking prey somewhere between twenty and thirty percent of the time? Hungeris a fact of life out here. And of death. And I know that, accept it, but I dontit isnt right that Ive brought you into such a life, Liz. Not right. She grabbed his shoulders, tried to get him to look at her, but he wouldnt. You didnt bring me into this life. I came here. Came back. To you. To this. Several times, if you remember And, she released her hold on his shoulders, realizing that she had been shaking him, there is no place I would rather be. Dont you believe me, dear Einar? He looked up at her, caught her eye, nodded slowly. I believe you.

That first week back at the den had been a difficult one, between the ongoing storm, Einars illness, the loss of much of the bear and the subsequent loss of the cat--he never did return to the tree where the meat had been hung, after his encounter with the sticky traps; Liz checked every day, for awhile--whose meat they had hoped would add to their dwindling food supply, but none of these things were on Einars mind as he and Liz

climbed side by side up the slope below the den, deer quarters over their shoulders and the promise of a fresh venison feast awaiting them, as soon as they returned to the shelter. Liz, however, watching Einar climb and seeing that a bit of his strength was finally beginning to return, did reflect on the week that had come before, on the long, sleepless night hours during which she had had sat with him as he struggled with the fever and the troubling visions it brought him, the days of care and worry as she had hurried back from collecting firewood only to find him, often as not, sprawled out in the snow in front of the den, exhausted, purple-lipped and half frozen where he had fallen when his energy had run out, striving beyond the limits of his strength as he had sought to keep going, to help her maintain things around the place, and though she had been furious with him at the time for doing that to himself, she had to admit that she loved him for it, too, for that absurd, implacable tenacity that so often kept him going when no reasonable human ought to be able to, ought to want to, even, and she looked over at him, caught his eye as they paused there resting just below the flattish spot in front of the den, smiled, and he returned it. Thankful. Grateful. Each of them thinking that life was, at the moment, very, very good. As was Lizs stew of very fresh venison and dried serviceberries, eaten steaming hot and in great abundance some hour or two later, the cattail starch flatbread she baked on top of the stove to go with it, the pot of chokecherry pudding, thickened with cattail starch and sweetened with the last of the honey, and as they ate Einar and Liz discussed the future, the need to build a raised cache for keeping meat secure from scavengers and thieves, the snare line that Liz had been working on over the last few days since the loss of the cat and which Einar meant to expand as soon as he was able to get around just a bit better, small things, hopeful things, life would go on.

That evening as Einar and Liz sat beside the stove enjoying the last of their meal, the wind picked up outside, swaying the trees and freeing them of their heavy burdens of snow in a series of soft thuds, a restless, scouring wind, the sort that often as not heralds a significant shift in the weather, and Einar felt it, left the warmth of the stove to crawl over and push the bear hide aside, listening, smelling, tasting the wind. It had, for the first time in days, stopped snowing, the wind sharp and bitterly cold, a few stars visible already through the dispersing clouds. Letting the bear skin door fall back into place, Einar secured it with the flat rocks they had been using for that purpose, adding several additional ones to further pin it in place. It was going to be a very cold night by all appearances, and they would not have the benefit of a fire to warm the shelter through it. Storms breaking up, Liz. First time Ive seen stars since that night when I was climbing up to the canyon rim, just before the avalanches. You can be sure theyre gonna have choppers up, and until we give it a few days, see what their search pattern is like and how much activity were dealing with, well be needing to do without that fire. She moved to put out the fire, quickly shoving aside the stove door-rock and scraping up a double handful of dirt from the floor to throw in, but Einar stopped her. Wait. Lets take a few minutes and melt some more snow, make sure all the water

bottles are full and boil up some more of this deer so we got cooked meat to eat for a day or so, at least. I figure we have a little time, enough to do that much, anyway, before we can expect company. And its gonna be awful cold tonight; I can feel it. Always seems to happen that way the first night a big storm moves out and the sky gets clear. Wouldnt hurt to stick a couple more rocks down in the coals to keep close while we sleep, tonight. Filling two of the three water bottles with the water that was already steaming in the pot, Liz hurriedly scraped up more snow to begin melting, soon filling the third as Einar piled grass and duff from the floor against the bottom of the door, blocking out most of the draft that came in beneath the bear hide. It would not, he knew, be a good idea at all to seal off all airflow into the den while they still had the fire going, but was not worried about the possibility that his efforts might do so, with the amount of air he could feel seeping in along the sides of the door. With all three water bottles full and tucked into the hide on the sleeping platform where they would stay all night to prevent their freezing, and Liz chopping venison and adding it to the boiling water in the second pot, Einar filled the first yet again with snow and set it to melt, adding another handful of snow every time the level went down far enough to allow it, and keeping this up as the pot began to fill with water. Thisll almost certainly re-freeze overnight, but its a lot easier to melt ice down for water than it is snow, and if it comes down to having to melt something in our mouths for water for a little while because we cant have a fire, well, the water content is so much higher in ice than snow that it goes a lot faster. So having a pot full of ice around wont be a bad thing, at all. As he tended the pot of melting snow, Einar searched about in the pile of rocks near the entrance, certain that he had seen among the granite slabs and flakes and the occasional chunk of grey shale a piece or two of the red sandstone that was so common in the area at slightly lower elevations and, with a bit of searching and sorting, managed to come up with one. Adding more snow to the pot, he chose a sharply fractured piece of granite and used it to chip away at the top surface of the sandstone lump, stopping to remove the rock fragments when he had worked a good-sized little pit into it, nearly twice as long as it was wide. Then, scraping the granite back and forth in the pit he deepened it, pausing frequently to tap the accumulated sandstone dust out of the growing trench, carving a shallow notch at one end of the trench, and finally, satisfied, setting the rock on the cooking surface of the stove to warm. OK, that ought to do. Liz did not respond and Einar looked up to see her bent over the rock that held her cattailfelt experiment, which, after being set aside and neglected for days in the aftermath of the discovery that the lion had taken a good portion of their food, had suddenly taken on a new and rather urgent importance with the realization that serious cold was on its way, and they would not, for the time at least, be able to ward it off with a fire. The felt, if it could be called that, was thoroughly dry by that time, had been for a day or two, actually, and she saw that it had regained a good bit of its original loft, the cattail fuzz fibers losing their original scratchy coarseness--which, according to Einar, tended to cause an itchy,

red rash if in contact with the skin for too many hours at a time--and coming out wonderfully soft and fleecy-feeling, but when she carefully took the round pad of felt in her hand, she was dismayed to find that it did not want to hold together too well at all, one corner of it coming loose in her hand and another section appearing close to separating, also. She set it back down, disappointed. The stuff more closely resembled the loose, synthetic stuffing she had used in sewing projects than the wool-like felt she had been hoping for, and certainly lacked the integrity to be cut and shaped and used as-is for footwear or even insoles or floor padding, and she wondered what she might add to the mix that would act as a binder, without reducing the air-trapping, insulating properties of the down. An experiment for some other time, clearly, as she could see that Einar was finished with his work at the stove, was nearly ready to put the fire out, and they were about to lose their light for the night. Before putting out the fire there was one last thing that Einar needed to do, breaking off a small slab of the rendered bear fat they had saved from the yearling and dropping it, piece by piece, into the depression he had carved in the sandstone chunk, warm by that time from the heat of the stove, the fat quickly beginning to liquefy. Choosing one of the bundles of unprocessed milkweed fibers that he had weeks ago stripped from some of the stems Liz had brought back to their shelter in the crevice, subsequently storing and carrying in her pack, he rubbed them roughly between his palms to clean them of some of the outer bark and pith pieces that still clung to them, dipping two of his fingers into the pot of melt water and dampening the fibers to make them easier to work with. Twisting and cording the fibers, Einar, already struggling with stiffening hands and uncooperative fingers as the den began to cool with the dying down of the fire, created a string nearly a foot long, cutting off a several inch section and soaking it thoroughly in the melted fat in the sandstone rock before pulling about an inch of it up out of the liquid and laying it in the notch he had carved at one end of the trench, leaving the end of it sticking out over the edge of the rock. Pulling a flaming stick from the fire, he lit the end of the wick, glad to see that, after a few initial moments of sputtering and smoking and threatening to go out, it glowed steadily with a small, uniform orange flame. A lamp! The time had come, then, no sense in delaying the inevitable, and no wisdom, either, in risking the heat signature from their little fire showing up bright and clear to some passing, searching aircraft in contrast with the bitter air of the mountainside that night, and Einar made one final trip over to the bear hide, pulling aside a corner and waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark before looking up and confirming that the storm had not returned. Which it had not, the sky clear and pierced with millions of stars, their light hard, white, sharp-edged and looking tremendously close through the thin, cold mountain air, moisture on the hairs in Einars nose freezing as he breathed it. A sure sign of an arctic night to come, and he pulled his head and shoulders back into the warmth of the den, once more securing the bear hide and throwing Lizs scraped-together pile of dirt onto the fire. They sat together wrapped in the bear hide watching as the coals died, orange fading to black, the wan, flickering little flame of the lamp taking over as the sole light source in the den, and Einar was reminded of the first time he had used a similar lamp for light, the previous winter when he had been holed up in the old mine tunnel, injured and starving, feeding tiny slivers of his last remaining fat to that hungry little

lamp and praying that its light would not die, its meager warmth leave him, not for another night, at least, not until he had--hopefully--managed to come up with a little something to eat, something to sustain him just a bit longer He shivered, put his arm around Liz, hoped she would never have to face that level of crushing desperation and knowing that it was up to him to do what he could to see to it that she did not, both by securing a food supply for them that winter, and by teaching her all he knew, the collective wisdom of hundreds of days of hard work and struggle, knowledge bought and paid for many times over with the coin of pain and she was saying something, and Einar pulled himself out of his reminiscing to listen. We wont be able to hear them from in here, will we? The helicopters, when they come Dont know. But I will feel them, the way they shake the ground, that rumblingI can always feel them long before I hear His voice trailed off, body taut with listening, straining in the silence as he sought any sign of the search that he knew must come, nearly jumping up out of the bear hide the next minute at the loud splintering crack! that came from somewhere just outside the shelter.

Crouching on the den floor in front of the entrance, spear in his hands and the lamp quickly smothered with a slab of bark, Einar, Liz close beside him, listened as one loud crack followed another, two, three, and thennothing. Silence, unbroken but by the wind. Liz felt him relax just a bit after a few moments of that, let his breath out and roll over. Pushing the stove door aside he stirred the coals until he found a small pocket of still-glowing ones, adding a couple of small sticks, blowing them to life and re-lighting the lamp. He was grinning when she glanced over at him apprehensively, spear still gripped tightly in her hands. Einar laughed softly, shaking his head and wiping his face, setting his spear down, and Liz, very reluctant, did the same. What was itand whats so funny? Cold. Just the cold. Temperatures going down fast out there, and the trees are trying to keep up with it, wood contracting, snapping. Are you serious? You scared me, jumping like that and heading for the door! I thought somethingsomeonemust be out there. Uhwell, I though so too, for a second. But no. Just the trees. If it happens fast enough and under the right conditions, the weather change, the sap can freeze and expand so quickly that the trees throw off splinters, just shatter, almost. Ive seen it, seen the results of it. Not quite that cold, tonight though. Was just the sound of the wood snapping and adjusting, like house logs, or even deck timbers will, on a winter evening when it starts getting real cold. Now. We better get to bed before we end up frozen, too, and splintering like one of those trees. Starting to get pretty cold in here.

She nodded, gave him an odd look. Huh. Well Id have to worry about that, maybe, but Im becoming convinced that you must have some sort of antifreeze in your blood, like those toads that burrow down in the mud so it can freeze solid around them until spring when they can thaw out and start hopping around again, no worse off for having spent the winter that way Toad, is it? Well, I have been known to eat bugs from time to time, but theyre not exactly my first preference. And I usually only sleep in the mud when Ive got no other choicebut your mention of antifreeze does remind me that I need to get back to my training, just as soon as my legs a little better and I manage to put on a few pounds, hopefully. While I may not have antifreeze-blood, it sure isnt an accident that Ive been able to get along with the cold as well as I have, for the most part. Were old friends from way backenemies too, at times, but mostly friends. It takes a good bit of work to keep yourself in a place, both physically and mentally, where you can work with the cold like that and use it to your advantage, even, and I havent really been able to work on that at all, since this whole thing started. Too busy running at first, then too focused on dealing with injuries and hunger and just trying to keep myself alivepretty hard to deal with the cold when you got almost no body fat left, let alone deliberately seek it out, but things sure do seem to be starting to turn around, now! Ill tell you how I do it, sometime, this training, if you want to know She nodded, carried the lamp over to the sleeping platform and began untying her boots, meaning to change into her fresh pair of socks that had been hanging from the roots above the stove, drying. Yes, sometime. Im very interested, and this sounds like something that I ought to know about, too, if Im going to be living out here. But how about we wait to talk about it any more until sometime when we can have a nice fire going, some tea to be sipping on, maybethis whole conversation is making awfully me cold, right now. Lets go to bed! Its a lot warmer up there off the floor. The cold was to have its affect on both of them that night--antifreeze or not--as temperatures plunged far below zero on the mountainside and the heated rocks of the stove gave off their last warmth and slowly adopted the temperature of the surrounding air, bitter, icy air that crept in around the bearskin door flap, freezing the water in the cooking pot before an hour had gone by, Einar and Liz pressed close together in the bear hide with the warmed rocks on either side of them, the wolverine fur over their heads for additional warmth and the hide of the recently-taken deer spread out over them, as well, listening to occasional snap and creak of the spruces outside the den. Einar stirred first, the distant rumble of the first of many helicopters reaching him faint but unmistakable through the mass of rock and dirt and snapping him out of a light sleep long before it was audible to Liz, leaving him lying there rigid and tense as he strove to avoid waking her with his shivering. Drawing his face in under the bear hide he pressed himself down into the bed, flattening himself--a subconscious action, and one which he would have perhaps resisted, had he been aware of it, as it clearly served no function; he was already as hidden as possible from the rumbling, hovering vulture outside, holed up as he was in the bear den--and Liz, who had been awake for some time herself trying to restore some

feeling to her numbed toes by bending and wiggling them, rolled over to face Einar, asking him what was wrong. Chopper. Knew theyd becoming, with the weather clearing like this. Its OK. Trees are thick above us here, and this placeuhI dont think therell be too much heat streaming out that door for them to pick up on. Not too much left from the fire. By that time Liz could hear the helicopter, too, and they waited there, still, holding their breath as it passed, tremendously relieved when it seemed to pass without hovering or focusing on their specific location. Einar had crawled hastily out of the bed and crouched listening at the door flap as the sound faded off into the distance, finally returning to the sleeping platform at Lizs urging, creeping back into the bear hide and warming chilled fingers in his armpits. Guess I better listen from here, if there are any more of those tonight. Gonna take me an hour or two just to start warming back up, it feels like. Einar had brought with him a good-sided slab of rendered bear fat, breaking off a piece and handing it to Liz, after sticking a chunk of it into his mouth to begin softening. Eat this. Fat will help you stay warm. Liz took the offered snack, which while it ordinarily would have seemed a bit repulsive to her, sounded great, at the moment. Will it help my toes, too, I wonder? Sure, some. Toes a big problem? I havent been able to feel them for a while. I think I need to make some slippers, insulated, padded in some way, for nights like this. Rolling back out of the bed over Lizs objections, Einar scooted over to the stove and felt around until he located her cattail-down felt experiment, bringing it, the oversized bear hide mittens she had made for him and a big armload of dry grass, back over to the bed. Here. Try this. Ought to help a lot, stuffed down inside your socks. Then see if the mittens will fit overtop, like slippers. While she worked to divide the felt and get it down into her socks as insulation, Einar stuffed the dry grass between the bear hide and that of the deer, pulling the deer hide down so that it would cover their lower halves and keep the extra insulation in place. Hauling himself back up onto the sleeping platform, he lay silent for a minute, shivering, exhausted, until he trusted himself to speak again. Well, thats about all I can do for tonight. I think itll be enough, and we canscrape together some more insulation tomorrow. Might be a good idea to gather a bunch of usnea from the trees around here. Itll be a lot more durable for stuffing our clothes with, and softer, too, than this grass and duff. May be a little while before wecan have a fire again. The night was a long one for both of them, between the not-quite adequate protection from the frigid temperatures and the repeated helicopter flights that kept them frequently wakeful and, Einar, especially, on edge, and they were both greatly relieved at the sight of

daylight, showing itself finally as a bright ring around three sides of the bear hide door and reminding them that they really could do better at sealing the place off from drafts. It was going to be a sunny day, the first in well over a week, and Einar was glad. He knew that in the absence of fire, they would be needing the suns light and warmth if they were to have much hope of securing a reasonable quantity of drinking water to replace their meager supply, which had dwindled significantly through the night, as they drank it to accompany the fat they had continued partaking of in the attempt to keep themselves producing something approaching adequate heat. While fire was out, for the time, Einar did have a definite idea of how to secure some water as the day went on, and he crept out of bed, rubbing stiff limbs and wishing his leg was sound enough to allow him to stand up and jump around the shelter to warm himself, finally resorting to swinging his arms and beating them against his sides to get the blood flowing. All right. Water

In the dim light that was managing to find its way in around the door, Einar searched through the supplies that Liz had so neatly lined up against one curved wall of the den-got to build her a shelf sometime; bet shed like a shelf or two--finding what remained of one of the black plastic bags that she had used as a wind-breaker while up on the canyon rim, unfolding and flattening it. Yes. Enough of it left intact. Ought to work just fine. There was an area just above the den entrance where he knew from observation the sun would eventually, as the day wore on, peek up over the ridge and spill down between the branches of the evergreens to grace a small area with its rays for the scant few hours of sunlight the northerly aspect of the slope allowed--this situation would have been better for us, probably, if the critter had dug his den on a south facing slope where we could get a little more winter sunlight, but bears usually seem to pick north slopes, I guess because the snow stays thicker on them, and provides more insulation--and Einar intended to take advantage of the black plastics heat-absorbing properties to hopefully melt some snow to add to their drinking water supply. Dehydration, he knew, would greatly compound the difficulty that they were likely to experience with the cold over the next few days, and while they would not be out in the wind and sun climbing and exerting themselves to hasten the process--such activity would leave too many prints, visible from the air, in the freshly fallen blanket of snow-the simple act of living and breathing required a certain amount of liquid, without which they would be putting themselves at greatly increased risk of frostbite and dangerously lowered body temperature as they sat there in the den, waiting for the weather to worsen again or the air search to let up, on its own. No sign of that, so far, as he had already heard one helicopter somewhere off in the distance, as well as what had sounded--best as he could tell through the small hole that let such sounds in through the mass of earth that surrounded them--like a small plane, flying low and following the valley that deepened and narrowed and eventually led up to the canyon. Well. This business of melting snow on a black plastic bag is going to have to be done very carefully, or that big old regularshaped square of black sitting on the fresh snow in the sunlight will just turn into a signal for any passing aircraft. Well have to take turns sitting out there by the bag andwell

watching snow melt while we listen for aircraft, so the thing can be stuffed under a tree and hidden before anything gets too close. Gonna be a while before we need to start that, though. Got two, maybe three hours Im guessing, before well see the sun on this slope. With the steepness of the ridges and the narrowness of the valleys in that area, Einar knew that it was not at all uncommon for the sun to rise sometime after ten in the morning, in the winter, and set well before three. He stretched his arms, stiff, hurting, realized that he couldnt stop shaking even if he tried, which he really hadnt been, for the most part, as it required too much effort, and he watched a bit jealously as Liz warmed herself with a series of sit-ups, pushups and leg lifts on the ground in front of the sleeping platform. Now thats a real good idea, Liz. Guess Id better try something like that. Which he did, though knowing that his chances for success were slim, and soon proving the same to himself when he collapsed to the ground on the first try at a pushup, his arms unable to support him. He had expected little better, between the slowly healing shoulder and the difficulties posed by having his leg in the cast. Sit-ups did not go much better, though, and while he grimly stuck with it through five or six of them, stomach muscles cramping, or close to it--didnt even know that was possible--he did not have the strength to work hard enough to warm himself. Lying there staring at the dimly visible ceiling with its crisscross network of spruce roots, catching his breath, exasperated at himself for not being able to complete the simple tasks he had required of himself, he knew that what he badly needed was food, and a lot of it, if he was to begin regaining his strength. Time for breakfast. Which meant chipping frozen broth and meat chunks out of the pot Liz had boiled up the night before, and after a considerable amount of work with the knife he sat there beside the dark, cold stove, waiting for the frozen lump of venison in his mouth to begin melting so that he could chew it, further chilled by the half-frozen broth that trickled down his throat, shivering and clasping the wolverine hide around his shoulders. Meanwhile, Liz had stopped her exercises and joined him, making some comment about finally being able to feel her hands again, and seeming to Einar awfully cheerful, considering the circumstances. She could see his distress, though; uncomplaining as he was, certain things were difficult to hide, and taking the pot, knife and bearfat lamp along, she helped him back up onto the sleeping platform and into the bear hide, where she stayed close to him for warmth as they shared their breakfast of frozen venison and broth-ice chips, lighting the lamp and setting it on a flat rock that she dragged up onto the platform, periodically warming her hands over its little flame and encouraging Einar to do the same. Staring at the little lamp, Einar got an idea, retrieved a three spruce sticks from the woodpile and used a granite chunk to pound them into the soft dirt of the sleeping platform, spaced in such a way as to provide a support for the cooking pot. Sliding the lamp in beneath the pot as it sat propped on the upright sticks, he fumbled around in his pocket until he found the remainder of the piece of milkweed cordage from which he had cut the short wick-piece the day before, cutting two more similar and dabbing them with the bits of fat that were beginning to melt at the base of the first wick, boring holes in the cold-hardened white of the bear fat in the lamp and inserting them in two different places.

As the flames took, beginning to soften and melt the fat beneath the new wicks and draw it up into them for burning, the little lamp began to throw off a noticeable amount of heat, both Einar and Liz inching closer to it and holding out chilled hands as it very slowly began to warm the bottom surface of the cooking pot, starting almost imperceptibly to melt the ice-broth. The fat in the lamp liquefied long before the broth did, and Einar could hardly restrain himself from dipping a finger into it now and then and consuming a bit of the warm, liquefying grease, Liz soon joining him. Kinda wish we had a spoon, he finally admitted. This fat is just the thing, on a fine chilly morning like this one. If we had a spoon, she retorted, I think we would soon have no fat left in our lamp, and it would go out. Ive just been waiting and wondering how long it was going to take before you picked up the lamp and started drinking Huh. Well, it is tempting, for sure. Here. Looks like this stew is starting to thaw just a little. Gonna take an awful long time over this little lamp before that ice actually melts, and as far as heating the waterwell, thatd quite literally take all day I think, but it ought to be a little easier now to chip the pieces of meat out, at least. Which is a good thing, because those little shavings I was getting off with the knife sure werent doing much but making me hungrier, and colder, too. The ice had, indeed, softened a bit, and removing the pot from its tripod of sticks and working away at it with his knife, Einar was able to turn it into a pile of icy chunks which, if not nearly as appealing just then as a bubbling, steaming pot of stew would have been, were at least edible. And they ate, quickly emptying the pot, scraping out the coldcongealed bits of remaining deer fat with their fingers and looking hungrily about for more, satisfying themselves with a few more scoops of mostly liquefied bear grease, until Liz scrambled out of the bed and hacked off another good sized chunk of venison to begin softening and thawing over the little flames. It would be raw, or mostly so, but she did not care. She could not remember ever in her life feeling quite as hungry as she did at that moment, though she was ashamed to admit it to Einar, who, by the look of him, had to have been through far worse, and for a much longer period of time. They had food available at the moment, though, so it seemed to her that they ought to eat, seemed essential that they eat, if they wanted any chance at staying warm, and as Einar made no objection when she--with his help--finished off the second course of their breakfast, eating it mostly frozen and with great relish, she again left the bed to prepare a third. As the fresh slab of frozen venison sat softening in the slightly-warm pot above the little lamp, Liz turned to Einar, who while he appeared a bit mesmerized, staring at the lamp flames as he lay propped on his elbows, was actually deep in thought. We probably need to slow down, dont we, with this deer. Not eat so much at once. Especially with most of the bear gone He went on staring into the flames for a time, seeming not to have heard her, before finally shaking his head as if waking from a state of near sleep, glancing up. No. Go

ahead and eat it. Gonna have an awfully rough time staying warm if you limit yourself, like that. Especially just sitting here in the den like this, without a fire. Takes an awful lot of calories to stay warm in conditions like this. I know, because I didnt have them last winter, and spent most of it in one stage of hypothermia, or another. I made it, but sometimes Im not at all sure how--Providence, it must have been, some of those nights-and were gonna try real hard and avoid that, this time. So, eat. Well have to get more of those snares out, soon, hope for some rabbits, squirrels. Probably not gonna see too many more deer or elk, not this high, not this late. They head down, like most sensible creatures do. Like we probably should havebut here we are. And at least we have all this bear fat, he indicated the den wall opposite the sleeping platform where, stored on the spruce bark sled he had used for hauling firewood in the days just after taking the bear, a good-sized pile of the unprocessed fat chunks sat, frozen solid and well preserved despite the fact that hed had no time or energy to work on rendering them, yet. A good fourth or fifth of a bears body weight will be in fat, this time of year, and it was a pretty good-sized male bear that was inhabiting this den. So, therere seventy-five pounds of fat on that sled, easy. That really helps. Means we can live a real long time on rabbits or other lean little critters, whatever we can get our hands on, and supplement them with this fat. Now speaking of the fat, Ive been thinkingthe Inuits, you know, didnt have access to any firewood in the winter, for the most part, but they did have plenty of seal blubber, whale blubber, things like that. And all their winter cooking was done over a little lamp not too different from this one. Qulliq, they called it--though it was pronounced more like culluk, a real short, quick, chopped-off little word like so many of theirs--usually carved out of soapstone, but theres no reason sandstone wont work, with a little more effort put into the carving. Cooked all their meals, melted all the snow for drinking water, and heated their igloos with the thing, too, all winter long. Didnt use wicks like I got in this little lamp, though. They used moss or down from a grass they call arctic cotton, and arranged a long, thick strip of it all along one edge of the lampbowlworked more like the wick in some kerosene heaters than like a candle wick. Never tried this, but Im wondering if either some milkweed down or cattail fuzz could be used that way. He was quiet, then, out of words, apparently, Liz staring at him and thinking that for such a generally quiet person, he certainly did have a lot to say whenever he got into that explaining mode. That sounds like a great idea! That way, we could heat this place sometimes without risking making any smoke at all, could cook and have drinking water even while the air search is going on. Well, Ill be looking for a bigger chunk of sandstone to start working on one, and mess around with different fibers for the wick material, but right now Id better get out there with this plastic, and decide on a spot to set it up, so we can have some water, today! And he rolled out of the bed, retrieving the plastic and heading for the door.

Taking turns sitting on the rocks just above the den, Einar and Liz tended the black plastic bag water-producing contraption--arranged like a funnel by securing the edges of

the bag over a rough frame of lashed sticks and rolling a small rock down into the center--as the sunlight made its way down between the branches and warmed the plastic, melting the fine dusting of powder snow that they kept sprinkling around its upper edges and sending trickles of water down to the depression in the bags center, where they collected, pooled, and finally dripped through a small hole just beside the rock, slowly accumulating in the cooking pot, which Einar had set on a piece of firewood just beneath the contraption. The process worked but it was very slow in the cold, the sun-heat absorbed by the bag constantly competing with the frigid morning air that sought to refreeze the little droplets and trickles of snow melt as soon as they turned to liquid, and while it would have been a great little passive water collector if it could have been left unattended to do its work while Einar and Liz went about theirs, visiting it periodically to toss some snow against the damp plastic around the top of the funnel and keep the process in motion, but such was not the case, that morning. With the fairly frequent rumble of helicopters and the insistent whine of small planes in the distance, often were the times when the bag had to be hastily snatched up and stowed beneath a spruce, its keeper diving back into the den to wait until the threat passed, at which point the two of them would usually trade places, allowing whoever had taken the last turn outside some much needed time in the den to thaw out. After several such shifts, Einar, frustrated at the mere four inches of water that had collected in the cooking pot, took some time to search through the rocky rubble outside the den, sorting and overturning rocks until he found an appropriately-sized chunk of red sandstone, nearly a foot long by five or six inches wide, and reasonably flat on both sides, as was a fairly common feature in sandstone when it fractured. The small lamp they were already burning--little more than a shallow, fat-containing trench etched into the rock, really--was hardly suited to use as a source of heat for cooking and melting snow, and rather than work to enlarge it, he wanted to start again with a rock that would allow him to end up with a much larger finished vessel. A qulliq, so we can heat and cook without smoke, when need be, though not without emitting heat, of course, so well still have to be careful just when and for how long we use it, so we dont end up creating a big smear of heat here around the den entrance for them to pick up on. Einar began working the rock as he sat there taking his turn at helicopter duty for the water collector, starting out beneath the spruce that shielded the area just above the den , and whose sweeping boughs he knew would conceal his footprints from the air, but before long, growing cold in the tree-shadow, he found himself edging further and further out into the sun, tuning his back to it and pausing periodically to stretch chilled limbs as he scraped and pounded at the sandstone piece with sharply fragmented granite chunks, adding a bit of snow now and then to keep the dust down and speed the process along. Before long, and having had to pause only once to hastily roll up the black plastic and duck into the den ahead of the approach of a search chopper, he had worked a depression into the rock that was nearly eight inches long, several wide and two deep. Not deep enough, certainly, but it was a start, and when Liz--emerging from the den to check on him and finding him, despite the sun, to be having obvious trouble staying warm in the wind that swept down thin and piercing from the peaks--insisted that he allow her to take a turn outside, he willingly switched places with her, anxious to experiment with different

materials and find one that seemed most promising for use as a wick. After warming his fingers over the small lamp in the den, adding a bit more bear fat to it to begin liquefying and consuming several small slivers, himself, he looked around at what they had available to them--milkweed down, cattail fuzz, fibers that he could pull from milkweed stems and twist into wicks--finally settling on the milkweed down as being the thing that, visually and texture-wise, at least, seemed most closely to resemble the arctic cotton that he had seen used as burner-strips in Inuit blubber lamps. Pulling a small wad of the fine, silky stuff from the bag in which Liz had it stored, he dabbed some liquefied bear fat on the fibers, knowing that they would probably need to be oily, but not soaked, in order to burn properly, squeezing out the excess fat and flattening the wad of down into a rough square, before submerging it nearly halfway in the melted fat off the little lamp, plastering it up against the rock on one side. Lighting a small stick from the flame of the one twisted milkweed-stem wick that Liz had left burning, he lit the oil-soaked milkweed fuzz, glad to see that the flame took readily and, after a bit of sputtering, spread across the entire inch-wide surface of the wick which he had left exposed, burning cleanly and with very little odor or smoke. Think this is going to work! Now, to finish carving out this lamp And he returned to his work, the effort of scraping and pounding at the sandstone warming him some, more than it had been out on the mountainside, certainly, as out there he had been carefully controlling the amount of force with which he pounded at the rock, concerned that any regular sequence of loud sounds might possibly alert searchers that might be out on the ground. Sure hope no ones that close, but sound has a funny way of carrying in these mountains, and I sure dont want them hearing anything that sounds the least bit man-made or regular. No way the sounds gonna get out of this den, though, so I can really go at it, in here. Which he did, warmer than he had been since killing the fire the night before and soon quite exhausted, also, his arms and particularly the still-troublesome left shoulder protesting more and more loudly at the repeated efforts. He kept at it, though, and by the time Liz peeked into the den to let him know that the sun had gone from the hillside, he had etched and chipped out a good-sized bowl in the sandstone. Setting the project aside, he scooted over to the door and helped Liz pull the rolled-up plastic sheeting into the den, glancing at the sum total of their water collection efforts for the day, which appeared to total about a quart and a half, there in the cooking pot. The second pot, which had sat suspended above the small lamp on the three upright sticks, contained a few swallows of water as well, as its ice had begun very slowly melting over the heat of the flame, and Einar held the water bottles as Liz poured, filling them and finding that a bit of water remained in the pot, afterwards. It would be enough to get them by, and tomorrow Tomorrow well have this lamp to use. No more sitting out above the den beside that big black target-dot, just waiting for the next aircraft to come by. If it works as well as Im hoping, well be cooking, melting snow, staying warm in here, even, all by burning a little bear fat. Liz nodded, crowding in close to get a good look. You sure got a lot done on that lamp! Here. I found this out there where you were moving those rocks earlier. She handed him a chunk of nearly translucent pinkish-white rock. It looks harder than that granite,

and I thought maybe it would come in handy for working on the lamp, though it looks like youre all done with it, or nearly so. Inspecting the rock, turning it over and over in his hands, Einar held it out to her excitedly. This is quartz! Rose quartz. You found it out there? Maybe theres more! Could use this to make an axe head, of sorts, lots of other things, since its so hard. Not the best sort of rock for knapping spear points and things, but it has been done Yes, I expect there may be more. I saw some smaller chunks, out near this one. Ill go collect some for you! Im wondering, thoughtheres a good bit of daylight left, it looks like. Should I go out and set up some of those snares you were talking about? I can be really careful, keep to the trees where they wont be able to see my tracks. He thought about it, quiet for a minute, finally shaking his head and looking up at her. No. They dont know were here. Probably dont even know for sure that we ever were in the area. Im really hoping they may think that whole series of avalanches was naturalthough they may figure it out. But lets not help them, not take that chance. Better lie low for a while, avoid anything that could leave sign for them to pick up on. For all they know, were far, far from here, and Id like to keep it that way. Liz lowered her eyes, looking immensely uncomfortable, and Einar stopped his work on the lamp wick, sensing some problem and wondering just what was troubling her so much. EinarI meant to tell you before this, but they saw me, up there. Scrambling to his feet and balancing precariously on his good leg, Einar stood leaning on his spear. What?

Down in the valley at the old metal building that had for the past year housed the Mountain Task Force headquarters and was currently at the center of the recovery effort up in the canyon, agents, along with the county coroner, were just that evening inspecting the fourteenth and fifteenth bodies to be recovered from the debris that had remained of the federal camp at the bottom of the avalanche chute. Delivered to the building earlier that day by helicopter--evacuation of the bodies had prior to that day been prohibitively difficult, as the weather had just then cleared to the degree that aircraft could safely be landed near the avalanche site--the bodies were, like all the others, frozen, twisted into grotesque positions by the force of the sliding snow, but unlike the others, they had not been recovered from the remains of the camp or of the crashed helicopter that had not quite made it off the ground before being caught in the onslaught of the slide and forever grounded, but had been recovered from a bank of hard-packed slide snow on the far side

of the canyon, where the force of the avalanche had driven the cement-hard whiteness some twenty feet up the wall, plastering it there and leaving it last to be explored by rescue and later recovery crews. The bodies, agents at Mountain Task Force headquarters quickly decided, must belong to the two agents who had been sent up along the canyon rim to look for any sign of the missing agent who they had feared lost over the steepwalled side of the canyon, while the rest of the search was concentrated down below in the snow of the canyon floor. And there was something else different about the bodies, too, or one of them, at least, as agents discovered when they worked loose the mans iceencrusted hat, and discovered the bone spear point sunk deep in his skull.

Liz wished he would look away, would find something to occupy his hands as she answered his insistent question, but Einar stood there staring intently at her, until she could find reason to put off the matter no longer. Yes, they saw me. When I was up there near the canyon rimI stepped out of the trees to cross this little meadowit was foggy, snowy, I couldnt see very far, and I walked right up on a group of eight or ten men, searchers, I guess, that a helicopter must have just dropped off. They hesitated, I ranthat was when I ended up going over the rim, with one of them chasing me. He fell. Bounced right off the little ledge where I had landed, and went down I meant to say something about it before, butI was wearing the wolverine hide, so I expect they thought I was you. They know we are, or at least were, in the area. Im sorry. Silent, he lowered himself to the ground, hand still on the spear, sat there for a minute, staring at the light that seeped in beneath the bearskin door. Well. Good thing that storm came. And now, I think its time you learn to use an atlatl. That was it, and Liz, who had been certain that he would be angry with her--which he probably was, though not showing it at the moment--was greatly relieved. She knew that she ought not to have been keeping that information from him, that she ought to have thought of a way to bring it up, but had hesitated to do so in the days after first reaching the den, seeing Einar so sick and weak and feverish and knowing that if she told him about the incident with the agents up on the canyon rim, he would probably insist on leaving the shelter without delay, making more distance while the storm still ragedand almost certainly killing himself in the process. But it should have been his decision. She knew it, could see in the solid set of his jaw, eyes unwilling to meet hers, that she had been mistaken in trying to protect him like that. He finally spoke, handing her a stout willow stick which she held a bit awkwardly, not entirely certain what he expected her to do with it. You dont need to be sorry that they spotted youconditions like that, they probably dont know just what they saw. But you should have told me, Liz. I needed to know that. Now. Atlatl. Youre gonna make one, learn to use it, and this willow here ought to be a fine start. When they come for us, I want you to be able to help out.

Liz glanced up at him, startled by the unusually forceful tone he was taking with her in demanding that she make an atlatl right then and there, and wondering just how badly she had angered him, this time. Einar, face still grim, was smiling at her with his eyes, though, sat back down and took the willow stick from her. Not that you havent helped out every time theyve come for us, so farbecause I seem to remember two or three occasions when Id have been in a real pickle--meaning dead--if you hadnt come along and taken some action. I just meant that its past time you have another weapon at your disposal, something with a little more range to it than that spear, and since we dont have a pistol anymore, the atlatl just makes sense. Or a bow. But this is simpler to make, and easier for me to show you how to use right now with this bum shoulder, too, so were gonna do it first. Youre gonna do it first, I mean. Im just going to watch. Now. First thing you want to do is take some of the roundness off the top of this willow staff here. Some people actually split them, but I just like to kinda shave it down with a knife. Yeah, thats right. He observed as Liz worked on the willow stick, carefully shaving and flattening the top surface of one end of it. Badly chilled after sitting still for the few minutes that it took her to complete the task, he rubbed stiff hands over the little lamp, added a bit of fat to it and lit a second wick, wishing he had gone ahead and finished the qulliq lamp, making the long thin pad of milkweed fibers that was to act as its burner, so they could be using it as they worked. Later. And, adding fat to the smaller lamp, he ate a few pieces, following them with some chunks of icy venison from the pot and offering the same to Liz, who took the food hungrily. Its pretty well flattened, I think. How long does this thing need to be? About two feet, like yours? One and a half, two feet, somewhere in that range. Longer doesnt work well, shorter seems to be just fine, from my experience. Id chop it about here, and he indicated a spot just beyond a knot in the wood, where a small side branch had been. That looks good. Now. On the upper end up there, youre gonna want to carve a little forwardpointing triangle, to hold and throw the darts. See how Ive hollowed out the back ends of these darts a little? Well, you need something that will fit in there. Ive seen people add little pegs, glue in rock fragments, even, but to me, it seems simplest just to mark out a little forward-facing V near the top here, facing towards the handle, and carve down around it. Liz did as he had mentioned, getting a good bit of work done on the V before stopping, sighting down the stick and looking up at Einar in dismay. Look! Its not straight. Does that mean I have to start all over? He took the unfinished atlatl, noticing that, yes, the stick had a definite sway in it between the two ends, a spot where the willow had, in its growing years, apparently been bowed a bit by snow or wind or some other pressure. Sighing down the stick, though, he saw that the V notch lined up quite nicely with the area at other end where the handle was to be. No, its fine. Curves all in the middle. It doesnt matter what the middles shaped like, as long as the two ends line up real good and straight. Ive seen them where people

intentionally chose a piece of driftwood that curved like a corkscrew in the center, just to be decorative, or something. Still worked just fine, as long as the ends lined up. Youre doing good. Now. Below that V youll need to carve out a little bowl for the dart to rest in, let it go forward for several inches, like mine does, here. As she worked to complete the next step in the process, Einar carried the lamp over to the den wall where their possessions were spread out, sorting through things until he came up with the small bundle of buckskin scraps that had been left over when he made his vest, choosing a short coil of roughly cut quarter-inch wide strap, and another piece which was five or six inches long, by just over one wide. Returning to Liz and seeing that she was well on her way to being finished with the body of the atlatl--there were all sorts of improvements that could be made, rocks added for counterweights, etc, but all of that could wait--he showed her the leather pieces. What youve got there looks real good! That is the basic weapon, right there. Pretty simple to make, isnt it? She nodded, studying the freshly carved atlatl, scraping and sanding at a few uneven portions in the handle area with a rough piece of granite, blowing the dust from it. Yes, pretty simple! A lot simpler than actually hitting something with one of these darts is going to be, I expect! Oh, thatll come. You got to start somewhere, and Ive never seen you have any trouble hitting anything with a firearm, so youll pick this up alright. Now, some people use finger loops down on the handle, some dont, and there are all sorts of different ways that they can be set up--a single buckskin or rawhide loop for a finger to go through, double loops for your index and middle fingers, double loops for your index finger and thumb, and Ive even seen carved wooden or stone loops--but when youre just starting out like this, Id sure suggest using loops of some sort! Or you are eventually gonna end up accidentally tossing the atlatl after your dart, and maybe losing it like I did my first one. In the river. Not a good thing, when youve just put all that time into making it So. Take mine here and give it a try, see whether you think youd like a single loop or double ones. I like using my thumb and index finger in the loops, but you can decide later what works best for you, and change things as needed. Experimenting with Einars atlatl and telling him that the way he had it set up seemed just fine, to her--not that she had anything to compare it to, Liz watched as he took the larger piece of buckskin, folded it in half and made a small slit near its center, just large enough to pass the stick through. OK, take a length of that sinew thread over there, and get it good and soft in your mouth while I get these finger loops ready to wrap. Pushing the split piece of leather up on the atlatl until it was approximately five inches from the handle end, he brought the two free ends down, creating a small loop on each side of the stick and bringing the two ends nearly half an inch back up the stick on each side, on the inside of the loops. Taking the piece of softened sinew thread that Liz was offering, he wrapped it around and around the

buckskin ends that lay against the stick, securing them in place, afterwards quickly wrapping the thin piece of buckskin strap around and around the sinew-secured ends, bringing it up nearly to the place where the stick passed through the split in the leather. Taking another piece of sinew thread and wrapping the end of the buckskin thong to secure it, he handed the weapon back to Liz. Give that a try. Well take some pitch glue later and coat those wraps to hold them in place, and maybe wrap some buckskin around the handle to give you a better grip, then ready to use! Admiring the weapon, Liz fitted a dart onto the V at its back, anxious for the time when she could get outside to begin practicing with it, telling Einar that she supposed she had better start with plain willow shoots, instead of risking losing or damaging the finished darts that he had worked so hard on. He did not answer, and she looked up to see him sitting there hunched over the nearly-finished sandstone lamp, granite lump in his hand as if he was intending to work on it, staring off into the distance with a blank look on his face, shaking uncontrollably. She went to him, pulled the bearskin down from the bed and got it wrapped around the two of them, holding him, bringing the small lamp in under the bearskin tent to provide some heat. Einar, youre freezing! Why didnt you tell me? I got so wrapped up in finishing this atlatlI wish we could make some hot tea, at least. What still needs to happen for that new lamp to be ready, so we can cook, again? Just...want to makelittle deeper, thenwick. Be ready soon. I-Im OK. Just sat still too long. Better eat something. Sharing a meal of mostly frozen venison and bear fat there in the tent, warming, they discussed the best way for Liz to go about practicing with the new atlatl, but Liz interrupted him after a while, the dimming light of day outside and Einars constant struggle with becoming dangerously cold demanding her attention. He was doing better with getting more to eat, beginning to put on a bit of weight, even, she hoped, but she could tell that--despite his recent cheerful assertions that he was nearly ready to return to his cold-training discipline--he still had a long way to go before his body would be able to produce and retain adequate heat under their present conditions. Einar, I know we have to be careful not to leave tracks, but we need more insulation before night comes and it gets so cold, again. Things didnt work too well last night, and I know I saw a lot of that usnea stuff out there below the den in the black timber. Maybe I could get enough for us to stuff our clothes with, and that, along with some of this grass, would help us get a little more sleep, tonight. Nodding, he squirmed free of her grasp, left the warmth of the bear hide tent and pushed aside the door flap, studying the slope below them for the most concealed route down to the dark timber so Liz could go collect some moss.

Cautious, stopping frequently to listen for any sign of approaching aircraft, Liz made her way down to the darkly timbered slopes below the den, choosing her steps carefully, placing each foot with an aerial view of the slope in mind and wishing that she had actually spent some time in the air looking at such slopes in the past, so she might have a better idea of how things appeared, from up there. Einar, having a very firm idea of just how things looked from the air and what needed to done to avoid drawing notice, had wanted to be the one to go, but Liz had insisted that it would be easier for her to maneuver through the timber without leaving sign, unencumbered as she was with a broken leg and improvised crutch, and Einar, knowing that she was correct, had agreed. While she was gone, he worked on the lamp, adding the depth he had been seeking and rubbing milkweed down between his hands to create a long, cylindrical roll of fibers which he then flattened, smoothing it along one side of the bowl of the new lamp and dampening it with melted bear fat from the smaller, already burning lamp. Breaking up a number of fat chunks and adding them to the bowl, he carefully lit the wick, starting at one end watching, glad, as the flame slowly crept across the full eight inches of wick material, glowing, beginning to melt and draw up a bit of the fat in the bowl. The Inuit, he knew, had propped the lamps up on three or four short sticks stuck down into the snow, to create an air space beneath and keep the cold of the snow from continually competing with the wick-flame, attempting to re-solidify the lumps of seal and whale fat they were using for fuel and slow the operation of the lamp, and he supposed a similar effect could be achieved by sliding a slab of firewood beneath the rock of the lamp. That done, and after holding his hands over the heat for a minute, amazed at the amount the little device was putting out, he quickly retrieved the three sticks they had been using as a tripod, using a rock to drive one of them into the wall beside the bed at a horizontal angle, propping it from beneath with another stick and pounding the third into the side of the sleeping platform, so that it met the first horizontal stick and helped, once he had lashed everything together, to support it. Hanging one of the cooking pots--the one that contained the mostly-frozen stew--from the finished support, Einar slid the lamp beneath it, the crescent moon of orange flame quickly heating the bottom surface of the pot, mere inches above, and a trickle of melt water beginning to show around the edge of the stew-ice. Stew-ice. Now Ill bet thats not a word that folks down in the valley find themselves using, too often And he laughed, shivering and huddling closer to the warmth of the lamp, which while significant, was not yet permeating very far into the still, frigid air of the den. That would come, he could tell it would, as would the thawing and eventual heating of the stew. Something was wrong with the flame, though, it was dimming, growing sluggish, and he saw that the wick had burned down to a point where not enough if it was exposed to keep the flame burning happily. Poking experimentally at a section of the milkweed down burner with a curved stick, he pulled up small bits of fresh wick from beneath the liquefying fat, finding that the best, most even flame seemed to be achieved when he pulled up a small peak of material every three quarters of an inch or so, letting it taper down a bit between points. Well. Looks like Im going to be doing a lot of this. Ought to come up with a dedicated tool, a deer rib or something, maybe, and keep it with the lamp so I dont have to go fumbling around for a curved stick all the time, just to keep the lamp

from going out. The thought of using a deer rib reminded him that they really needed to get busy further tending to that doe he had taken, which sat frozen quite solid just inside the den entrance, over beside the door flap where temperatures never got warm enough to begin thawing it for more than a few minutes at a time. Not that it really needs too much tending to, this time of year--freezing works awfully well for preserving thingsha! Then I ought to live to be at least a hundred and ten, I guess--but I would kinda like to get it out of here so we could use that space for something else, and so we dont eventually have to deal with raiding ermines or bobcats or--rubbing his right arm a few inches below the shoulder, which would always bear an odd dent where his triceps had healed, minus a sizeable chunk of meat--maybe another wolverine, if there are any more around here. Yep. Need to get that meat out of here, but we sure cant leave it available to the big cat, either, so looks like were needing to build that cache. Now, how am I gonna do all that climbing and building and lashing of things, with just one leg? That, he realized, was going to take some thought. Something which would require less thought but which had been increasingly on his mind was the need to tend to the newly acquired hides, both bear and deer. He had not been able to do anything beyond a hasty fleshing and scraping of the bear hide after taking the creature, and nothing had been done since, aside from sleeping in the hide, and it had grown quite stiff in places, though the cold had prevented it from entirely drying out. How he was to procure enough water to tan the massive thing--bears brain is still down there in the head, frozen solid and waiting for me to use, when I want to dig it out--Einar could not imagine, nor was he sure what he and Liz would do for warmth in the hides absence, as the tanning process was taking place. He shrugged, wondered what the results might be if they would simply take turns vigorously buffing the flesh side of the hide, mostly dry as it was, with sandstone to soften it up, some. Not great, Im guessing. That hides real thick, and itll never get soft, that way. But for now, Id settle for simply avoiding it becoming too rigid to bend, for us to wrap up in. Well see. The deer, now guess Ill try to brain it, hair-on. We need it on the bed, need it even worse for jacket or vest, though, and either way, we might as well try and keep the hair, at least until it all falls out Which he knew it would eventually end up doing, with that sort of use, as he had never seen a brain-tanned deer or elk that did not eventually begin shedding hair all over everything--one of the main reasons he had insisted on scraping the buckskin he had used for his vest. He had not thought it wise to leave a trail of deer hide in potentially unlikely places for his pursuers to notice and wonder about, for trackers to find clues in but I dont see us doing an awful lot of moving, here these next few months. Sure hope not, anyway. And theres already hair all over everything, here in the den--bear hair, deer hair, some of mine, Im pretty sure, stuff seems to be falling out, still, so whats a little more? The availability of water would still be a problem when it came to doing the deer hide, but he supposed he would be able to manage, between what could be melted over the new lamp--hey, look! The stew-ice is almost gone!--and the much larger amounts that could be secured, when the air search either ended or was temporarily grounded by another storm, and they could safely use the stove again. What we really need is a little creek or seep, something that stays clear into the winter, or that we could keep clear by

chopping away a little ice. Wonder if there might be something like that down near that swampy spot where Liz got all the cattails. Didnt see anything when I was down there taking the deer, but then, I didnt get a chance to do much exploring then, either. Have to ask Liz what she might have noticed. Of course, wed have to be real careful just how we went about ita big old hole chopped in the ice of some pond would show real clear from the air, and there arent any wild critters that I--or the searchers either, Im thinking--know of who keep their water source open all winter using an axe! Not that we have an axe, even But, the thought occurred to him, they ought to have, and could, too, of sorts, using the large piece of rose quartz that Liz had found among the rock rubble near the entrance. Tending to the lamp wick once more, he searched for the rock and found it, inspecting it by the considerable light of the qulliq flame. He had made functional axe heads in the past of chert and similar rocks, and though he had no experience with quartz, he knew that it had been a fairly common material for arrow points among the Utes in that area; he had once, in fact, found a very nice quartz arrowhead, whitish and in places nearly translucent, among the rocks on the shore of an alpine lake not ten miles from his old cabin. So, it can be done, and Ill turn this big piece here into an axe head, with some work. Would be helpful to have something beyond our knives for splitting wood, felling trees, everything. And he was about to begin, but he heard Liz crunching up through the snow outside the den, and set aside his work to open the door flap for her. The search for usnea had gone well, the bag Liz had taken being fairly stuffed with it, and she crouched over the lamp, marveling at its effectiveness, warming herself and showing Einar the results of her expedition. The big pile of lichen, soft and almost entirely dry, harvested as it had been from beneath the protective branches of the spruces, would help tremendously when it came to adding warmth to their clothing that night, as Liz had managed to collect enough for each of them to stuff around their torsos, for that night, with a good bit left over, after that. Liz was holding a piece of it up, examining it by the light of the lamp. This stuff is edible, isnt it? I thought you mentioned something about eating it, last winter. Yes, I sure did. Ate a lot of it last winter, and its a decent food, if you can soak and cook it to get some of the acid out. Reasonably nutritious, then. Well have to get some more, and work on processing it. Most of what I ate last winter was raw, right off the tree like this stuff is, and that is not such a good thing. Not if you eat as much of it as I did, anyway. That usnic acid can end up being pretty hard on your stomach, and I got awful sick a time or two on itcan still feel it now, looking at the stuff. But I kept eating it a lot of those times, just to have something in my stomach Well! No need for that, right now. We got venison stew for dinner, and it isnt even frozen, this time. Look! And he showed her the pot, its contents thawed and beginning to steam gently. That lamp really works great, it looks like! It feels a lot warmer in here than when I left, and that should really help, tonight, because as the sun goes down out there, I can feel it getting colder fast. I think its going to be another night like the last one. What do you

think it got down to, last night? I expect it was below zero Oh, somewhat below, I would say. Fifteen, maybe twenty at most. Gets colder than that up here, but not usually this early in the winter. Im sure hoping to have us in better clothes, by the time that kind of weather sets in for good. Theres a bunch more of that usnea down there in the timber, if we need it. I could have got twice this much, at least, if Id have gone a little further, but it would have meant crossing an open area, and I was nervous about the tracks. Well get to it. Next time it storms, if not before. Good to have a bunch of that stuff around. I used it for bandages a lot last year, too. And I dont know what youve been using for this purpose, but you might want to think about getting some extra usnea while youre at it to set aside for youruhfeminine needs. The Utes, and Im sure some other tribes, used it for that, since its pretty absorbent and also antibacterialjust an idea. And he shrugged, looking away rather uncomfortably at having brought up the topic in the first place, tending the lamp so he did not have to look at Liz. Ill do that. But, since you mention it, I havent had that particular feminine need since I came out hereIm sure I will again, but for now Means youre not getting enough to eat, doesnt it? Probably. But Im getting along alright. It takes a while to adjust to this life, I expect. Huh. Yeah, I guess it does. Seems youredoing great at it! Now. Weve got plenty of food here for the time, and its even thawed out for a change, so how about we eat. Well both be a lot warmer tonight if we can get a good big supper in. Eating, they discussed Einars plans for the raised food cache, Liz saying she would be glad to do whatever climbing was required in the building of it, and Einar, though agreeing that such would make good sense, not quite willing to let go of the idea that he might be able to find a way to assist.

That night was to go better for Einar and Liz than the previous one had, heat-wise, at least, between the newly acquired insulation, the warmth of the lamp and Lizs unilateral decision to go to bed shortly after dark, before the increasingly frigid night air had time to seep in and chill them too badly as they sat there on the floor. Einar, while inclined to stay up and continue working on extracting the tendons from the frozen hind legs of the deer for future use in wrapping atlatl points and for thread, finally assented to her repeated assertions that they might as well save bear fat by putting out the lamp for the night. For some minutes, though, he sat in the dark beside the slightly-opened door flap, listening, watching, the night still and crackling with cold out on the mountainside and the need to move, to put distance between himself and a place where he knew he had

already spent far too much time pulling him powerfully with a force that was difficult to resist. They called to him, those snowy, moon-silvered slopes, spoke to him of the dangers of complacency, reminded him that a wanted, hunted man could ill afford to have a home, an established dwelling, that he would, if in one spot for too long, eventually, inevitably become a bit lax in his discipline--seems its already happening. Look at you, with your things all spread out in this cave like you think youre home, setting up house with a woman who seems convinced of the same--and do something to alert his pursuers, and then And then we will see. Perhaps that day will come. Would be foolish to downplay the possibility, but the best way to get caught right now--short of building a big smoky bonfire out in a meadow somewhere, sitting down and waiting--is to go trampling around out there leaving a bunch of wide old lame-legged tracks for the next chopper crew to come along and see, plain as day. You know thats not a good idea. Got to lie low for a while, let everything go quiet, and hopefully theyll decide weve moved on, or died in the snow. Which we--you, anyway--probably would, and in pretty short order, if you insist on traveling now. Awful cold out there. And you cant carry much, would have to leave some of that meat and fat behind, might not be able to replace it, in time. Got a good little place here, and its getting better every day. Now get to bed, before you talk yourself into doing something really foolish tonight. Or sit here in the doorway and freeze, which would also be pretty foolish, and come to think of it, you really cant feel your face anymore, or your hands, either, can you? And he closed the door flap, securing it with its flat rocks and climbing up onto the sleeping platform where the air was noticeably warmer than down on the floor, Liz holding open the bear hide so he could climb in. What did you hear out there? Its quiet, for now. Heard nothing but the trees snapping. Gonna be another cold one, I think. Its good that you brought back all this moss. Here. Filled the water bottles. We better keep them in here with us, if we want to have anything to drink in the morning. Were going to be doing that all winter, arent we? She asked, finding a spot for one of the bottles where it would not interfere too much with sleep. Yep, probably. And if were out and on the move, well be doing it with our boots, too, just so our feet dont freeze in the morning when we go to put them on. Though if this air search he stopped, listening intently, hair on the back of his neck standing up. There. Chopper. Thought so. No reason to be out right now unless theyre up there scanning these slopes for our IR signaturesure hope it doesnt show, doesnt warrant a second look, if they do see anything. Waiting until the rumbling--faint through the earth that surrounded them, but no less stomach-churning for its faintness--faded and was gone, he continued. If the air search ever ends, moves on for good, then we can run the stove more regularly, keep the place warm enough that a pot of water set on or above the stove overnight wont freeze. Thatd sure make things easier. Until thenit would be awfully good to find a creek or stream, someplace where we could get water without having to rely exclusively on melting snow. You seen anything like that in your wanderings? Down near that swampy cattail bog, maybe?

I dont remember seeing a creek, exactly, but I did see a spot while I was out getting all those cattail headsit looked like there was just a little bit of black, open water, all surrounded by snow. It was up against a little outcropping of some shaley rocks, and I didnt go over to it, but I wonder if it might still be open? Well go look tomorrow. Carefully. Still got to be awfully cautious about leaving tracks. If that water is still open after all this cold, it almost certainly means theres a little warm spring down there keeping it like that, and we might be able to keep it open all winter, with a little ice-chopping work every day or so. Better still if it backs up to some outcroppings, because theyll be less able to see our modifications from the air. If we find a spot where it stays open, you can be sure were not the only ones who will know about it. Rabbits, squirrels, foxes, all the critters will be coming there to drink, which will give us some good opportunities for snaring some more food. The foxes ought to be pretty nice by now, good thick fur that would be great when it comes to lining some buckskin or something for warm clothes, and if we take a few foxes, that should mean less competition when it comes to the rabbits, too. More for us to eat. Liz nodded, mumbling something about how maybe if they went right after breakfast the snow would still be cold and dry enough that it wouldnt soak into their clothes, and then she was asleep. Einar, finally almost warm for the first time that day, was not far behind, dreaming of warm springs whose steam coated the nearby cattails with a shimmering rime of ice, of easily accessible water and cattail roots that you could pull from the mud even in January because the warm water seeping from the earth kept the ground thawed, of the occasional ducks and geese that would stop by to explore the water, a roast goose or duck, dripping with grease, now wouldnt that be just the thing? And he crept closer to the water, easing his front half up onto a log so he could get a look, rising, crouching, immeasurably slowly so as not to startle the geese, a pair of them, that were paddling around in the five or six foot diameter area of open, ice-rimmed water, choosing one, lifting his weapon, which consisted of three rounded stones, bound up and tied together with lengths of rawhide, and flinging it expertly at one of the geese, hopelessly tangling the creature and securing their supper, and he rose, triumphant, to go retrieve the bird, only to hear the thundering of propellers over his head--in that first instant he had though it to be the other goose taking wing, but no--and it was too late, he had been spotted, could feel the wind of the rotors in his hair as he tried to make a run for the trees, but they had him, bad leg collapsing under him as he stared in horror at the orange-tailed dart in his shoulder. Frantically he grabbed for his atlatl in the hopes of being able to hit one of them, the men he could see up there in the door of the chopper, in the hopes, at least, that they would see him go for it and shoot him, before the dart could take effect, but it must already have done so, because he couldnt grasp the weapon, could not, in fact, seem to move his arm at all, and then he fell in the snow on his back, staring up in helpless, immobile rage as they hovered over him, preparing to land. They were on the ground, then, with a speed that baffled him--or maybe the dart was just messing with his sense of time, that must be it--approaching, two men with rifles aimed at his head, but worse was the third, who, covered by the first two, approached him with some sort of syringe, ready to inject him with something that he was certain must be the same poison that was in the

darts, and he forced his sluggish, unwilling body to move, flinging himself at his assailant and somehow getting his arm across the mans neck, pressing, but the man quickly squirmed out from under him and, when Einar went for him again, hit him hard on the head with something rather solid, real, more real than the dream, it seemed, because he tasted blood in his mouth, waking to see Lizs face--two of them, actually, fuzzy, indistinct--in front of him, lit by the glow of the bearfat lamp. She helped him sit up-they had both somehow ended up on the floor, it seemed--pressing a wad of usnea to his head where she had hit him with the aspen log. Im sorry Einar, Im so sorryare you OK? I had to wake you up, and nothing else was working Those geese are a trap Liz, they may look like regular geese, may look great to eat, but theyre a trap. Dont do it, dont fall for it. And he struggled to get up, his healing leg entirely forgotten, collapsing back to the ground when he tried to put too much of his weight on it. Liz laid a hand on his arm. Einar. Hey, settle down. Now look at me. What geese? There are no geese. No trap. You were just dreaming. No. Down by the pondtwo geese, and I got one of them but then they came, chopper popped up over the ridge and they shot me with He lowered his head, pressed his hands to his eyes, looked up at her with something like full recognition of what he had just done. Ah, LizIIm sorry. I though you were I know, but Im not. Couldnt seem to convince you of it, though, and thats how come I had to whack you with the firewood. Now if youve stopped bleeding, lets get back to bed. Its cold in here. Expecting that he was to have to spend the nights for the next week huddled in a corner on a little pile of spruce duff with the wolverine hide, after that incident, and feeling as though Liz would have been more than justified in asking him to do so, Einar reluctantly rejoined her, thankful, amazed, once again asking her forgiveness. Neither of them got much sleep for a good while after that, Einar finally drifting off out of sheer exhaustion sometime towards morning, and Liz, feeling him relax, doing the same. The next mornings trip down to the cattail swamp, which Einar found himself more determined than ever to accompany Liz on, after that night, went well and without incident, both of them keeping to the black timber that lined a small draw that cut the slope which held the den, Einar reassured by his inability to see more than the smallest occasional snatches of sky when he looked up through the branches overhead that their trail was adequately concealed. Very cold was the air that morning, cold enough to catch in the throat if breathed too quickly, leaving both of them to tuck noses and mouths down into the collars of their shirts as they walked, wishing for scarves. The wolverine hide, which Einar had insisted that Liz use, proved to serve this purpose very well once she pulled it down off her head, removed the two carved deer-rib pins that held it in the shape

of a hat and wrapped it around her neck, as wolverine fur is one of only a very few that do not accumulate ice from the wearers breath. Reaching the area where the slope angle began gentling, a few scattered cattails just beginning to be visible through the spruces and aspens that lay between their position and the clearing, they stopped, listening, before approaching the area more nearly. There it was, just as Liz had described, a small patch of still-open water, black, steaming gently, just below an outcropping of shale or some related rock, a dark grey but stained in places almost white with mineral deposit. A hot spring. Or at the very least, least a mildly warm one. On one side of the outcropping there was a spot where the timber descended, sweeping down like a black arm, hand and fingers extended to touch the water, and they followed it, kept within its protection as they approached the water, meaning to fill their bottles and further investigate the place and all the resources it might promise them. Including, it seemed, at least two geese, as announced by a sudden beating of wings as Liz stepped on a small, exposed branch mere feet from the start of the outcropping, startling them skyward.

Einar took several quick steps back into the tangle of trees, pressed himself in against a moss-covered boulder that stood beneath a low-sweeping spruce, waiting, listening, but there was no approaching rumble, no telltale tremor in the ground to announce a coming danger, and he soon rejoined Liz at the edge of the timber, studying the small patch of open water, rimmed by thick ice and gently steaming in the frigid morning air. There was a spot where the trees went down all the way to the waters edge, snow piled up on the rocks beneath them far less deeply than it appeared to be out in the meadow, and the thickly interlocking evergreen boughs creating a screen to shield their path from the air, and he went, slowly, studying the ground, which, not even two full days after the end of the storm, already bore numerous paths and tracks from passing wildlife--rabbit, he saw, the hopping, erratic trail of a squirrel, the soft, narrow impressions of a foxs foot, and, making him shiver at the memory of his dream, the tracks of the pair of Canada geese where they had stood in the snow and eaten some of the still-green plant shoots that clustered under a sheltering rock near the waters edge--promising the availability of small game. Lowering himself to the ground beside the water he removed a bear hide mitten, tested the water and found it to be achingly cold, its temperature somewhere just above freezing, he guessed. Got to be a warm spring in under these rocks somewhere though, or this spot would definitely be frozen over, by now. It was, at least, a spot where they could come to get water for drinking, cooking and other needs, without having to wait for snow to melt every time, a place that ought to attract game all winter long, the timbered slopes above it providing them good territory for setting up some snares. Wandering a bit as Einar explored the area immediately surrounding the water, Liz noticed a few wild rose shrubs, heavily burdened with snow and nearly hidden beneath it, which still bore a good quantity of shriveled orange rose hips, and, tasting one and finding it to be still flavorful and sweet if a bit fermented, as well, she gathered a good handful of the little fruits and stashed them in her pocket, knowing that they, along with evergreen needles, were a rich source of wintertime vitamin C, and a good thing to have

on hand. Near the rose bushes stood a number of dry dead plant stalks, very straight and a dark reddish brown, unfamiliar to Liz, which would have been entirely buried in the snow had they not stood somewhat beneath the protection of the spruces, and she broke one off, curious as to its identity. Tried to break it off, anyway. The stalk, though brittle and fracturing easily under pressure, seemed to be surrounded by a sheath of tough, persistent whitish fibers, which she could not quite manage to twist loose and ended up slicing with her knife. That sure looks useful. I bet it would make a good strong cordage. Ill have to ask Einar about it. The stalks--there were quite a number of them-were laden with numerous pods, thin and several inches long, that resembled bean pods, and struck Liz as a very distinctive feature of the plant, and one which ought to help her remember it in the future, if it turned out to be something useful. She had learned to identify a good number of plants since joining Einar in the hills, and Susan had taught her about some others, but she still found herself having to identify something several times, either in a book or when shown by someone, before it became fixed in her mind to the point that she was confident in her identification. Well, no better time than the present to get started, with this one! And she joined Einar over by the water, where he sat hunched over on a rock with his bad leg off to the side and his arms crossed for warmth, seeming to be staring most intently at something. What is it? He nodded towards the water. Look. Looking, she saw nothing at first, other than the water where it gently lapped at the shoreice--if its lapping like that, there must either be a creek or spring feeding it; maybe thats what he is looking at--but after a while her eye caught another sort of movement, this coming from beneath the water, and she bent down closer, seeing that below the surface, the little pond was teeming with minnows, none more than an inch or two in length, as far as she could tell, colored grayish-brown, with dark speckles. Fish! I wouldnt have expected to see fish in a little pond like this. You usually wouldnt, not up this high. This thing ought to be frozen solid right now, or at least frozen over so thickly that there wouldnt be enough air exchange for fish to make it though the winter. Thats why they stock alpine lakes up here, a lot of times; Ive seen them drop the trout from special planes. They do it every year, many places. But I guess this little hot spring, wherever exactly it is, keeps enough area open that they can make it through the winter, here. So. Want some trout chowder for dinner? I dont know about chowder, exactly, because I think that takes milk, and last time I checked, we didnt have any livestockbut some soup, sure! Now, how are we going to catch the little critters? Watch. Taking off his stocking cap, Einar cut a long, thin willow shoot, circled it over on itself and wrapped the ends so that he had a ring that was the approximate diameter of his hat. He then folded the hats edge up and over the willow ring, tucking it in here and

there to further secure the fit and, cutting another stick to use for a handle. Sticking the end of the handle-stick in between several of the twists on the ring, he was about to reach into his pocket for some paracord to lash the two together, when he saw the reddish plant stalk that Liz still held in her hand. Hey, whered you find the dogbane? Thats what it is? I was going to ask you. Yes. Indian hemp, it was sometimes called, and its not too common, up this high. Good find! Grows to be several feet tall, lower down, and cordage made from the fibers was used to make fish nets--which Im not gonna take the time to do, right now--and some of the tribes tied it into long rabbit nets, that they would drive the rabbits into and then trap them. Ive heard that some of those nets--found in Utah, I think, were around three hundred yards long, by four feet high! Can you imagine the work that would go into making something like that? Mustve been catching a lot of rabbits in those roundups, for that to be worth while. Anyhow, dogbane is a distant relative of milkweed, and makes some of the strongest cordage youll get your hands on. Here, let me show you. And he took the stalk from her, flattening and crushing it between his hands, getting a finger in between pieces where it began to separate vertically along the length of the stalk, and sliding it down to finish the separation, so that he ended up with three long, thin pieces. Then, working carefully so as not to pull any of the fibers loose, he broke off and removed small sections of the plants pithy white center, leaving him with a two foot long strand of strong, whitish fibers, backed by the plants red-brown bark. Watching, Liz held out one of the bean-pod-like structures that she had pulled from one of the shorter branches of the plant. I guess this is the seed pod? Yes, but its also He broke it open, releasing, to Lizs surprise, a small billow of white, milkweed-like fuzz, tinder in a tube! Some of these will stay sealed up through the winter, and the seeds and down inside stay dry, so they can provide a good source of ready tinder, during the winter. If you happen to be able to find any of the plants. Now if we had time it would have been good to scrape some of this outer bark off before splitting the stem, leaves you with cleaner fibers, and its also smart to twist two sections of this together to get a stronger cord, but for this, Im just gonna take the bundle of fibers, as-is, and lash my handle to the net-ring. Which he did, wrapping and tying and testing, finally satisfied, scrubbing some snow between his hands to remove the dried dogbane sap residue from his hands. The plants milky sap had, he knew, been used medicinally in the past--mostly for heart problems--but only with great care, as it contained a glycoside which had a strong action on the heart, slowing the pulse and, if used in too great a quantity, stopping it altogether. The roots contained a lesser amount of the same substance and were supposed to be a good bit safer to use, a common remedy at one time for everything from headaches to constipation, but Einar had never been particularly interested in experimenting with the plant for anything other than cordage, and, though he knew the amount of sap that gets on ones hands in working with the plant, whether fresh or dry, was minimal and certainly ought not cause any harm, he did

not especially wish to take the chance, especially with the heart palpitations and other troubles he had been experiencing as recently as a week prior, as he climbed up to the canyon rim. Warming his hands for a minute to restore their mobility, he studied the water, snatching up the net and swiftly scooping it through the three feet of open blackness that lay exposed between ice shelves, coming up with a hatful of fingerling brown trout. Well, not a hat full, exactly, but the eight small fish that lay wriggling in their olive drab wool net were certainly a good start, and Liz helped him quickly collect them into a bag that she had brought, after which he wrung out the hat, re-tucked it in a few places where it had come loose from the improvised rim, and tried again, coming up with fewer fish, but, after several more well-spaced attempts, ending up with a total of fifteen of the little trout, the largest of which was just over three inches long. By the time he got the last of the fish into the bag, the first batch were well on their way to being frozen solid, as were his hands, it seemed, and he paused again to warm them before dismantling the improvised net and beating his hat--frozen pretty solid, itself, by then, against a tree to get some of the ice out. Filling the water bottles--Liz insisted on using the water filter, since they had it and since boiling the water would require the use of bear fat--they headed back up the hill, hoping to reach the shelter of the den before the first helicopter of the morning came over. Not a likely thing.

Climbing went a good bit more slowly for Einar than the descent that morning had, as on the way down, he had been able to slide a bit here and there on the snowshoe, using his spear for balance and managing to very nearly keep up with Liz while also paying close attention to the amount of overhead cover for any tracks he was leaving, but the return trip offered no such luxury, and he plodded along, step by step, hauling himself up the steep slope and seeming at times to lose as much ground as he was gaining. His leg was sore and aching from his untimely attempt to scramble to his feet on waking the night before, and though his improvised crutch replacement kept his weight from resting on the injured limb, the movement and the inevitable jarring it brought still hurt. As did his head, a dull, throbbing ache persisting where Liz had cracked him between the eyes with the aspen log, serving as a constant reminder of the nights events and leaving him--even if she did not seem to be--questioning the wisdom of their sharing a living space, at all. The whole line of thought, which seemed to be going nowhere and which was beginning to bring back a bit more of the detail of those dreams than he really wanted to remember, besides, left him rather glum as he struggled up towards the den. It was with grateful acceptance, then, that Einar greeted the growing angle of the slope, the eventual need to focus all of his attention on simply staying upright and preventing the crutch and snowshoe from becoming entrapped amongst the many crisscrossed deadfall aspens that lurked just beneath the snow, waiting to treat him to a nasty fall. Thats it, work harder, climb harder. Anddont forget to keep looking for usnea on these branches. Might as well be gathering it, as we climb. And he gave the whole of his focus to the climb, mind clearing of everything else as he exerted himself near the limits of his

ability, in his present condition. Einar had long found solace in hard work, a tremendous comfort, of an odd sort, in pushing himself as far as he could, physically, and then just a bit farther, and he supposed that he was blessed, in a way, that it did not at the moment take much to put him in that state, that the span between rest and working to total exhaustion had grown frighteningly short over the past months, until it was at times almost indiscernible. Not good, and that must change and it will, is already starting to, now that theres more to eat. And there will always be plenty of work to keep you busy, in a life like this. No worries, there. The solace given him by that sort of exertion was something Einar had first discovered while learning in intimate detail dozens of routes up the rough, brittle granite of The Bulwarks, years ago, many years ago in the distant and dimming past, when he had spent the entire summer there once after being shown the place by his friend, the climber Willis Amell. He had, at the end of that summer and finding himself tremendously reluctant to return to the bustling world of the valley--or anyplace where he might be in close enough proximity to come into contact with that world, even--stayed there well into the winter, snowshoeing out twice for supplies but always returning--over the protests of acquaintances in town who had told him that he was surely going to freeze to death out there, either that, or go insane in the snowbound silence, offering him places to stay, a job or two, even, all of which he had politely refused with as few words as possible before heading out again--covering in a long day what would for most have been a major several-day trek through the deep snow and across the seemingly numberless timbered slopes that separated the place from the encroachments of civilization, alive, joyful, more so than he could have been, anywhere else. That had been a number of years before hed bought his mining claim, mere miles from the area he had come to know and love over those seasons of wandering, and, over the course of the two summers that followed, cut and cured the timber and built the little cabin that was to serve as his home for many years untilwell, until this. Until you went and fixed it so you wouldnt have worry about being a part of that world, ever again. This is your life, now, and will be for the rest of your dayshowever many of them you got left. And he accepted it, had long ago come to accept it and without looking back, but as he glanced over his shoulder at Liz, who was struggling to keep up with him--might as well slow down some, give yourself a chance to breathe, here--he had to wonder how she could possibly share his thoughts on the matter, how she could possibly not wish to return to the life she had left behind, or at least something that resembled it, and he could not help but think that she had really got the bad end of the deal, in coming to stay with him. Yet she had chosen that life, had repeatedly rejected opportunities to return in favor of staying there with him. He shook his head, looked away. Some things were simply beyond his understanding, and would likely remain so. Just keep climbing. Climbing, harvesting the whitish-green clumps of usnea lichen from the undersides of evergreen branches where they hung dry and protected from the recently fallen snow, it was not long at all before Einar was drawn from his musings by a vague but growing sense of dread which he recognized immediately as heralding the approach of airborne visitors, and, though it would be well over a minute before either he or Liz would be able to detect audible sign of their approach, he began casting about for a place of

concealment, Liz following without hesitation when he told her in urgent tones that they must get themselves up against the boulder he had picked out. The day was still quite cold, the sun not yet spilling over the ridge onto that steep, north-facing slope, and Einar knew they must do what they could to mask their heat signatures, to appear, if not invisible, at least at least as small and insignificant as possible. Scooting in close to the rock, black, moss-encrusted and icy, he was glad to see that the fir boughs above them were thick, interlocking, shielding, and he huddled under the yearling hide with Liz as the chopper approached, following, it seemed, the ridgeline opposite the slope that held their den, slow, searching, stopping to hover now and then, and it seemed an age they waited for it to move on, praying that nothing was visible of their travels since the snow had ended, that nothing showed up around the den, as it had turned, doubled back somewhere up near the canyon rim and was returning, this time following their ridge, pausing, Einar was sure, somewhere up in the vicinity of the den before continuing the descent of the slopes, passing over them at an altitude that could not, he was certain, have much exceeded five hundred feet, but showing no indication that they had been noticed. It was not until some minutes after the rumbling died down, sitting still in the snow, listening, feeling, reaching out for any clue of continued danger, that Einar dared move, getting shakily to his feet with Lizs help and leaving the warmth of the yearling hide-should have gone a long way to shield us, leave us looking more like little furry critters all curled up at the base of the rock, foxes or rabbits or some such, than human ones, because it sure is warm. This is the warmest Ive been since leaving the bed this morning--to finish the climb to the den. Fifteen minutes more, and they were there; ten would have done it, had not Einar been using even more care than before, if that was possible, to avoid leaving sign. He knew that one little slipup--and whos to say we havent already made it, the one that counts? The only one that counts Sure hope we havent already made it--might very well leave their pursuers the clue that would mean the end of the their semi-secure setup in the den, of the tenuous if strengthening hold they had on life. They had reached the den, and he crouched beneath the little ledge that shielded it, bad leg and crutch straight out in front of him--how else is one to crouch, with a device like this?--listening, waiting, testing the air for he knew not exactly what. Got to avoid that, leaving sign like that, got to be awful careful how we move and when, what we take from the woods and especially from open areas like that little meadow. Harvest too many cattails or establish a set of snare-line trails that cross one of those open areas in a way that the critters wouldnt normally do, and they may well end up spotting the change. And thats even if theyre not already doing weekly comparisons of satellite images for this whole area, just looking for any change. He shrugged, shivering, followed Liz into the den, where she had hung the yearling hide back up to serve as the door flap, lighting the lamp and urging him to come in and get warm. Which he did, freezing, very nearly too exhausted to get into dry clothes and crawl up onto the sleeping platform to join Liz for a snack of broth and dried chokecherries. He had succeeded in wearing himself out, would be able to sleep, that night, or have some hope of it, anyway. If there were no further developments in the search. For the moment, though, it was barely past midmorning, and he had a lot of work left to do.

By the light of the qulliq lamp, which sat on its stand just in front of the sleeping platform, Einar, propped up on his elbows with the bear hide pulled up so that it covered his shoulders, prepared the little trout, removing entrails and tails, but leaving the heads on as he tossed them into the pot. Liz watched with interest as he tended the lamp wick with the deer rib that he had dedicated to the purpose, periodically pausing in his work with the fish to pull up fresh sections of the milkweed down mat in little points and spikes to keep the flame burning strong. As well as the lamp worked, though, and feeling the rumble of another helicopter through the ground beneath him, he quickly submerged more than half of the length of the wick entirely in the oil, reducing the flaming section to no more than four inches. Still ought to be enough to cook by, and will cut down on the heat this thing is putting out, the heat thats escaping through that chimney and around the door to possibly be picked up on by--yep, there it is, I can hear it, now--by that doggone buzzard and its crew. Lying beside him with her harvest of rosehips spread out on a flat rock, preparing them as Susan had taught her by slicing each one open and removing the seeds, Liz picked up the deer rib wick-tending tool, inspecting the end of it, where Einar had worked it down to a point by repeated scrapings on a piece of sandstone. This is to keep the wick pulled up so theres always some of it exposed to the air to burn? Yes. So far it seems to burn best when you keep it pulled up in a series of little points, like this, rather than flat-topped. Something about flame propagation and diffusion, something that Im sure generations of Inuit women understood far better than I ever will, even if they didnt know the science of why it worked the way it worked. But, Im trying. Learning. Inuit women, was it? So, does that mean Im supposed to be the one taking care of that thing? It was traditional And what does that leave you doing, while Im sitting in the snow-house and tending the lamp all day? Harpooning seals and whales and hunting polar bears with spears, I suppose? Wrong part of the world for that! Which is kind of a shame, because do you know how warm a polar bear hide would be, if we could take one? They are incredible. Each hair is hollow to create dead air space and hold in the bears body heat, and that makes the bear--with the exception of its eye and nose area and of course its breath in the frigid arctic air--nearly invisible to infrared cameras. But like I said, wrong part of the I know. I was joking. You do take everything so literally most of the time And I know good and well that I wouldnt be sitting around in the house all day just tending the lamp, either. Women ran most of the traplines, as I understand it, and the small game taken that way made up a bigger portion of their diet than the larger critters did, anyway,

a lot of the times. Thats all beside the point, though, because I dont have any Inuit in me that I know of, and judging by your tall, scrawny build and bright blue eyes, Im guessing you dont either, but Im sure starting to wish I had been taught some of these things by my mother or grandmother or however it worked, so they would come more naturally to me, now. So. Show me how to use this wick-pick deer rib thingy, and Ill take over as keeper of the flame. Just as long as youll promise not to go out looking to challenge any polar bearsfor at least another week or two! Laughingly agreeing to Lizs demand, he showed her what he had learned of how to keep the lamp wick burning steadily and happily, handing her the deer rib at the end of the demonstration and watching as she worked the matted fibers of the wick, drawing fresh material up into contact with the air as the old burned down. The pot with the cleaned trout was steaming by that point, soon to be bubbling, from the looks of things, and Liz left the bed to locate the rawhide bag of nettle greens that she had dried back during their time at the Bulwarks, before frost had come and finished off the plants, adding a good sized palm full of them to the soup and stirring them in with a stick. Which reminded Einar that he had promised to show her how to make a coal-burned spoon. Well. Next time we can have a fire to produce the coals The simmering fish soup, to which Liz had added a bit of cattail starch for a thickener, was beginning to give off the most wonderful odor, filling the den and reminding Einar that he had not tasted any sort of fish for a good long time, as he had generally been tremendously wary of waterways and lakes during his time on the run, knowing that they tended to attract others, as well, and, in the case of lively, rock-filled mountain streams and rivers, could easily mask the approach of danger with their rushing and gurgling. The change in fare would be good. The fact that we have something to eat, at all, is awfully good, when it comes down to it! But the fact that it brings some variety will make it a special treat. The tea-water, suspended in the smaller pot over the lamp, was beginning to boil, and Liz moved it away from the flame, tossing in a number of rose hips and stirring, breathing the sweet-smelling steam and studying the little packets of dried plants that lay in her open pack on the floor just below the sleeping platform, wondering if she might be able to slip a bit of yarrow into Einars tea without him noticing. He had been stirring the soup but stopped, looked over at her. Please dont. Dont what? I see you looking at that yarrow. Stuffs great for stopping bleeding and to break a bad fever if its a real danger, or to loosen up phlegm if its trying to keep you from breathing, but other than thatwell, I was kinda looking forward to trying some of that rose hip tea, but I told you I dont want to be drinking any yarrow. Makes me sleepy, and messes with my mind. Dont like that. I just though a little of it might help you sleep better. You kind of scared me, last night

Then Ill sleep outside. Dont be ridiculous. I didnt mean that. But those dreamsdo you want to talk about it? No. It was said flatly and with a finality that precluded further discussion of the matter, at least for the time, and seeing the change in Einars demeanor, Liz was a bit sorry for having brought the matter up, in the first place. OK. No yarrow in the tea. Here. Want to try some? He nodded, mumbled his thanks and took the pot, which they passed back and forth for a few minutes, sharing sips of the warming, vitamin-rich, concoction. Returning to her preparation of the remaining rose hips, Liz continued opening each one with her knife and scraping out the seeds, setting them aside on one corner of the flat rock that provided her work surface, stopping now and then to tend to the lamp, a duty she seemed to be taking very seriously. Einar watched, a bit puzzled. Why are you taking out the seeds? I always just ate them, when I ate rosehips. Me too. And theyre full of oil, so theyre good for you to eat, but Susan used to set them aside--she made rosehip jam to sell, so she had a lot of seeds around--and extract the oil to use as part of a salve she made for burns and frostbite. She said the vitamins A and C in it, and the fatty acids, made it especially good for that sort of healing. Were not really set up to extract the oil like she did, and we dont have enough seeds here to bother with like that, anyway, but I thought I could at least kind of crush them up between a couple of rocks and stir the results into some softened bear grease, along with a few of those dried hounds tongue leaves we have left. It might make a good salve to use on our hands, this winter--mine are already getting pretty cracked and sore from the cold and the dry weather, and I see that yours are, too--and on those two toes of yours that still look frostbit He nodded. Sure. Makes sense. Susan really taught you a lot, sounds like. I worked with her for several months last year, and was always asking questionsshe had to get after me a time or two for asking too many questions. A lot of what I learned from her had to do with the herbs she cultivated--most of which are not things well find out here--but she knows a lot about some of the wild medicinals, too, and I was always asking her to teach me what the different wild plants were good for, up there around her place. Thought the information might come in handy, out here Einar glanced up at her, eyes narrowed and head tilted to one side. Out here? Howd you know, last year, that you were going to end up out here? I didnt. She answered quietly. But, I hoped

The soup was ready, then, and they ate.

Warmed up from their excursion in the snow and with a good meal of trout soup in them, Einar and Liz worked on their various projects, Einar removing with difficulty the sinew bundle from the frozen deer legs and Liz drying the soup pot and setting her prepared rose hips in it, suspended from the exposed roots in the ceiling far above the lamp and a bit to the side, to begin drying. Too much heat, she knew, would destroy their vitamin C content, greatly reducing their value as a source for winter tea. Taking down the pot from time to time to stir and shake its contents to help them dry evenly, she wondered if, supposing she could get back down to the marshy area before the snow got much deeper and entirely obliterated all signs of vegetation less prominent than trees, she might be able to find and collect another batch or two of the rosehips for use that winter. Einar, did you use rose hips last winter, to keep from getting a vitamin C deficiency? Scurvy? Pausing in his work he scooted over to the lamp, held fingers white and barely flexible over it warmth to thaw as he answered her. No. Ate a few in the fall, but never did get a chance to put any back for after the snow came. Found some once after it snowed hmm. Had forgotten about that. It was when I came down to the river one time, was awful hungry, floundering around in the deep snow trying to get to the water so I could see about getting ahold of some fish, and when I was just about at the end of my rope, energy-wise, I broke through a thin crust on the snow and got all tangled up in a rose bush. Well, as worn out as I was, it kinda felt like the end, made me wonder if I could even manage to climb out of that hole at all and go on, but as soon as I started digging, I found the rose hips. Good two dozen or so of them, and they gave me just enough energy to get out of there, head on down to the river. That was when the snow on the bank gave way, and I fell in Sure glad you came along on skis, just then, because I was all done in, couldnt have kept hanging onto those roots too much longer, I dont believe. But no. Never did get the chance to use them regularly for vitamin C. Always just used spruce or pine needles for that. Simmered them up into tea, even just chewed them sometimes, when I couldnt have a fire. No reason for anyone to ever get scurvy, as long as there are evergreens around. But the rose hips will be real good to have. Theyve got other medicinal properties, beyond the vitamin C. Rose hip powder is used pretty frequently in Northern Europe and an anti-inflammatory, among other things, and it probably would have done me some good in the weeks after breaking this leg, if wed had any then. Might be helpful in that way, even now, come to think of it Your leg is bothering you more today, isnt it? Nodding, he untied the straps that held his two-part lower leg cast in place, pulling back the shredded green sweatshirt that served as insulation and rubbing the leg. A little. Its all right. He grimaced, turned his head away and took a couple of slow breaths in an attempt to get ahold of the pain before it became something he could not conceal from

her. Might be better if I hadnt tried to stand up all sudden like that, last night. Pretty sure I need to be getting some more weight on it, anyway, to help the bone strengthen back up faster, but probably not that much weight. Well. Ill probably learn, just about the time its all healed up. Liz could see from the set of his jaw and the way he clenched a granite chunk in his other hand, squeezing it until it looked in danger of shattering as he rubbed the leg, that it was troubling him a good deal more than he was willing to let on. How about some more rose hip tea, with a few slivers of willow tossed in? It might help Sounds good butno surprises, OK? She smiled at him. No surprises. Just those two things. Pouring a bit of water into the pot, Liz scooped up hands full of snow from outside, knowing that its melting would be greatly expedited by the presence of some alreadyliquid water, but not wanting to use up too much of their water supply while the lamp was burning and available for melting snow. As she worked, shaving the bark from one of the larger-diameter willow sticks and snipping off the tops of a few others, chopping the results into chunks of an inch or less in length to give them plenty of exposure to the water, Einar collected the fish entrails which he had casually tossed onto a flat rock while cleaning the fish, studying them as if he was not sure whether he ought to scarf them down for a quick snack, or toss them outside to prevent the place coming to smell any more strongly of fish. Which, indeed, he was not, hardly able to bear the thought of throwing out anything that might even remotely resemble food. The odor in the place was a bit concerning to him, though, as he realized that it would likely begin attracting every four legged predator and scavenger within a ten mile radius, one or more of which they would surely end up having to contend with, when it worked up the courage to venture past its fear of the human-scent and raid the den for what remained of their deer. The place would, he supposed, smell of fish for days after the cooking of that soup, and there was nothing to do about it, but he could attempt to do something about the hungry creatures who would soon be showing up to investigate the tempting smell. The fish entrails would, he knew, serve as the perfect bait for a number of deadfalls which he could set up in the area immediately outside the den, hopefully preventing martens and fishers and possibly even bobcats from finding their way into the den some night. Choosing a couple of good straight, stout willows, he chopped them into the appropriate lengths, beginning to notch them, in sets of three, fitting them together and making a the few refinements necessary to turn them into the figure four trap triggers that would-hopefully--activate the deadfalls when some creature came in search of a fishy snack, trapping and crushing it beneath a heavy slab of rock. It was one of the simplest triggers to make, one which required no cordage or other materials, one which he had even managed to construct effectively a time or two back in the dark days when he had not possessed even a knife, rubbing the notches into the sticks with granite flakes and catching himself a marmot--albeit a lean, stringy spring marmot--just in time to avoid that dreaded state in which he lacked the energy to do anything more than lie beneath a tree

andwait. He shook his head, started on the fourth trigger set. Keep yourself in the present, here, Einar. Things arent that bad right now, and its your job--your duty, now, actually; youre not in this alone anymore--to keep it that way, if you can. Several times while constructing the triggers, Einar had to stop and warm his hands, hovering over the lamp and breathing the steam from Lizs heating tea-water as he shook furiously, warming just enough after a few minutes of it to return to his work. He was really missing the ability to prepare hot rocks in a fire to press to the small of his back as he sat working, needing to keep his body temperature from falling too far, or to clasp periodically between his hands when they became too numb to be of much use and he found his stomach not especially warm, either, when he attempted to thaw his hands by holding them against it, but he had done without such luxuries before, and, while he had enjoyed them, knew that he could do without, once again. He was dry, out of the wind, had food to eat and the little lamp to warm the place a bit. Things were good. For the moment. Something was bothering him, though, a gnawing, prickling sense of warning, of foreboding that had been growing for the past hour or so, and whose source he had not been able to identify, through the ache in his leg and the focused effort of constructing the trap triggers. Huddled over the lamp once again, though, shivering himself warm over its flame, the answer came to him. It was too quiet. Too still. Starting that morning while they were on their way up from the marsh, the air traffic had been steady, the frequent vibrations of helicopters keeping him on edge as they worked in the den, but now that he thought about it, he realized that it had been a good long while since he had heard one. Why the change? Impending weather shift? Ran out of fuel and theyre waiting on the ground for the truck to show up? Lunch break? He doubted it, hastily lashed his cast back in place and scooted over to the door, crouching there with a corner of the bear hide pulled aside, staring out at the patches of bright blue sky that showed between the gently swaying evergreen boughs, listening, not quite trusting the change. After a time he let the flap fall back into place, glanced around at the cave interior, at their possessions spread and hung all over the place like those of people who believed they were at home, safe, secure. Liz, get the backpacks.

The backpacks? Liz asked, puzzled, even as she hastily rounded up the two packs-mostly empty, as everything had been unpacked and either arranged on the rock shelf at the back of the den or hung from the ceiling-roots--and handed them to Einar, recognizing in his voice something that demanded immediate action. What are you Somethings not right. Too quiet all of a sudden. You notice that? Theyve been coming by every fifteen minutes or so, all morning, and nownothing. For too long. He had scooted over to the shelf and was sorting through things, stuffing some pemmican, rendered bear fat and a number of half finished atlatl points and spearheads into the smaller day pack that he had been using, and Liz joined him, hoping a bit

desperately that she was misunderstanding his intent. Thatsgood though, right? Means theyve moved on, maybe? That they wont be focusing on this area quite so much anymore? Could be. Or, it may mean that theyve picked up on the heat from this lamp, from us, from the den and decided it didnt quite fit the pattern, or that theyve maybe seen something, some tracks down near the marsh, some of my big old awkward snowshoe tracks, or noticed where you cut those cattails, before, and theyve called off the air search to get us to let our guard down, to soften us up as they get men on the ground and head straight up here to this den. Im not gonna sit here and let them trap us like rats in a hole, Liz. Weve got to move. She stared at the ground, silent for a minute, pretending to be absorbed with gathering up all of the little rawhide packets of herbs and packing them into one larger bag. Oh, Einarit sure seems like a stretch to go from a one hour break in air activity to us being trapped like rats in a hole by a bunch of heavily armed and angry feds. I just dont see where you get it. But then, youre usually right about these things What about tracks, though? Wont we be leaving tracks? Even if were super-careful, were bound to leave something that they might see, and then theyll know for sure that were up here, if they dont already. Were gonna have to be awfully careful, yes. Keep to the black timber. And as cold as its been, IR detection will be a real danger. Bigger danger than staying put, probably. Silently, he continued sorting gear, packing. There are risks either way, big ones, but I got a real bad feeling about staying. Weve been here too long, probably havent been careful enough with our heat output He stared into the lamp, shaking his head and scrubbing his hands over his face. Liz could see his conflict, knew that having her there was almost certainly complicating his decision. If I wasnt here, Einar, what would you do? Would you go? He laughed a dry, humorless laugh, shivered and moved a bit closer to the lamp, stretching out cold-stiffened fingers above its flame. You know I cant sit still, Liz. Spend more than one night in the same spot, and I start to get awful antsy, these days. If I was alone Id have been out of here a week ago, while the snow was still falling to cover my tracks. Trying to lug half a dead bear on my back, stumping along on crutches and freezing because I wouldnt have had the strength to carry both the bears hide and a decent amount of meat, and as starved as I was, Id have probably chosen the meat. Id be frozen and dead under the snow by now, most likely. Liz did not answer right away, choosing five or six of the drying rosehips, crushing them up a bit on a flat rock and adding them to the water that sat heating above the lamp, breaking up a few pieces of rendered bear fat and dropping them into the mix, as well. Maybe we should wait, then, and see if the air search starts up again.

Einar, having strapped on his improvised crutch, was on his feet, struggling into a pack as he spoke. No time to wait. If theyre coming, we should have been out of here an hour ago, last night, last week Cant even tell you how many times there have been where if Id waited, hesitated at allwell, theyd have had me. But there have been the other times, too What? Times when you didnt have to move, when they werent coming, but you went and did it anyway, left everything behind and nearly did yourself inthats what you were talking about just a minute ago, wasnt it, when you said that youd be frozen out in the snow right now, if youd had your way? Angered at the way she seemed to be twisting his words, Einar wanted to shout at her, tell her that he had no time to discuss the matter just then, Im still free, arent I? This works. I dont know any other way to do it, can you tell me a better way to do it? but he kept quiet, pulling lengths of sinew and paracord down from the spots where they hung from the ceiling and stuffing them in his pack. Einar, think about it. If we take the big bear hide--that thing must weigh fifty or sixty pounds, easily--then Ill be carrying it, and wont be able to carry much else. How much meat can you reasonably carry? We would have to leave most of it. And most of the fat. And everything else. Without the bear hide, we will die out there. We will freeze and we will die. Youre doing better, starting to, I can tell, but I saw the kind of effort it took for you to get yourself back up that slope this morning. Carrying what? Five, maybe six pounds on your back? How do you think youre going to He took a limping step towards the door, turned back to face her, eyes snapping and his face a mask of cold, determined fury. I cannot make you come with me, Liz. Youre right. I can hardly push this broken old body of mine to take the next step and the one after that, right now, but Ive been there before, and all I can do is to just keep going like I always have, try to make the best decisions I can and do my best with whatever time Ive got, deal with the consequences as they come. Now. I need to get out of here, and I need to do it right now. But if youre not going to come he sighed, sagging a bit as he leaned on his spear for support, well, what choice do you leave me? You know Im not gonna go and abandon you here. Youve got a sense for these things Einar, and youve got the experience. If you say go, were going, but I just wanted you to consider the possibility She stopped, seeing that Einar had released the pack he had been struggling with and had dropped to the ground, pressing himself into the dirt floor as he drew back a corner of the bear hide, knife in hand, listening to something she could not quite pick up on. Fearing that Einar must have been right, that the enemy must have somehow managed to slip up on them and end up outside their door, Liz quickly put out the lamp, joining him at the door with one of the atlatl darts, still unable to hear anything out of the ordinary.

Einar heard it, though, felt it in the ground and in his bones and, as the seconds dragged by, so did Liz, and then it was on top of them, low, Einar fitting a dart into the atlatl in one swift motion and getting to his feet, ready to rush outside and into the little clearing in front of the den and from there do what he could to bring the beast down, to give Liz some time, give her a chance, do it, you got seconds here at best, you know how fast they can come down those ropes, but she grabbed him, jerked the crutch out from under him and left him pitching forward to fall hard to the ground on the rocks beneath the little ledge with a suddenness that knocked his breath out, and when he rolled over and grabbed the ledge to haul himself back to his feet, he heard, faint but distinct through the pounding of the propellers and of the blood in his head, Lizs voice, urgent, soft, wait wait, and he did, and the beast passed over, no hovering, no hesitation, no hostage rescue team fast-roping down on top of the den to take them, and Einar rolled over, dragged himself further up under the protection of the ledge, forehead resting on the cold rocks, sick and trembling with the unspent adrenaline of the deed he had been about to do, listening intently as the little round-nosed Cayuse buzzed the ridge opposite theirs, scouring it, zigzagging up and away in the direction of the canyon in what appeared to be the well-organized search pattern of men who had not yet seen what they were looking for. Its sound faded, gradually, completely, leaving them in silence, and finally Einar allowed Liz to help him back into the den, cleaning the blood-oozing scrape where his cheek had contacted rock in the fall and getting him wrapped up in the bear hide. What were you doing heading out into the clearing like that? Thought theyd come for us. I was gonna kill it. She shook her head, feeling around in the darkness and finding his hands, pressing into them the still-warm pot from above the extinguished lamp and steadying it as he took a drink. I have no doubt that you were

Thinking it unwise to re-light the lamp right away with the prospect of the Cayuse returning to scan their ridge as it had the one opposite them, Einar saw the sense in Lizs suggestion that they stay bundled up for a time in the bear hide to take advantage of its warmth, but found himself able to manage mere minutes of it before giving in the gnawing urge to creep out and sit listening at the door flap, ears searching for the sounds that he was certain the earthen walls of the den would deny him until it was too late, should he dare allow himself the comfort of its shelter, jaw clenched against the chattering of his teeth, which would otherwise have interfered significantly with his listening. For quite some time he sat huddling with one palm pressed against the icy dirt and rock just inside the entrance, knife in his other hand, waiting for the rumbling to return, reaching, feeling, staring out at the patch of snowy slope and wishing for a wider view, appearing, himself, to have become part of the stone that made up the den front,

remaining immobile until in the cold his hands lost all feeling and he finally pressed them, icy, useless, under his arms to warm. Liz went to him then--she had been reluctant to approach before and disturb his concentration, unsure how he might react--and offered him a drink of the remaining tea, unfrozen, if no longer warm. Hear anything? Jumping as if jarred from sleep, he turned to face her. No. Quiet out there. Dont know what to make of it, butseems they must not know were here. Guess we better stay for now, just lie real low and give the search time to die down. I dont think can afford to be making too many more trips outside though, not until it starts snowing again. Too much chance of leaving sign that theyll pick up on. Weve got the deer in here, bear fatwe can hold out for a good while on that. That, and water. Do you think its safe to light the lamp again yet, so we can get some more snow melting? Lets wait. Been thinking about that, and Im not sure we ought to use the lamp at all for a few days, since I really dont have a good way to know how much heat is leaking out of this place when we warm it up, how it may look from the air. Maybe wed better give it a few days. Were almost out of water, though. I dont think it would be a good idea to go for a few days without waterand I would be glad to go down to that open water every day to fill up the bottles, but you said wed better not risk the tracks He shrugged, reached out of the bear hide and grabbed a handful of snow, pressing it between his palms until they went white, the powdery snow crystals condensing into a hard, icy pellet under the pressure. Breaking off a chunk of the ice, Einar stuck it in his mouth, chewed, shuddering slightly at the trickle of icy water in his throat. Thats what we do. I got my water this way for days at a time last winter when I couldnt have a fire, was hurt too bad to get down to the river. You never do quite get enough this way; I think youd have to be eating snow-ice almost constantly to really get anything like enough water, and its awful hard to stay warm when youre constantly putting ice water into your stomach like that, butyou live. I lived. Yes, you did, and Id sure like to see you to go on living, which is why I think we really need that lamp, Einar. Youre going to freeze to death if we try doing without it at these temperatures, especially with you dressed in only one layer of clothing--and sometimes the wolverine hide or buckskin vest, when youre not leaving them sitting on the bed so Ill wear them--and insisting on spending half your time sitting there at the door listening, freezing You never got dehydrated, doing that? Sure. Pretty bad, a couple of times, and then youve really got to worry about hypothermia, frostbite, as your blood thickens up and slows downcold as it is right

now, I know wed be a lot better off with that lamp. Lets give it the day, the night, maybe, see whats going on out there, and then we can think about lighting it again. Now. Weve let ourselves get way too relaxed here in this den, and thats my fault. I was tired, I guess, kinda sick after coming back from the canyon, and I let things slip real bad. Liz was glad that it was so dark in the den, so Einar could not see the look of amusement that flashed across her face at that statement. EinarIve never seen you let anything slip, not for a fraction of a second. I dont know if youre capable of it... He continued. Weve got to keep these packs loaded up and ready to go. I know we wont be able to carry everything, if that time comes, so we need to do some careful sorting, planning, maybe slice up some of whats left of that deer and set it to dry for jerky, so itll be lighter to carry. Will take a long time to dry in this weather, but should do better over the lamp, and maybe some will be done in time And youre right what you said before about us being in trouble if we end up having to leave the big bear hide and travel through the snow for any distance, dressed like this. Got to get some of these deadfalls set up, baited with the fish guts, and hope to get ahold of a fox or two, pine marten, even, so we can get started on some warmer clothes. I just dont know if its worth the risk right now, leaving the den to do even that. Maybe if we keep to the heavy timber right down on the side of that little gully. I can go out and set the deadfalls, if youll tell me how you want it done. He hesitated, wishing to do it himself, finally nodded. OK. You would leave less sign, be able to move more quickly than me, for sure. Tomorrow, though. For today, I really dont want us going out at all. Not until we get a better idea of how this search is going to go, from here. It grew awfully, terribly cold in the den that evening, trees snapping and shattering outside and promising the coldest night yet, and as the light faded they set aside the nearly finished backpacks, seeking refuge in the bear hide, Liz wondering how they were ever to make it through the night, without the warmth of the lamp and with only shreds of frozen venison and lumps of bear fat which seemed unwilling to begin melting in their mouths, for their supper. They were cold but, pressed close together on the insulating mattress of cattail heads and wrapped in the bear hide with a layer of grass and duff on top and the deer skin spread over everything to help keep the extra insulation in place, things were tolerable for both of them, and they were, before an hour had passed, warm enough to begin growing sleepy, Liz, at least, looking forward to the prospect of a reasonably good night. A hope that was shattered rather suddenly by the fact that Einar could not seem to get past the point of falling asleep without immediately beginning to hear that rumbling in the distance, menacing, insistent, demanding action and sending him scrambling out of bed to hurry to the door and listen, hearing nothing, but little comforted by the fact. It happened twice, the second time after several minutes of sleep, when Liz had finally begun to relax, herself, hoping and praying that he would not again awake with the notion that she was an intruder of some sort, but keeping a good sized chunk of firewood handy, just in case. Which she nearly ended up using on him, saved at the last minute by the fact

that he figured out where the door was, and headed that way, instead of towards her side of the bed. Watching him as he crouched there swaying and trembling in the faint glow of the quarter moon on the snow outside, she knew she must do something, called to him and was relieved when he accepted her invitation to return to the relative warmth of the sleeping platform. The memory of the past nights incident fresh in her mind as she worked to warm him, and genuinely fearing for Einars health and even life, should he insist on continuing to jump up every fifteen minutes, spending a good portion of the frigid night standing sentry by the open den door, Liz was determined to find a way to keep him in the bed for a while. Which, it seemed, meant keeping him awake and thinking of somethingelse. He was thawing a bit, she could tell in the lessening of his shivering, and supposed he might be to a point where he could speak again, without undue effort. Einar, the other day you were going to tell me, remember, how you train yourself to get along in the cold, some of the things you used to dowell, Id like to hear about it. Now? Thought yousaid you didnt want me to tell you about it until s-sometime when we had a big fire going in the stove and a pot of hot soup to share. Which is definitely not now Guess I changed my mind. Maybe Ill hear some ideas in what you have to say that will help me get through the winter or the night, even. Alright, he answered, sounding a good bit more like himself. You asked for it

Einar and Liz were not the only ones struggling with the arctic temperatures that night. Down in the valley, where the cold tended to settle under certain conditions, leaving the air far more frigid than it was a thousand or more feet higher, a heavy fog rolling off of the river and drifting in icy billows and streamers over the grounds of the Mountain Task Force compound was creating somewhat hazardous conditions for the search and surveillance flights that officials wished to continue sending out, wanting to get in as many flight hours as possible before the next storm, predicted to arrive sometime the following evening, had a chance to begin lashing the high country with its high winds and blinding snows. Fixed wing flights had been suspended altogether starting early that evening because of the limited visibility there on the ground, and though the helicopters kept going out, the ice-fog came dangerously close to overwhelming the de-icing system on one of them--the only one which was equipped with such--nearly leading to disaster, and before long, they, too, were temporarily grounded. The Mountain Task Force director--directors, actually, as the organization was since the avalanches being headed up by a committee of four men representing the various agencies that had a stake in the capture of their fugitive--was, after the disastrous loss of so many lives in the series of ill-timed avalanches in the

canyon, taking every precaution when it came to protecting against further losses and embarrassments. With a Congressionally-appointed Special Prosecutor breathing down their necks, watching and waiting for any reason to draw them into a widespread misconduct investigation that had stemmed from allegations of gross misallocation of funds and military hardware by former Task Force head Toland Jimson, the four men, representing the FBI, BATFE, U.S. Marshals Service and the Department of Homeland Security, were carefully playing everything by the book, at least for the time. They had been, in fact, looking for ways to cut back on the active search, relying on extensive surveillance coupled with an intensive intelligence effort in the local area--at least two of the agency representatives were firmly convinced that their fugitive must be receiving local assistance on a regular basis, of some sort--rather than risking losing any more men to what had essentially become a difficult and very dangerous winter combat operation in the high country of the Central Rockies. The men were not trained for it, were not prepared, and the Task Force heads had, even before the devastating avalanches that wiped out the canyon camp and destroyed yet another helicopter, been seeing several casualties every week due to frostbite and other environmental injuries on the part of agents who had little training and even less background to prepare them to operate in such terrain and weather extremes. The hoped-for scaling back of the winter manhunt had, however, become much more difficult to justify with the discovery of Asmundsons signature in the well-made bone spear point that had been found lodged firmly in the skull of one of the agents buried beneath the avalanche debris. The fugitive was alive, clearly, and still in the area, but he had given them the slip once again as he disappeared into the massive snowstorm that had closely followed the avalanches. All they could do was to carry on with the air search in the hopes of seeing some thermal anomaly that would give them a clue as to his whereabouts, while hopefully preventing any more costly or perhaps even deadly fiascos in the process. With the foggy conditions down at the air strip and the soon-to-be coming storm, though, even these efforts were being temporarily stymied.

Though he did not at the moment feel especially inclined to launch into a long exposition on the virtues of intentional cold adaptation or anything else, for that matter, neither did Einar, weary as he was from the days exertion, feel much like sleeping, and Liz was being quite persistent, repeating her question as if she was afraid he would fall asleep again before answering it. Dont really blame her. Guess Ive been pretty bad company lately, especially at night, it seems. Shes probably got a big old aspen log next to her in the bed over there right now, just in case And his scalp prickled at the thought, the nearly forgotten knot on his forehead aching just a bit. OK, Ill tell you about it, but you sure seem to have taken a liking to hurting me, latelyfirst you crack my skull with a piece of firewood, then send me sprawling in the rocks out there right under a helicopter, by swiping my crutchall in the same day! How do I know that youre not gonna haul off and whack me again, if you dont like what Ive got to say? Because most of the folks who Ive happened to discuss this subject with in

the past havent much liked what I had to say Well Im about to go ahead and whack you right now, just for good measure and to help you remember tonight that Im me, and not some federal agent or whatever you were thinking last night, so youd better watch out! What happened this afternoon, though, with the helicopterdo you really want to talk about it? No! Sometime. Maybe. Anyway, about this afternoonthanks. Its my job. Now. Are you ever going to tell me how to fix it so I can freeze just like you and yet somehow mysteriously remain alive, if not quite normal? He laughed. This is normal for me, Liz, all of it And I dont know about you, but I do know what had worked for me, and I can tell you about that. Well, everybody starts to adapt, to some extent, to whatever conditions they find themselves in, heat, cold, humidity, whatever it may be, but I realized years ago that theres a lot you can do beyond the normal adaptation that takes place, to speed up the process, to take it further. I always preferred the cold, and living in these mountains, saw a lot more of it than I did heat, anyway, so I could see some definite advantages adapting to it, focused on that. Lived down in town at the time--well, not in town, never lived in town, but near it--and I started by just eliminating the use of hot water from my daily activities, aside from washing up the dishes, I guess. Anyhow, bathing in cold water that comes up from a good deep well like mine did when I was living there will get you started adjusting to it real quickly! Not that this is an option out here of course, but if a person is living down in civilization, a good way to start this process is by going back and forth from hot to cold water in the shower, at first. Thats actually really good for your circulation, immune system and other systems, too. Just alternate between a minute or two of hot water, followed by a minute or two of cold, and gradually turn the cold down so that theres no warm mixed in with it at all. By the second or third cycle, the cold wont feel all that cold anymore, just refreshing, and wont be at all painful. And you end up with an amazing amount of energy at the end of it, and feeling wider awake than you might have thought possible. Thats a good easy way to get yourself started, if you cant seem to go straight for the cold water. After a while though you really do get used to it, so that it is no big deal to just start out with the water turned all the way to cold. I really came to look forward to it, actually. At the same time, I got rid of most of the blankets on my bed and started letting the stove die down more at night, didnt keep the house as warm in the daytime, either. The first few days--and nights--of that were really not the most comfortable I had ever experienced, but your body adapts pretty quickly if you just give it the chance, accept the discomfort and keep going. You find the sleeping positions that best conserve heat, and your metabolism adjusts to produce the extra warmth, as long as you have a way to get enough to eat Most people just keep their houses so absurdly warm in the winter, you know. They seem to have this idea that the temperature in their living space always needs to be the same, and that it ought to be similar in the winter to what it is in the summer! How ridiculous. And then they wonder why they have trouble going from their seventy

degree house and bed with heated blankets--ha!--out into the snowy, cold world outside and being comfortablehmm, I wonder why? I never had that problem, you see, and was always a good bit healthier than the people around me who were trying so hard to artificially control their environment. We are naturally pretty sturdy, flexible, resilient critters, us humans, but those traits can be trained out of us and bred out of us and lost through disuse Not, Liz thought to herself but dared not say aloud, a problem our children are ever likely to face Anyhow, that winter I started swimming at a nearby lake, breaking the ice out and staying in there for as long as I could, and sometimes in the river, too, and thats where you start to learn to control your breathing. Your bodys natural response when you hit cold water is to gasp, start breathing real fast and irregular at the shock, and your heart rate goes way up. That can be a problem if you fall in accidentally or without a good plan, because you can end up swallowing water with all that gasping, or just panicking and forgetting what to do to help yourself. But that gasp reflex can be trained out of you, and you can learn to control your hearts response to that kind of thing, too. The more you subject yourself to those sorts of sudden changes, the more adjusted you become to them, until you can eventually step right into thirty three or thirty four degree water and submerge yourself up to your neck without too much noticeable response. For a while, anyway And there are things you can do to convince your body to maintain blood flow to the extremities when it would normally be shutting it down to keep your core warm, ways you can get yourself to actually produce more heat while sitting still, even. The Inuits did it to keep from losing fingers while out ice fishing, and it is practiced even today in Tibet as a discipline. But I wont get into all of that, right now. Getting sleepy, and its too complicated. Plus Im probably boring you. Liz shivered, drew the bear hide closer around his shoulders as if attempting to shield him from the things he was describing. Getting into the icy water like thatdoesnt it hurt, though? At first, some. Stings, then aches But you get used to it pretty quickly. The physical part is not the real difficulty, when youre training this way. The hard part is getting your mind to be willing to take that step, each time. To get into the water, to head out the door for a run without your jacket, things like that. Once you accept it, decide to simply do it, the rest it easy. And so are a lot of other things. This isnt just about learning to adapt to the cold. Its a form of discipline that really carries over into other areas of life. There are, no matter how adapted you become and how much you come to enjoy it, even, going to be times when you simply dont feel like starting your morning by stepping under a stream of freezing water, but by pushing through that hesitance--laziness is what it really is, weakness of the mind more than of the body--and doing it anyway, leaving yourself no choice to opt out, it seems to build a habit of choosing the difficult path even when you dont want to, a sort of determination that transfers easily to other aspects of life. Well you certainly do have a habit of choosing the difficult path, so it must be working

for you! So, it was no accident that you were able to make it through some of the things you did, this last year. No. Ive been at this for years, training for years, and I might have made it, even without the training, sure would have tried, but Im sure it has made a big difference. Given me a lot less to think about, anyway, to worry about, because some of the things I was experiencing were already familiar to me, and I kinda knew what I could handle, where my limits were. Though Ive sure been wrong about that, a time or twofatally wrong, almost. Einar, you said something about coming to enjoy exposure to the coldis that something you developed to cope with the conditions last winter, do you think? Decided there was no avoiding it, so you might as well just learn to enjoy it? Ha! Thatd make it seem a little less weird to you, wouldnt it? Sadly, no, I must admit it is a preference Ive had all my life, for as long as I can remembernot sure I experience cold the same way most do. I really do enjoy it, until the point where I start turning into a human icicle, and then it becomes something I need to reverse. That, or when it--the shivering, especially--aggravates my injuries like it did early on with the broken leg, or when Ive had busted ribs Do you mean, then, that you actually enjoythis? These last few weeks, conditions like we saw, today? This freezing every time you go outside, never quite being able to get warmit doesnt really look to me like you could be enjoying it. Right now? He moved a bit closer to her, drew his nose in under the bear hide, sighed. No, not so much. Im too doggone scrawny, still. Without some minimal fat reserves, just a little bit, just enough to get a person up out of the imminent starvation category things tend to go from mildly interesting to downright dangerous real fast, in this kind of cold. Nah, I kind of just endure it at the moment, rather than enjoying it. But now once I manage to put on a few more poundsitll be a different story! He was quiet for a minute, then, and Liz felt him relax, his breathing growing more regular, and she pulled the bear hide up over their heads and closed her eyes, hoping that his sleep would last for a good while and finding herself immensely, immeasurably grateful for the warmth of the bear hide and the cattail bed, after that particular conversation. And glad Einar had gone to sleep when he had, too, as she was certain that he would otherwise have had a good deal more to say on the subject, as it seemed one of his favorites, and she had heard quite enough for one night. Though his sleep was light and not especially peaceful, Einar did manage to lie relatively still for the remainder of the night, and when he woke for the final time, it was to a pale light seeping in under the yearling hide and the shrieking of the wind over the rocks just outside the den. The place would, he was quite sure, have been creaking and shaking, had it been a wooden or fabric structure, rather than the earthen one that it was. The weather was changing, and he was glad.

Seeing the skiff of snow that had drifted in and dusted the floor of the den just in front of the door in the night, Einar, who rose first that morning, thought at first that the windpromised storm had already begun out on the mountainside, enthusiastically pulling back a corner of the bear hide, in the hopes of seeing something that would tell him they were safe having the lamp once again, and perhaps, if the storm was heavy enough, even the stove. The morning greeted him with no such news, however, the sky grey and sullen and the wind slamming him in the face, driving a flurry of icy crystals into his eyes and leaving him squinting out at a world which, while dark and certainly wintry, showed no sign of new snow, as of yet. It would come. He could smell it. Until then, though he let the door flap fall closed, brushed the snow from his clothes and used a handful of dry grass to sweep the accumulated whiteness away from inside the door, against the time when they would again have a fire and the place would become warm enough for the snow to begin melting and turning the floor muddy. Later. Maybe later, when it snows. For now we can still expect aircraft, though with this wind he leaned another slab of granite up against the flapping yearling hide, feeling the draft rather keenly as it flowed over him, with this wind, theyre not likely to be flying for too long! Liz had left the bed and carved off a few slivers of bear fat and, along with a small cake of dried chokecherries and some frozen venison, returned to the warmth of the bear hide to partake of the breakfast. Einar joined her, eating, glad to find that the water in their bottles--stashed carefully in the bear hide with them--had remained mostly liquid overnight, if a bit slushy. There was not much left, though, less than an entire bottle between them, and Einar knew that they must leave a bit of water in the bottom of each, going outside and stuffing a good bit of snow down into the bottles after they ate, keeping them close to their bodies to begin what at those temperatures would be a long, slow melting process. The stormy-looking weather was promising, for sure, gave hope that the lamp might soon be an option once again, but Einar knew better than to count on any such thing, knew the weather was subject to change without notice, in the mountains, especially. And, should the snow hold off and air search go active again, they would not even have the option of using the black plastic bag to melt a bit of snow for drinking water, as he highly doubted they would be seeing the sun that day, at all. The clouds were too thick, too low and leaden and widespread to offer any such hope. Well. Storm would absolutely be the best thing that could happen to us right now, anyway. Lying on the sleeping platform as they finished off the last of their breakfast--it was noticeably warmer up there off the floor, even with no heat source in the den besides their own bodies--and listening to the wind outside, Einar thought he heard something else, a small sound, a scraping or scratching coming from somewhere just outside the den, and he eased his hand down over the edge of the sleeping platform until he found his spear, grabbed it and lay waiting, listening, realizing finally that the sounds came not from beyond the den but from inside it, from the corner, in fact, where the half-eaten deer carcass sat frozen near the wall. Sneaky, arent you? And reasonably small too, I think, or youd be making more noise The weak light coming in around the door flap was not enough to illuminate the corner that held the deer carcass, and Einar, motioning to Liz to

remain still, carefully swung his legs out of the bed, wishing very much at the moment for more agility, and crouching on the floor between the door and the carcass. Whatever manner of intruder was feasting on their food supply, he knew that it must be stopped, and knew that it would, itself, be edible, and that they could ill afford to miss a chance to add to their food supply. If only he could see it. He could hear it, though, the soft sounds of chipping and cracking bone as the creature plied the deer carcass with its teeth telling him that it had not, apparently, yet become too alarmed at his presence or decided that it was time to flee, and he crawled towards it, dragging his injured leg and stopping every few seconds to listen. The second time he paused he realized that the creature had stopped, too, must have finally heard him or felt the predatory concentration with which he stalked it, and, hearing a scurrying and a scraping some distance off to his left, heading for the door, he scrambled to his feet and dived at the sound, knife in hand, bad leg collapsing under him and leaving his head to slam into the rocks beside the entrance as the creature ran beneath him and escaped his would-be deadly grasp. Hearing a commotion behind him Einar quickly flipped over and got to his knees, seeking the source of the disturbance but finding himself unable to keep up with the speed at which the creature--creatures? Sure is making a racket!--moved about the den, twisting and jumping and sounding as if it, or they, were bouncing off of the walls, and then there was a sharp crack, silence Shoving open the door flap and pinning it with a rock to keep it back and shed some light on the situation, Einar was met by the sight of Liz standing there beside the bed, wild-eyed, holding a three pound pine marten by the tail, its skull crushed, a good-sized aspen stick with a knot in one end gripped tightly in the other hand, appearing poised for more action, and his eyes went from the log, to her face to the dead weasel, a most comical look of startled amazement spreading across his features as he found himself suddenly possessed of a newfound respect for her firewoodwielding talent and hoping that he would not again soon find himself at the receiving end of its fury. Staring at each other thus for a few seconds, they both burst out laughing simultaneously, relief and the general hilarity of the entire situation getting the better of them, and when Einar had sufficiently regained his composure to pick himself up off the floor he gritted his teeth against the twisting pains in his leg he crawled over to her, hauling himself up onto the bed to sit beside her. Looks like breakfast. Howd you ever manage to see it well enough to make a good solid hit like that? Relaxing just a bit Liz sat also, gingerly laying the dead animal across her lap and inspecting its thick, rich blackish-brown coat, but seeming unwilling to release her grasp on the weapon, just yet. I just heard it coming towards me, got a little glimpse of motion out of the corner of my eye and before I knew what I was doing She clubbed the side of the sleeping platform with the knotted end of the stick for emphasis, surprising Einar and sending him scrambling momentarily to his feet. What is it, anyway? Its way bigger than any ermine I ever saw! He sat back down, leaning the spear against the bed and taking the animal in his hands. Pine marten. Quick little critters. You must be getting nearly as jumpy as I am, to be

able to nab it the way you did, and in the dark. Good job! Yes, I guess some of it is rubbing off. Is a pine marten any good to eat? He chuckled. Anything and everything that walks on four legs--or hops on two and flies--is good to eat up here, Liz! More or less Yeah, well have marten stew tonight, and this little fellows fur is one of the warmest and softest youll find. They nearly got trapped out in the 1800s because of the demand for their furs, in Europe. But therere pretty plentiful again, plenty plentiful enough, I see, to come raiding us of our food! All we need now is to trap twenty or thirty more of the critters, and we could sew their hides up into a real fine coat, the kind of thing that would let you sit out there for hours in the cold and barely feel it. Guess Id better get busy with these deadfalls, and think about setting out some snares for marten, too. And fox. I thought we werent going to risk leaving tracks out there Oh, its gonna snow! Cant you smell it? Id be surprised if we get past mid afternoon before it starts coming down, and after that, after we see that the storms good and entrenched and likely to drop a good many inches, we can get out and about again. Set the deadfalls and some snares, get some more firewood, start thinking about where we might put a raised cache to keep some of our food safe from sneaky little weasels and big cats and any and every other hungry scavenger that happens to get a whiff of this den lots to do out there! Liz smiled at him, glad to see that the strain and tension that had been more than evident in his face and movements over the past few days seemed to have been eased some by the promise of new snow, and she hoped it was not because he had made the determination to move on, and saw the coming storm as the perfect opportunity to do so. Probably not. Why would he be talking about setting all these traps, if he was planning for us to run out of here as soon as the snow started coming down? With the hope of a full-fledged storm, and relative safety, emphasized constantly in the howling and sighing of the wind outside, Einar insisted that they wait to light the lamp, that there was still a chance that something could fly over in the interim, and though he periodically joined Liz in the bear hide, between working on various projects in the dim glow that seeped in around the door, they were both badly chilled by the time he decided that they could have the light and warmth of the lamp, as the sun was showing no indication of announcing its presence that day, and temperatures remained well below zero, frequent drafts and eddies and sharp icy stabs of wind finding their way in around the door. Finally, several hours having passed without any sign or sound of a renewed air search and the first fine, dry flakes of snow beginning to spit down from the heavy sky, the lamp was re-lit and both cooking vessels suspended over it, Liz preparing a big pot of spruce needle tea, generously enhanced with bear fat and further flavored with a few dried service berries. After that, sitting close together on either side of the lamp, they prepared and drank pot after pot of the stuff, occasionally adding a couple of rose hips to the mix and finding that consumption of the rich tea helped tremendously with their

ability to handle the cold as they waited for their meal of marten stew. Hovering over the lamp, Einar showed Liz how to case skin the animal, making a cut along each of the hind legs, severing the feet and pulling the entire hide off in one strong, swift motion, much like removing a glove, doing a bit of work around the eyes, ears and mouth to finish freeing it. Then, as Liz prepared the meat for their stew--never having tasted anything in the weasel family nor able to remembering hearing of anyone else eating it, and wondering whether there might be a good reason, but not wanting to ask Einar such a question--he took the still inside-out hide and searched for an appropriately-sized piece of firewood, finding one finally and working to split it so that the hide could be carefully slid overtop of it like a sock on a foot, for scraping and drying. Before doing so, he shaved a bit of wood from the top of the rough board, tapering it towards the top and working to smooth down any rough edges with his knife and a piece of sandstone, hoping to prevent tears in the hide as he used his knife and a split deer bone to scrape free the bits of meat, fat and membrane--membrane, mostly, as he had done a clean job of the skinning--that had been left clinging to the flash side of the hide. Even better than leaving the hide on this board to dry once he fleshed it, he knew, would have been to create a scissors-like device of similar dimensions which could be inserted into the hide and then opened up, hinged at the top and held open at the bottom by a horizontal board with appropriately-spaced notches, to stretch the hide as it dried. Well. That will come, if we stick around here. For now, this will be quite adequate. The stew was boiling, the slightly musky odor of cooking pine marten reaching him and reminding him just how very hungry he was, and he decided to wait and eat before venturing out into the wind and the increasingly heavy snow to set the deadfalls.

Sitting beside the lamp, warm and comfortably full after having consumed well over a quart of scalding hot, bear fat-enriched pine marten stew, Einar worked to turn some of the remaining willow shoots into more figure four triggers for deadfall traps, wanting to take advantage of the storm to get out as many sets as he could. Martens, he knew, were fairly easy to trap, being highly inquisitive creatures and little afraid of human scent, normally quite willing to step into an unconcealed trap, an inclination demonstrated by their uninvited house guest that morning. He knew also that the fish entrails he had set aside from their trout harvest the day before represented nearly the perfect bait to lure them in. Stuff would probably work even better if it had been rotting for a day or two, but thats sure not gonna happen in these temperatures, and Im not sure that I want to set the heap of fish guts near this lamp to start fermenting. That stink would attract all kinds of critters right here into the den, and some of them might be bigger than that marten this morning, might be things we dont want to have running around in our living spaceand then theres always the chance that Liz might just mistake me for one of the critters in the dark, and splatter my brains all over the wall with that war club of hers. He laughed under his breath, set aside the finished three stick trigger group he had been working on, and started on another. Yeah. Better not try and rot the marten bait here in

the den. Itll work alright fresh. Some old, stinky beaver castor would make fine bait for the martens, too. Ive used that before. Doesnt take much at all, just rubbed on a little strip of deer hide with the hair left on to hold the scent, to attract the critters. Too bad we cant get ahold of a beaver or twomaybe in the spring, or when things settle down and we can head lower where there are some dams Reminiscing about some of the trapping he had done in the past, in those quiet years when he had been living up at his cabin, Einar shook his head. He had, for a number of years, made a good portion of the minimal yearly income he needed--money for property taxes, a bit of food to supplement what he hunted and grew, and occasional gas for his truck--off of his traplines, and had kept at it to some extent even when changes in regulations and a decline in the market reduced the profitability. It had been hard work, but work he enjoyed for the most part, and he could not help but think that they would be doing pretty well, both food and warm clothing-wise, if he could do similar, now. Well. Being in the middle of a search like that sure does change a persons habits, change how you go about making a living out here. Just got to do what we can, with whats available to us. Doubt I could handle running a miles-long trapline right now anyway, even if we didnt have to be worried about our trails showing up from the air. Carrying that heavy pack and allwell, couple days of that would probably do me in right now, unfortunately. Later in the winter though if things settle down, they give up the air search, we may have more options. Liz had been busy sorting through their remaining food--dried berries, pemmican, some jerky, dried nettle and other greens, milkweed seeds that were supposed to be for sprouting and a dwindling supply of cattail starch from the roots Einar had processed back at the crevice in the Bulwarks--and wondering what she might do to help supplement it. The cattail starch, while she had only once baked with it as one would flour, had proven to be an excellent thickener and filler for their stews, adding some greatly welcome carbohydrates to their meals and turning the thin broth, with the help of some melted bear fat, into a thick, wonderfully filling mixture that had been tremendously beneficial to Einar when he had been so sick that first week back from the canyon. She wondered about the possibility of pulling a quantity of fresh cattail roots from the small patch of open water down in the cattail marsh, thinking that the storm ought to provide adequate cover for a trip down there. Maybe I could find some more rose hips, too. Einar seemed focused on the traps, though, and she did not want to disturb him with questions about a trip down to the marsh, just then. She sat down next to him, inspecting the triggers sticks. How many of these things do you need? Can there possibly be that many martens around here? Trapper who was serious about taking martens would usually pick some good territory, put out a hundred sets or more. I wont be doing that right now. Be doing well to get a dozen or two out there, and I dont know how many martens we may get, that way. May not be too many more in this area, well just have to see. The critters have a pretty wide territory, usually. They can travel a good ten or twenty miles in a night, looking for food.

Which is one reason--aside from getting us some good warm fur to help protect us this winter--why Id like to trap a few, if weve got them around here. Theyll be major competition for us when it comes to the small game well probably find ourselves relying on more and more as the winter goes along. Rabbits, squirrelsmarten is one of the few predators that will hunt squirrels up in the trees. Theyll climb, jump from tree to tree, even, to hunt squirrels. And theyll take chickens down in the valley, and grouse occasionally, up here. Theyre one of the few predators that stays up this high, as winter really sets in. Well, its starting to snow pretty heavily out there. Ill come help you set these up, when youre ready. OK. Soon. I want to get a few snares ready though, first. Another good way to catch these critters is to choose an angled log or pole thats propped up against a tree, and stick some bait up on it or on the tree just above it, to get them to run up the pole. Youd usually have a trap sitting on that pole just before the bait, or more often just outside a little box that you put the bait in, but Im hoping I can take some with snares, set up on the pole kinda like youd do for squirrels. Well see Wont the snow cover up the deadfalls you set on the ground ? Wellback when I was using leghold and body traps Id just choose a good heavy spruce to put them under, then build a little cubby of upright sticks--a three-walled thing with the bait at the back and the trap out near the front--and put a few cut branches over it to keep the snow off the trap. Worked great, at least until the snow got too deep, but its going to be a little more challenging, using that setup with these deadfalls. I think it will work out, though. Just have to make the cubbies a little bigger, to hold the trigger mechanism and rock or log. As he spoke, Einar had been working on snares, twisting two of them from the wire that had been in Lizs pack--he couldnt remember for sure where or how he had obtained it, but was pretty sure it had come from one of the mines where he had taken refuge--and, when the wire was used up, creating several more from lengths of paracord. Well run out of this stuff, eventually--paracord, wire, strands taken out of that climbing rope--and will have to rely on what we can make. I did it in the beginning when I had nothing, and from time to time since. That dogbane you found will make an incredibly fine and strong cordage, so next time we make it down there, we ought to poke around some and see if we cant find some more, before it completely disappears under the snow. We ought to have plenty of time this winter to work on cordage, and Id like to get a pretty good supply built up and set aside, so we dont have to use our manufactured stuff like the paracord so quickly, and can use our own homemade stuff for some of the rougher tasks that will tend to wear it out faster. Milkweed, dogbane, nettles, even aspen and cottonwood inner bark are good, though they dont make as strong a finished product. And of course we have the sinew, though its too valuable to use for every little thing. Best save it for special purposes like a bowstring, and hafting spear and atlatl

heads. And hopefully arrowheads, too, before too long. We ought to have a bow. But for nowlets head out and see if we cant come up with a couple more martens! Liz looked up from the spot beside the stove, where she had been splitting some of the dry grey aspen branches from the firewood pile into thin kindling-splinters, arranging them in the stove and adding larger branches on top of them with the knowledge that they--Einar, especially, though he would probably not admit it--were likely to return from their trap-setting excursion chilled to the bone, caked with wind-blown snow and in need of a fire to dry out and prepare some quick tea and broth. If hell let us have one Seeming to hear her thoughts Einar nodded his approval. Stove ought to be fine, long as its storming like this. Though wed better make sure the chimney hasnt been drifted over with snow, before lighting it! Wouldnt make for the best evening, getting smoked out of the den in the middle of a blizzard. I expect it should be fine though, up under all of those thick trees up there. Maybe we can pick up a little more firewood on the way back, too. And he rose, hopping over to the bed to retrieve his improvised crutch for the journey, and discovering, when he attempted to put a bit of weight on the injured leg as he had been doing of late, that it was tender and sharply painful at the slightest pressure. Huh. Guess all this jumping up out of bed and putting my full weight on it two nights in a row has not been a good thing at all. Got to try and stop that. It was, he could tell, going to be a long walk. Better get started.

Seeing little point in placing any of the marten sets in areas where he would be prevented by lack of heavy tree cover from checking them after the storm ended, Einar kept to the black timber as they worked their way out along the ridge that ran above the den, stopping every hundred yards or so to choose a likely-looking spruce whose sweeping boughs had protected the ground beneath from the deepest of the snow. As he had anticipated, the stick-and-branch cubbies that protected the trap from snowfall and channeled the animal back towards the bait needed to be significantly larger with the deadfalls he was using than they ever had with steel traps of either sort, and the low temperatures posed their own set of challenges, as he found that his fish-entrail bait was frozen quite solid in a block in its wrappings of aspen inner bark, requiring him to set it on a rock and chip at it with his knife, further softening the slivers and chunks thus created so they could be smeared and stuck to the back of the cubbies where their scent would hopefully attract the martens. Struggling with the bait, Einar wished he had thought to mix the bait with some bear fat before it froze, leaving it more pliable when the time came. Also wish I had something to mix into it, something with a stink that would carry just a bit better in this kind of cold, some beaver castor or skunk scent. Well. I dont have any such, and well just have to hope the fish-smell carries adequately. Another challenge thrown them by the cold came in the fact that most of the rock slabs that liberally dotted the mountainside were frozen firmly into or onto the ground, even when he did manage to locate one beneath a tree that was not drifted over with snow. Prying with the end of his spear and kicking with his good foot while balancing

precariously on the crutch, scraping and pulling with already numbed fingers until his hands were bloody but getting nowhere with the rocks, he finally accepted Lizs offer of assistance, and together they freed not only a slab with which to set the first trap, but two others to carry along to the next location, on the chance that it might be lacking such readily available resources. Which it was, leaving Liz glad that she had gone to the trouble to lug fifteen pounds of granite slab up the hill to it. They continued this way for well over an hour as Einar chose locations and built cubbies to shield the deadfalls, Liz watching closely and when, after the third trap, he offered to let her do the next one, gladly accepting. Einar was glad, too, as much because he badly needed the rest as because he wanted to see Liz get the experience, and he stood to the side, leaning heavily on a tree and struggling to keep all the weight off of his injured side as he watched her construct the set, giving a bit of instruction where necessary. Which it was not, for the most part, as she had been paying close attention as he set the others. The trouble came in when she was finally ready to lower the slab down onto the top stick of the trigger, at which point everything collapsed under it, very nearly trapping her toes between the heavy slab and the ground. Jumping back and tripping over a branch, she ended up on her back with her head facing downhill, the heavy yearling hide making it nearly impossible for her to right herself. Einar hurried as well as he could to help her, but she quickly squirmed out of the hide and got to her feet, brushing off the snow and hurriedly gathering up the three pieces of the trigger, which had flown off haphazardly into the snow upon the traps collapse. So, what did I do wrong? Except for putting my foot where it could get smashed by the rock Nothing, really. It can be a little tricky to balance that rock, as much as it weighs. Try again. Youll get a feel for it. Just lower the rock nice and easy, make sure everythings balanced right before you put the full weight on the trigger. She gave it another try, this time keeping her toes well clear of the rock and managing, after several cautious adjustments, to balance the heavy slab on the trigger, raising her hands and backing away carefully lest she disturb it. They continued on, taking turns after that in building the cubbies and placing traps, Liz, when her turns came, insisting that Einar have the yearling hide for warmth as he waited. It was very cold and, it seemed, growing colder as the storm settled in, Einar stopping every few minutes as they walked to pull off a mitten and cup a hand over his nose, cheeks or ears, and urging Liz to do the same, knowing that they were risking serious frostbite, being out in the wind as they were. He glanced back at Liz, who appeared to be trying very hard to keep her chin and mouth down in the yearling hide for protection, the wolverine hide wrapped up and over her head and down the back of her neck. He tried to speak to her, found that the words were coming out all slurred and mumbly, pressed his hands to his lips and cheeks for a minute and tried again. You watch my face, look at it every time we stop, and Ill dosame for you. Got to check for white spots, waxy looking spots on the nose or cheeks, warm them up if we see them. Thats the start of frostbite. And, he puffed air into his cheeks and crossed his eyes, giving his

face a terribly distorted look that would have set Liz to laughing had she not thought for a moment that there must be something terribly wrong with him, helps to make weird faces now and then, just to keep the skin of your face moving, stretching. Do you have to cross your eyes like that for it to be effective? You look pretty scary that way! Yep, just like that. Or it wont work. She shot him a skeptical, cross eyed look, both of them laughing a little. Huh. That is scary. Nah, no need to cross your eyes. Not cold enough for your eyeballs to freeze, I dont think Not quite, anyway. The snow was, because of the cold, very dry, which was a great blessing, as neither of their boots were in especially good shape at that point, and wet feet would certainly have meant frozen feet, in those temperatures. They were having a good bit of trouble as it was, Liz hopping from one foot to the other whenever they stopped in an attempt to keep the blood moving, and occasionally kicking her toes against a tree or against her opposite boot, not liking the numbness that tried very hard to set in every time they stopped climbing. Einar tried to do the same, knew the foot of his casted leg, especially, was in great danger, but there was not much he could do for it, other than to concentrate at regular intervals on wiggling the toes. Their course had taken them a good two or three miles out along the ridge above the den and then, following the dark timber, down into a narrow-walled gully where Einar put together the last of the sets and placed a few snares, also, choosing the angled trunks of small fallen trees, focusing on those that stood beneath a good bit of timber to prevent four or five inches of snow from quickly accumulating on the poles, and covering the snares. Out of snares and trap triggers after that, they were more than ready to head back, climbing up out of the gully and starting up the first of three heavily wooded slopes--I hope its three, seem to remember threethis would be one lousy time to end up lost-- that stood between them and the den, Einar moving more and more slowly all the time, weighed down by a rapidly growing exhaustion and by an agony in his leg that neither movement nor stillness seemed to ease in the least. Finally they began recognizing landmarks, faint and hazy through the swirling snow, knowing that they were within one good straight steep climb of the den. Einar made it back up that last slope, ruggedly rocky and littered with deadfall that lurked just beneath the surface and more than once sent him sprawling on his face in the snow, but only because he knew that he must, that he would die if he simply sat down and rested the leg as he longed to do, and that, as the fury of the storm was increasing, Liz would be in danger as well, if she refused to leave him and return to shelter. Once they were both inside again, it did not take Liz long, after a brief pause to warm her hands, to strike sparks into the nest of shredded aspen inner bark and milkweed down that she had previously prepared and left sitting on top of the stove, gently giving it a bit of air until the aspen bark flared up in flame and placing it under the carefully arranged kindling in the stove. She had forgotten about first checking the chimney to be sure that

it had not been drifted over--they both had--but it drew well, carrying the small amount of smoke produced in starting the fire up and out, and within minutes the stove was burning happily, Liz adding some larger pieces of aspen wood and setting a pot of snow to begin melting for tea and then stew. That done, she pulled the bear hide down from the bed and helped Einar, who sat trying to thaw his hands, into his dry clothes, beating his snowcrusted ones against the rocks near the entrance and hanging them to dry from some roots near the stove. Hers soon joined them, little clumps of snow and ice hissing and spluttering as they fell on the heating rocks of the stove. Scooting closer to the flames and dragging Einar along with her, as he seemed little inclined to make the move, himself, Liz got the bear hide around them and held her hands out to the crackling flames, waiting for the stove to begin throwing off a bit of heat and warming the damp, freezing air of the den. Which it soon did, the place warming quite nicely and Liz bustling about, chopping meat for a stew, shaving off slivers of frozen bear fat and breaking up a cake of dried chokecherries to add to the mix. The pain in Einars leg had become nearly unbearable since sitting down, and he could not understand it, fumbled with the ties that held the cast in place and finally succeeded in getting them off, lifting off the top half and discovering to his dismay that the leg had swollen up badly with the use, creating a tremendous amount of pressure in the cast, which explained a good bit of the pain. Rubbing the leg and clasping his hands over his numbed, dangerously pale toes for a minute, he was glad to feel the stinging ache of returning circulation in them. Not frozen. This time. Busy with stew and tea preparations and enjoying the growing warmth of the den, Liz glanced back some minutes later to find Einar sitting there with a dazed look on his face, rubbing his leg and holding the little bag of rocks that she had recovered from the remains of his friend Willis Amell. She sat down next to him, spoke, waited some minutes before getting a response. Tired, Liz. Getting awful tired. Well, she handed him a pot of tea which he set down, seemingly uninterested in drinking, its no wonder youre so tired, you never seem to sleep anymore. Maybe tonight No. Thats not what I meant.

In struggling to find the words to explain to Liz just what he had meant by his statement, Einar decided that he really did not want to do so at all, did not wish to think about it any further himself, let alone burden her with the matter, and chastised himself for the lapse in discipline that had allowed his mind to go down that path, in the first place. Cant afford that. Not now. Youve been tired before, plenty of times, and youre still here. Legs just got you down, thats all. Shaking his head, he stuffed the bag of pebbles back into his pocket after a minute without another word--later, Will--and scooted over closer

to the stove, pulling the little container of half finished atlatl and spear points out of his pack and scraping one of them against a rough piece of granite that he had been using for that purpose, creating the beveled edge that would--he hoped--help increase the weapons effectiveness when it came to taking game. Which would be soon, if all went well, as he intended to get Liz out and practicing with her atlatl as soon as weather and air search conditions permitted, knowing that having two of them equipped to take advantage of any opportunity that they might come across in their wanderings would greatly increase their chances of obtaining food. Liz, while she wished he would have spoken to her of whatever was on his mind, was encouraged to see Einar finally taking an interest in something, at least, having found the blank-eyed inertia that had gripped him since returning to the den rather unlike him, and therefore quite worrisome. Again she offered him a drink of tea, and this time he accepted, thirsty and still very cold from the climb and finally realizing it, nearly draining the pot before he stopped to take a breath, looking up at her with grateful eyes. Good stuff. What is it? I taste spruce, but theres something else. Better not be yarrow No! Im keeping all the yarrow tea for myself. This is just the spruce, a few serviceberries for sugar, and some nettles. It looked like you could use the iron. And looks like you could really use some willow for that leg, too, and a week or two spent mostly in bed with it propped up to keep the swelling down, but itll only make you angry if I say any of that, wont it, you stubborn old mule? He nodded, stretched, grimacing at the sight of his grotesquely swollen lower leg, rubbing it again. Its helping. Thanks. Refilling the pot with a scoop of snow from outside she set it to begin melting once again, knowing that she would have to add many handfulls of the dry, powdery snow as it began turning to liquid if she wanted to end up with anything like a full pot, Liz rejoined Einar in front of the stove, where he had spread their remaining willow shoots out on the floor and was carefully scrutinizing them, choosing four of the straightest and working them a bit with his knife to remove any knobs or imperfections that detracted from their straightness and sighting down them as he worked. Figure its about time for you to start practicing with that atlatl, if youre up for it. You can start with these willow shoots, then by the time youre able to hit what youre aiming at with them a good bit of the time, I ought to have four or five of these bone-tipped darts ready for you. Thought you could use that little clearing just this side of the gully for a target range, just stay in the trees on this side and toss the darts across the gully, go around through the timber to retrieve them when youre done. That way you avoid leaving deep trenches through the snow where theyll show from the air if this storm happens to clear up before they all fill on or drift over, but still gives you a good twenty or thirty yard shot without too many trees getting in the way. Thats plenty far enough, for starting out.

Yes! I want to do it! Let me just get this stew started, warm up a little, and Ill head right back out there and get started. Einar grinned, pleased at her enthusiasm. Sure, if you want to. Might go a little better if you wait for the wind to die down somebut come to think about it, the howling does seem to have quieted a bit since weve come in. Give me a couple minutes to eat a bite of something, and Ill come with you. Tentatively she reached out and put a hand on his injured leg, rubbing it for him when he did not pull back. No, Einaryouve got to rest this leg. Theres no way youll be able to get the cast back on with it swollen up like this, and I can see that its hurting you. Now Ill go practice with the atlatl, but first Im going to make you a big pot of that willow solution and help you get the leg all propped up, and I need to know that youll stay in here and rest while Im gone. Please. Narrowing his eyes and prying in frustration with one of the willow wands at a little granite flake embedded in the den floor, Einar fought to swallow his anger, staring glumly at the leg and admitting that the girl is making sense. You barely made it back up here just now. Let her go, and listen to what shes saying, for once. Shes got more sense than you do about this, thats for sure. You can hardly bend your knee right now, and theres no way youd be able to get it into anything like a right angle to strap that crutch on. Doggone legs blown up like a balloon Yeah, Ill do it. Guess somebody needs to be here, anyway, in case a bobcat shows up, or a big old lynx comes padding along on those wide, furry snowshoe feet of his and comes in here after this meat. Was thinking about that while we were out this morning we really need to get some of it cached securely, because it would be a real shame to come back and find nothing but a few cracked bones left of this deer, and if our fat supply was to get devastated by some scavengerso. Ill stick around the place and nab any lynx that makes an attempt on our food supply. Fur like that would be real good to have, anyway. Come on, lynx! He grabbed his spear and set it across his legs as if ready to stand sentry while she went out for some dart-throwing practice, Liz rolling her eyes and thinking to herself that yeah, thats exactly what you need right now Einar. A fight with thirty pounds of claw and muscle, hungry, angry and cornered here in the den. Youve still got scars all over your arms from the last time you decided to take on a lynx single-handed, though I guess youd be a little better off this time even with the broken leg, since youre not in handcuffs like you were that time Well. Lets hope the lynxes and bobcats and such are all curled up in holes somewhere trying to stay out of this storm! But youre right, that would be a disaster to come back and find our food gone. Should I be looking for some good straight-trunked little trees while Im out, that we could use for the legs of this raised cache youve been talking about?

That was my first thought, a raised cache like that, but it seems maybe wed be better off building a hollow rock cairn like was done a lot out on the tundra. Round walls of rock, with the meat and fat stashed down inside so the critters cant get at it. Would be easier to access, as long as we put it someplace where it wont drift over too deep with snow, and it could be concealed better, too. No good way to hide the raised one, if anybody should happen by on the ground. That, and the fact that Im not sure just how well Im gonna be able to climb right now, to work on a raised one Visions of Einar struggling up a spruce tree with his broken leg, reaching, falling, in all probability, being more than enough to convince Liz of the wisdom of ground-based stone cairn caches, she vigorously agreed with him, promising to look for a spot where there might still be significant enough quantities of exposed rock to construct such a thing. Before leaving, though, she sat down with him to share a pot of hastily-made stew, brewing, while they ate, a pot of strong, nearly black willow bark and shoot solution in the hopes that it might serve to reduce the swelling in Einars leg. Getting him settled by the fire--he refused to be helped up onto the bed, despite Lizs assertions that it would be warmer there off the ground--and propping up his bad leg on a pile of dry grass, spruce needles and his backpack, she draped the bear hide over him, dragged a big pile of firewood over within his reach and lined up the grinding rocks that he had been using to work the stone atlatl points, hoping that their ready availability might encourage him to keep still while she was away. Ha! Not much chance of that, but Ive got to try The storm raged on outside, and Liz, who was quickly learning to welcome such weather, made her way through the timber over to the open area near the gully that Einar had suggested as a target range, squinting into the snow and realizing that she could not even quite see the far side of the little draw, much less hope to hit a particular tree among the many that lined its edge. Waiting for the snow to slack off some, she explored the area immediately below it, collecting a good amount of usnea lichen for future use and finding several spots where the heavy cover of the intertwined evergreen branches had kept the snow cover to a minimum, slabs and flakes of granite appearing quite accessible beneath their six to eight inches of cover, when she brushed the powder aside with her foot. Many of them frozen into the spruce duff, she knew that any construction project involving them would pose a major challenge, but with enough kicking and pounding she was able to free several good sized chunks, and supposed that the cairn Einar wanted to build would be possible, if not easy, and still preferable--despite the challenge of freeing the frozen rock--to creating a raised cache that would be highly visible from the ground, if not the air. The snow had calmed down a bit, small, plentiful flakes still filtering down through the trees but no longer limiting the visible world to the five or six feet immediately in front of her face, and Liz returned to the gully edge, sending several willow shoots flying with the atlatl and, though she missed her target-tree entirely with the first two and struck it only a glancing blow with the third, finding herself surprised and greatly pleased at the way the weapon extended her reach. Fitting the last of the willows onto the throwing spur and focusing on the big spruce that was her goal, Liz heard something, just the faintest rustle behind her as the wind quieted

for a moment, turned to look back and saw it. The bird was white, so snowy white that she would have overlooked it entirely, had it not been for the black eye that watched her from its shelter-spot, roosted down and buried nearly up to its back in the snow beneath a tree. A ptarmigan! She had seen them only a few times before, usually up near or even above treeline, and though she had never personally tasted one, she supposed that they would make fine and probably fairly rich and fatty fare for the table. If we had a table but thats entirely beside the point! Einar would want to have this critter to eat, Im sure, and Im going to see if I cant bring it home to him! Ptarmigans, she remembered from past observation, tend to behave somewhat like grouse, keeping still in the presence of predators and relying on their feathers to camouflage and hide them until the threat passed on, and she moved very carefully closer, one step then another, stopping when the bird showed signs of getting nervous, ready to scoot up out of the snow and take wing. Very slowly, she removed the dart from the atlatl and sharpened its tip with a few quick strokes of her knife, returning it to its position and drawing back her arm.

Einar worked for a time, completing one bone atlatl head and starting on another and stopping frequently to rub his leg and sip the strongly bitter willow solution that Liz had left for him, feeding the little stove and once dragging himself over to the door to scoop up snow so that Liz would have some water in the second pot for tea, when she returned. Shaving and scraping at the section of deer leg bone from which he was attempting to fashion the second atlatl point, Einars eyes kept blurring, drifting closed, and he woke with a start more than once to find that he his head had fallen back against the pile of soft grass and duff that Liz had piled up behind him. He did not want to sleep but, knowing that he lacked the focus at that point to do a decent job on the points he set them aside, taking a good-sized gulp of the scaldingly bitter willow juice to wake himself up some--it worked--and sorting through the firewood pile until he found an aspen log that looked like it ought to suit his purposes. The chosen log was out of the lower portion of the trunk of a small dead aspen, dry and with bark that could easily be separated and pulled free, and had been chopped to length when Liz dropped a heavy rock on it from above. Setting the foot-long log on end--it did not exactly have a flat end, because of the way it had been cut, but he managed, jamming it into the dirt a bit to hold it in place--he studied it, wishing he had a better knife that he could use for splitting the log. As it was, his big knife consisted of the four inch, double-edged blade he had recovered what seemed like ages ago from the body of the agent in the valley after the man had stabbed him with it, and he knew it was a less-than-ideal tool for splitting wood. With a slightly larger knife, and one without a double edge, he had split a good deal of mid-sized logs on his past wanderings, using a second log to pound on the top of the blade to drive it down through the wood, but he was not sure how well this would work, with his present knife. Willing to try it anyway, he remembered at the last minute the large rose quartz flake that Liz had found, searching for it among the gear that lay carefully arranged against one wall of the den and driving it into the top of the log, sending it several inches into the wood with a few good strikes from another log. The quartz was out of his reach after that, but seeing that the log had split all the way down with a hairline crack, he grabbed its two halves at the top, pulling them apart until it separated with a loud crack! that

startled him a bit there in the confines of the den and told him that yes, the wood was as dry as he had guessed it to be. A good thing. Inspecting the two split halves, he chose the thicker, leveling it with a few quick knife strokes to its rounded side. Good. Ought to work. Immensely weary after the effort--it had not been that much work, and he was irritated at himself for feeling so spent after completing it--Einar stopped to tend to his leg again, relieved to see that the swelling had gone down some, and with it the discomfort, and expecting the change to be due as much to elevating it for a time as to the use of the willow. Alright. Back to work. Figure this split log ought to make a fine bowl, once I burn out the center with hot coals, scrape it with my knife and a few granite flakes, and sand it down with some rock dust. Been meaning to make Liz something like this. Shes been awful good about accepting things the way they are, here, but I expect she might appreciate having at least a few of the trappings of civilization around this place, as I get time to work on a few projects that arent directly related to obtaining food or keeping from freezing solid overnight She might like not having to pass a single pot back and forth at every meal, anyway, and I can do that much for her. This bowl will go well with that spoon she had started making the other day. A number of times in the past, Einar had made for himself eating or cooking vessels of coal-burned wood--though somehow he never had got around to making a spoon during his time on the run--knowing that it was one of the few good ways to create a cooking container, which could be managed even when a person has no knife, as he had not for much of the previous year. The coal-charred wood could easily be scraped out with a rock flake, and a rough container in which one could boil water using hot rocks being created within the space of an hour or less. Lizs bowl, he expected, would take a good bit longer than that, as he wanted it to look decent as well as being functional. Taking two short willow pieces and using them as tongs, he removed three small coals from the brightly glowing bed in the stove, placing them in the center of the split log and blowing gently as they heated and began to char the surface of the wood below. When it was thoroughly blackened and beginning to show small cracks, he pushed the coals to the side with one of the willow sticks, directing another stream of air onto them. A straw of some sort--he had used everything from wild onions to the hollow segments of horsetail reeds-would, he knew, allow him to direct his breath more accurately and speed up the process, but in looking around the den he could find no such, and knew that while helpful, it was not essential. The coals had begun growing cold by that time, their lively orange replaced more and more with a dull black, and he scraped them back into the stove, taking one of the smaller quartz chips that Liz had found and scraping the charred wood out of the soon-to-be-bowl, scraping until he saw the white wood beneath and choosing new coals to continue with the process. Between sets of coals, Einar did some work with the knife, narrowing the ends of the log down a bit so they could serve as handles, once the bowl was completed. Working slowly, he took care not to give the coals quite enough air to fan them to flame there on the split log, knowing that while a small fire would significantly speed up the process, it would also very likely result in splitting the dry aspen wood, and a bowl with a crack through its side was a bit less useful, and rather a sad outcome to all the work he was putting into the bowl. Hed certainly had this happen

before, more often with smaller cups and spoons than with bowls, but it had taught him to use caution. Continuing to work through one set of coals after another, he watched the depression in the center of the log deepen, enlarge, begin to take shape, sitting close to the stove so that most of the smoke would go up the chimney rather than filling the den, pleased at his progress. He was, though, also terribly weary, having slept little and poorly for the past several nights, and as the throbbing eased in his leg, he finally drifted off into a quiet, dreamless sleep, half-finished bowl in one hand and rock scraper in the other, fortunately having just dumped a set of spent coals into the stove and not yet retrieved fresh, or he might have awakened to a den full of flaming grass and bedding.

Liz, having thrown no more than four darts total with an atlatl in her life, was not particularly surprised when she missed the ptarmigan, but, disappointed, she scrambled after the startled and rapidly departing bird, missing again as it flew up into a spruce and disappeared into the storm. Close. But close doesnt get us a roast ptarmigan supper Id better go practice some more. Which she did, finally retrieving the darts for the final time after having gained a bit of confidence in her ability to hit a targetat least some of the time. On the way back up to the den she searched for the ptarmigan in the hopes of having a second chance with it, but saw no sign of the bird. The wind had returned, lashing the treetops and leaving her very glad to be down among the shelter of their thick boughs and trunks, and not at all surprised that the birds, and all other creatures apparently, had sought refuge from the worsening storm. A smart thing to do, and she hurried, snow-encrusted, back up to the den. Pausing outside and listening, she heard no sound coming from the flickering lamplit interior, wondering if Einar had fallen asleep, hoping he had but a bit leery of walking in on him like that and startling him. She hated to wake him though if he was asleep, knowing how badly he needed the rest and opting to stomp loudly as she knocked the snow from her boots, hoping to keep from surprising him. But not quite succeeding, as she realized when she heard a clatter of firewood from inside as Einar rolled over and dropped the bowl he had been working on when he fell asleep, dragging himself over to meet her at the door, bleary-eyed and badly chilled from sleeping so long half covered in the drafty, doorless den. Get some good practice in? Yes, a lot of practice, she answered, beating the snow from the yearling hide and hanging it back up to cover the door. I need more practice, a whole lot more, but at least now I can usually hit the tree Im aiming at! You got a little sleep? Uhyeah, guess so. Didnt mean to, but I saw a ptarmigan. Almost got it for our dinner, but Im not that good with the atlatl yet,

and close just isnt close enough. Sorry Aw, dont be too sorry. Weve got food. The skill will come. In the meantime, sounds like what you need is a bola. Several round rocks tied up in leather or rawhide and attached He stopped, mention of the bola bringing back a flood of images from his recent dream, sudden, vivid, unbidden, the pond, the pair of geese, his successful taking of one with the bola, only to be surprised by the helicopter when he went to retrieve the bird, shot with a dart and left helpless on the ground to await his capture--it was coming, was imminent, he could feel the rumbling, the rotor wash in his hair, pressing him into the ground and adding its heaviness to the horrid inertia of the dart-poison in his body, the sense of helpless, futile rage at seeing what was coming but being entirely unable to resist it assailing him more powerfully than the sight of the hovering vulture, even--and he somehow got to his feet rather quickly despite the still-swollen leg and stood there leaning on his spear and staring off into the darkness beside the stove for a good minute before he realized that Liz was speaking to him. Rather insistently, as it turned out, gripping him by the shoulders to keep him from toppling over forwards and cracking his head on the stove, trying very hard to catch his eye. He looked at her, shook his head and sank back to the ground with her help, swallowing the awful, sick feeling that had come over him at the memory and grabbing a rock from the floor, a rough, heavy granite chunk and slamming it--and his knuckles--repeatedly into the ground when he could feel the sense of unreality trying to come over him again, keeping it up until Liz grabbed his hand and gently pried the rock away from him. It worked, left him bloody-knuckled but in the present where he wanted to be, finding himself exhausted, out of breath and a more than a little ashamed that Liz had been there to see him like that. Accepting a drink from the pot of tea she offered, he continued. So. A bola. Einar you dont have to Its OK. What you doyou take a few rocks--two were used, but three were more common, and the Inuits sometimes used six smaller ones for taking birds--and attach a length of rawhide or cordage to each one, tie the cords together at the top, then you grab the middle one and throw it at whatever critter youre trying to take, and it tangles them up, gives you time to get to them and finish the job. Ive used them on grouse and rabbits, especially back just after Id hurt my shoulder and was having to operate onehanded, and it probably would have netted you that ptarmigan, too. Its one weapon where a lot of times close really can be good enough, and that can be a big advantage in certain circumstances. Well make one.

Seeing the work Einar had done on the coal-burned bowl--he had wanted to keep it hidden from Liz until it was finished and surprise her with it, but that can be a difficult task in such close quarters--Liz wanted him to help her work on the spoon whose basic shape she had previously carved out. Demonstrating on the bowl how to lift coals from the fire--easier said than done, as chilled and clumsy as he was--and use them to begin

burning down into the wood, Einar helped her get started on the spoon, the den warming quickly with the yearling hide back in place to keep the drafts down. Several pots of spruce needle tea later, Einar was finally beginning to warm adequately from his extended nap that he could operate the tongs without dropping coals on the floor as he had done more than once since returning to the project, and when Liz used a recentlydried sock to pull a hot granite slab from the top of the stove, wrapping it in aspen inner bark and helping get it situated behind his back, Einar accepted it gratefully. He had, though reluctant to admit it, missed the availability of hot rocks during their time without fire, an involuntary sigh of contentment escaping him as he leaned back into the granite slabs warmth, shivering at the contrast and reaching out to snatch another rock that leaned up against the stoves side, pressing it between his palms for a minute before picking up the half completed aspen bowl and scraping at a bit of charred wood that remained on one of its curved interior surfaces. Looking up from her work, Liz laughed softly and scooted over to sit beside him. What happened to the guy who soaks in ice water and then sits out in the wind and snow for a couple of hours afterwards, just for fun and relaxation? You want some more of those hot rocks? Hey now he growled in mock disgruntlement, that stuff takes an awful lot of concentration. Fellas got to have a little rest, now and then. Thats what Im doing. Resting. Ill let you dump a pot of water on me and then go sit out in the snow for a few hours later on this evening, if thats what you want. Sounds like the winds still howling real good out there, and No! Thats not what I want! Rest is good. I was beginning to think you didnt know how to rest. Well I dont, really. Not unless Ive got something to keep myself busy, at the same time. Like this bowl, here. Kinda meant to surprise you with it, and a couple of spoons, too, sinceuhwell, I figured you might prefer if things could be a little more civilized around here, and I guess Christmastime is probably coming up. But then I messed up the surprise by falling asleep earlier with the thing in plain view, and it looks like youve got the spoons taken care of, anyway. That things coming along real good. Youre right, it must be nearly Christmastime. Or past it. Sometimes I do wish we had a way to keep track of the passage of days. I guess we could marks on the side of the wall, or carve notches into a stick, but wed have to know what day were starting with, first, and I have no idea. Well, when youre living out in nature and in the weather like this, theres no way to miss what time of year it is, the changing of the seasons, and theres almost never been a time over this past year and some months when I couldnt tell you the exact phase of the moon and point out right where it would rise and set, too, and where the sun would, the same with a number of the constellations, but I never did think of trying to keep track of the date. Does it really matter?

She thought for a minute, nodded slowly. It does to me, though Im not really sure why. I guess Im just having a little harder time letting go ofcivilizationthan you did. Or, than you let show, anyway. Sometimes when Ive had time to sit and think--which hasnt been very often since I came out here with you--and the thought has occurred to me that I have no idea what day it is, and only a vague idea of the monthwell, its scared me a little. Silly, I know, but maybe Im trying to maintain some sort of a connection, in a small, really unnecessary way. Ah, Liz. Not silly at all. Setting aside the bowl, he picked up the large chunk of rose quartz that he had used to split the log it had come out of, studying its angles and holding it, cloudy but admitting some light, up to the glow of the open stove door so he could get a better sense of its structure. I forget sometimesyou havent been out here as long as I have, and Im guessing you probably had a lot more to do with society down there, more contact, connections, than I ever did. For me it was nothing but a relief to be done with all of that but you makes sense that you wouldnt want to up and let go of it all, just like that. Still pretty rough for me to believe that you want to be out here at all They were both quiet for a time then, Einar sorting through the pile of willows until he found one that looked like it would serve as a good handle for the log-splitting hatchet he intended to make from the quartz chunk, slicing and removing the bark from a four or five inch section at its center and holding it over the steaming pot of water on the stove, slowly, carefully bending it as the wood softened. Finally working the half-inch thick willow shoot so that it was bent double on itself, he lashed it near the top, in the center and again most of the way down its length with bits of cordage, he set it aside to cool and harden for later use. Liz, working on her spoon, had gone through two coals as he worked, deepening the bowl of her spoon and pausing now and then to scrape the black char out with the tip of her knife and, alternately, with one of the smaller quartz flakes. Einar finally broke what was becoming an uncomfortable silence. If it wouldmake a difference to you, there is a way we can figure out the date. Far as Ive been able to tell, we havent hit the winter solstice yet, so if we get some clear sunny days here in the near future, well be able to take observations every day, at sunrise, say, compare them, and see when the sun makes its turn. Then we can keep track of the days from there on out. From December twenty first. Or twenty second. Anyway, well be close. Figure we can take an aspen branch like one of these weve got in here for firewood, lash it horizontally between two trees--Id just say set it on the ground, but its liable to get buried, if we do that--and pick a tree-shadow to watch. That dead fir right above the den would be perfect, because itll have a good crisp narrow shadow. Make a little mark on the log every morning right at sunrise, and youll be able to figure when the solstice comes. Wont know till a day or two afterwards I expect, but like I said, well be real close Liz jumped up, her eyes glowing. Einar! Thats a great idea! I can hardly wait for this storm to clear out so she stopped, restrained herself, remembering suddenly just what the end of the storm would likely mean to them, for their freedom of movement and for

the continuation of the air search. Not that theres any hurry for the storm to end, of course, but Id better go ahead and pick out a branch and get it lashed up between two trees out there, so Ill be ready as soon as it does! He shrugged, smiled, not really understanding her excitement but pleased that he could do something to improve things for her, hastily returning to his work on the aspen bowl. It was well into the afternoon by that time, the short, cold day already dimming outside, and Einar and Liz worked steadily on their projects until well after dark, Einar anxious to finish the bowl so she could have it to use it for supper, hoping to get a second spoon done, too, if he had time, and Liz very glad that the projects were keeping him still so he could rest his leg, which was looking a good bit less swollen than it had after the trapsetting expedition that morning, but still nowhere close to fitting back into the cast.

The supper-stew that night was eaten out of the newly completed aspen wood bowl, Einar having managed both to get it finished in time--aside from a few modifications and refinements he wished to make to the handles--and find the time to burn out a rough second spoon to go with the one Liz was finishing up. She insisted that he share the bowl with her for that meal, at least, and he did so, glad to see the joy in her eyes at the newly created implements and determining to do more to make the place seem like home to her. For as long as were here, anyway and his mind wandered, the ever-present thought that they had already been in one place far too long creeping around to the front again and leaving him restless, staring at his swollen leg in dismay with the knowledge that any distance he was forced to travel on it in the immediate future, improvised crutch or not, would be difficult, painful and incredibly slow, at best. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the flickering lamp and glancing over at Liz, who was asking him something. With a wooden bowl like this, whats the best way to wash it? Just some hot water, or should I scrub it out with ashes, since we dont have any soap? No, dont use water. Thatll dry the wood out quicker than anything and before you know it, youll have a big old crack running through the side or bottom, and bye-bye, bowl. Ive always just wiped them clean after each use, maybe rubbed them with a bit of extra fat or grease of some sort now and then if I had some. But as long as whatever youre eating is kinda greasy like our stew usually is, no problem. Since this is the first use for these things, might be smart to go ahead and rub in some extra fat. Grease seals up the pores in the wood and keeps food from getting down in there and starting things growing. Just wipe it clean, grease it and let it dry. I wonder if there is something we could coat the bowl and spoons with, though, that would make them easier to washspruce pitch, or something? Ive coated containers with pitch before. Twined aspen inner bark baskets, mostly, when I needed them to hold water. Made a sort of canteen that way once when I had no other

way to carry water, and it worked pretty well. For a bowl though, it would only work if you were never really planning to eat anything hot in it, or even very warm. Or pretty soon your stew would start like pine tar, youd have pine tar stuck between your teeth and stuck in your throat when you tried to swallowno, better just stick with wiping them clean and adding a little grease. Works just fine. Liz found herself a bit skeptical about his concept of clean, but, not wanting to damage the bowl and admitting that well, my understanding of such things certainly has changed a good bit over these last few months, anyway, she did as he had suggested, rubbing a bit of bear fat into the eating surfaces of the wiped-down bowl and spoons before setting them aside on the packed earth shelf on which she had a number of the kitchen implements arranged. Though the wind quieted some that evening the snow did not, and when Einar crept out of the den before bed to use the outhouse just beneath the den-ledge, he was reassured to find the snow still curling down heavily from a black sky, so heavily, in fact, that it was difficult to breathe when a gust blew his direction without inhaling flakes and coughing a bit. Good. Another night without helicopters, a morning, maybe, when we can go out and check those deadfalls without worrying too much about the tracks we leave. Though the martens may not be too terribly active on a night like this, either. Well see. For the moment, though, it was dark, very cold out on the mountainside and, he supposed, way past time to crawl back into the den and curl up for the night. Having crouched far too long out in the weather observing the night, Einar pushed aside the yearling skin door and hauled himself back into the warmth and brightness of the lamp and fire lit den, tremendously grateful for its shelter. Liz looked up from the lamp, whose tending she had taken very seriously since Einar had showed her how to keep the wick pulled up in the series of peaks that gave the best light and heat, offering him a swallow from the evenings last pot of tea. Still storming out there? Yep! Real good. Looks like it ought to be another quiet night. Ready to come sit out there with me in it for an hour or two before bed? For fun and relaxation, of course Snatching up the aspen log whose deadly efficacy had been proven in the crushing of the intruding martens skull, she stood up until her head touched the ceiling, brandishing the club menacingly at him and pulling back the bear hide bed covering. Cave woman say no snow. Too late and too cold. She say you get in this bed right now and get warm, or else! Taken aback just a bit by Lizs unaccustomed behavior and not at first certain whether to be irritated at her for being so demanding--even if in fun--or to burst out laughing, Einar quickly settled on the second option, the sight of Liz, wild hair, war club and wolverinehide wrap silhouetted by the flickering light of the lamp striking him as undeniably hilarious as well as rather cave woman-like. When he had managed to get the silent

laughter under control and wipe the tears from his eyes, Einar scooted a bit closer to the bed to demonstrate his good intent. Well I sure wouldnt want cave woman splattering my brains all over the wall with that fearsome war club of hers, sobed it is, I guess. Will she give me a minute to try and wrestle this leg back into the cast first, though? Of course. Here, Ill bring you the cast. Carefully lifting his still-swollen and tender leg onto the bottom half of the cast and tentatively placing the top over it, Einar realized even before he tried to cinch the two halves together that the effort was in vain. Even with all of the insulation removed from the cast--which would have made for a rather chilly and perhaps even dangerous night, with the possibility of frostbite--there was no way he was getting the two halves of the cast together in anything like a useful manner. Well. Wont hurt me to sleep without it for a nightfeel a lot better than sleeping with it, actually. The prospect worried him, though, as there was always a good chance, he knew, that he might have to get up quickly in the night and go somewhere. Or that in one of his dreams he might decide he had to, jumping to his feet heedless of the leg and everything else to meet whatever threat his mind had conjured up. He shook his head, propped the two cast-halves against the bed and crawled in. This is a problem, but one I dont see a good way around, right now. Unless I just stay awake until the swelling goes down. But that could be a while, looks like. Lord, I sure would appreciate not having to run out of here tonight, if Youre willing. Gonna end up hurting this leg pretty bad, if I have to do thatand I better have some more of that willow stuff, too. Having guessed at his thoughts, Liz was ready with the remaining willow solution, not much, as it turned out, as he had consumed a good bit of it throughout the afternoon and evening, but he drank it, hoping that its effect, combined with a night of rest, might be enough to allow him back into the cast in the morning. Its got to. I have to run that trap line. Have to be able to get around. The traps had been on Lizs mind, also, and she was every bit as determined to keep Einar in the den as he was to go out and do what he saw as his duty. I was with him when we set all of them. I know how to find them. Theres no reason he should have to go. Reluctant to bring the matter up, she finally made the decision to delay no more, herself immensely weary and beginning to feel Einar relax a bit as though he might soon get a bit of sleep, too. When I go check the traps in the morning, I was thinking I could make a quick trip down to the cattail swamp on the way back, if its still snowing. It would be good to get some more rosehips, and were almost out of willows, too. Ones with bark on them, anyway. If its still storming like this and you think its safe to go down there, it really seems like a good idea to make the trip, in case the weather clears up soon and we dont have another chance for a while

He was quiet for a minute, chewing his knuckle where it had been damaged by slamming his fist into the ground earlier and fighting back the crushing dread that tried to come over him at the thought of that swamp, of his dream with the geese and the helicopter and. Stop. Wasnt real. Isnt real. Leave it be. Sure. Long as its still snowing pretty hard, and you keep to the trees as much as you can. Im doing the traps. You can go down there while I do the traps, if you like. Wont be anybody flying in this storm. And take that club of yours along, why dont you, since we didnt get the bola done yet. Maybe youll come back with a ptarmigan! Ill take it. That was all she could think to say, without more time to contemplate, more time in which, she hoped, she might come up with some way to persuade him to remain in the den the following day and rest his leg while she checked the traps. Well, Ive got all night

Einar enjoyed a reasonably restful night, his first in a good while, knowledge of the storm raging outside combining with his own exhaustion to allow him several hours of quiet sleep, Liz very nearly as relieved as he was at the apparent absence of the dreams and disturbances that had so troubled their nights, of late. Waking with a start a good while before dawn to the sudden remembrance that he had gone to bed without the cast and entirely unprepared to leave the den quickly, had such become necessary, he lay for a time listening to the keening of the wind in the rocks outside, the clacking and squealing of the spruces down below them where the trees grew packed so tightly together that they contacted each other in the wind, scrutinizing the noises for anything out of the ordinary and straining to hear through them, to hear anything they might be covering up, finally, unsatisfied, rolling out of bed and crawling over to the door. The morning, if it was indeed morning--how is one to tell, with the sky a black chaos of tossing, scraping spruce trunks and the snow sweeping up the slope at you from first one side and then the other, filling your eyes with sharp, stinging little crystals in the cold--remained as stormy as the evening had been and a good bit colder, reassuring Einar and filling him with a great sense of peace as he crouched there shivering in the wolverine hide beneath the ledge just outside the den for a good half hour before the thought occurred to him that he ought perhaps think about creeping back inside, before he froze solid. Supposing that Liz might appreciate waking to a warmed den, and more than a little chilled, himself, he carefully felt around until he had come up with some of the pre-split kindling pieces they had prepared the day before, pressing his hands against the still slightly warm rocks near the base of the stove before poking around inside until he found a few dully glowing coals and arranging the kindling above them, coaxing the fire back to life. Adding a few small sticks and watching as the flames climbed up through them, he took the pot from the stove top and scooped up snow from just outside, adding it on top of the five inches of solid ice that their had replaced the pot of water they left on top of the stove at bedtime when they stoked the small fire for the final time and let it be for the night. As the wood they were using seldom exceeded four or five inches in diameter and consisted almost entirely of aspen with the occasional--and usually even smaller--spruce

branch thrown in, Einar had little expectation of being able to keep logs smoldering overnight, more than satisfied with the live coals that usually remained protected beneath a heavy layer of ash, greatly expediting the morning fire starting chores. With the absence of an active fire in the little stove, the rock slab on the top tended to cool fairly quickly as the den cooled, allowing water left on it to freeze. The water in the other pot, which had been nestled down between two hot rocks in a thick pile of grass and covered with slabs of aspen bark, remained liquid if not warm, and into it Einar shaved a few slivers of bear fat, adding some dry, crumbly chokecherries and bits of venison for a breakfast stew. By the light of the small fire through the half-open stove door Einar inspected his leg, glad that the swelling had gone down quite a bit and anxious to get the cast back on it, his enthusiasm dampened a bit by the discovery that it was still too puffy to easily fit into the confines of the rigid cordage and pitch structures. Unless he left out all of the insulation, which he did, determined to run the trapline that morning and shoving aside the little voice that told him no, not without some insulation, not with that cold pitch in direct contact with your skin as it would have to be to fit the cast on. Youll freeze the leg, with temperatures like this, and then youll have a lot more to worry about than this halfhealed fracture Huh. Well, Ill just have to wrap the insulation around the outside. This can be done. Will be done. And he cinched the two sides of the cast together, pulling on the bear-hide foot protector that served instead of a boot when he wore the cast and shivering at the cold touch of the solidified pitch on his leg. Liz had not stirred since he entered the den--he did not know it, but she had been at the door twice checking on him during his vigil outside, opting not to disturb him when she saw that he did not seem inclined to wander off into the snow or sneak up the ridge to run the trapline before she could stop him--and he worked quietly, wanting to let her go on sleeping, if she could. Which, though cozy in the bear hide and relieved to see that she was not going to have to go out and attempt to retrieve Einar from the snow, she could not, the knowledge that she must go out there and somehow convince him to remain at the den for the day weighing heavily on her mind. Joining him in front of the stove, she accepted the wolverine hide when he offered it. Smells like you made breakfast! Stew. Want to get out pretty early and check those traps, in case the storm lets up as the day goes on. Wont do to have bobcats and such running off with our martens. If we got any martens, the way the weathers been. The weather hasnt changed much, from the sound of that wind out there. Maybe the traps could wait for a little while, and you could stick around here with me this morning, rest your leg Sure, but for how long? Ive done plenty of sitting, these past ten or so days. Way too much sitting. Have to get some weight on it now and then, for it to heal right. And with my knee-platform crutch, I dont even have to put any weight on it when Im out and

about. Dont know why the doggone thing swelled up so much yesterday, but its going down now. Its gonna be fine. I can walk. And, beginning to growing angry and anxious to demonstrate his determination to walk, Einar scrambled to his feet, leaning heavily on his spear and wincing a bit despite himself when he let a portion of his weight rest on the injured leg Einar, it was a pretty long hike we went on setting all those traps yesterday, and rugged, too, with all those ups and downs and crawling over downed trees and all. The longest one youve done since coming back from the canyon, and even though you werent putting weight on the leg for most of it, all that bending and twisting and lifting and jarring must have been pretty rough on it. Im not saying you should sit in here for the next month or anything, just that you ought to give you leg a break after all that use. A day. Just one day. This is not like down in the valley where you can choose to take a day off sometimes and then go make up for things, later. Not like that at all. Those traps have to be checked before scavengers have a chance to get at them, and certain things have to be done while the storm lasts and the air search is off our backs, and I have no way to know how long the storm will last. A day, you say? Well I dont have a day, Liz! You have me. He was quiet for a minute, thoughtful, frowning into the stove and scraping savagely at the bottom of the stew pot, where, neglected during the conversation, things had begun to stick a bit. Now whats that supposed to She stood, put her hands on his shoulders. Let me do it. Let me do the traps, just for today so you leg can rest. Please. The other evening when the air activity stopped and you thought they were coming for us right thenwell if that had been real and wed have needed to head out of here in a hurry, you would not have got very far, on that leg. Not very fast at least. Look at it! You say that you want to be ready, dont want to be taken by surprise here, and the way you spend half your time at the door listening and watching and goodness knows what else youre doing, I certainly believe you, but your actions dont match up with what youre saying. You just keep pushing, keep hurting yourself over and over again, and because of that youre going to get us killed if the need ever comes to move quickly. Why cant you see that Einar? Why do you have to be so blind sometimes? Silent, jaw set, Einar twisted himself free of her grasp, would not meet her eye, and Liz feared that she might have gone too far with him, took a step back, almost in tears but swallowing them, determined not to let him see. Wearily lowering himself to the ground, he looked up at her. OK.

OK what? You cando the traps for me. Today. Just today, and Not even waiting for the remainder of his answer Liz grabbed him and embraced him, kissing him on the cheek, unable to contain her joy. Einar just sat there staring into the fire a bit uncomfortably, not sure how he was supposed to respond. Thank you, Einar, thanks! I remember where you put all of the traps, I was watching and I know I can find them, I wont come back until Ive found all of them and checked Whoa, hold on a minute. Now, whatre you going to do if you find a marten in one of those traps, still alive? Caught by the hind legs or the tail or something? Not the way its supposed to work with those deadfalls, but Ive seen it happen What am I going to do? She asked, feigning incredulity as she snatched up the knotted aspen club and shook it in his direction. Do you really need to ask? Right. No, guess I dont! But, he handed her his spear, I want you to take this. She accepted the weapon, holding it at arms length and looking at him a bit skeptically. But this is yours. Ive seen you. You never let it out of your sight, even at night Thats right, he growled. So you doggone well better come back with it, and in a timely manner, understand? Or Im coming after you. They ate, Einar giving her advice about resetting the traps if she found any of them tripped and mixing up some bear fat and venison for bait, packing it in a small bag and tucking it into her pocket, Liz finally leaving the den with a nearly empty pack, the yearling hide for warmth, Einars spear in one hand and her war club in the other.

Without Einar along to slow her progress, Liz made reasonably good time as she covered the nearly two mile loop along which lay the traps and snares, only once losing her way and having to backtrack a bit to pick up the path again, and several times having to stop and search the snowy woods for the next trap-tree. The first several traps were empty, bait untouched, it looked like, and she was beginning to wonder if the entire project was to have been in vain due to the severity of the storm, when something caught her eye, a bit of disturbed snow just outside the fifth set, and she approached it carefully, discovering that one of the thick evergreen branches that had covered the cubby had been knocked loose, the orange-brown fur of a pine martens head and front leg protruding from beneath the collapsed rock and telling her the rest of the story when she cautiously moved the disturbed branch aside with the spear.

Flipping over the rock to free the animal, which was frozen solid and had clearly been there for several hours, at least, Liz reset the trap, smearing the upright stick at the back of the cubby with the bearfat mixture that Einar had sent with her, replacing the branch on the cubby roof before moving on. That marten was to be the first and only that she encountered on the trapline that day, though there was clear evidence of one of the snares having been occupied, as well, a stretched-out, mangled wire, bits of fur and a patch of trampled and disturbed snow beneath the pole telling her that she had not been the first to discover the fact. Too late. Snow had drifted over the tracks of the marten-thief, but in searching, Liz found a few faint marks preserved under a nearby tree, their obvious clawless pads telling her that the raider had almost certainly been of the cat family, though not nearly so large a cat as the lion that Einar had earlier ambushed. She supposed it must have been a bobcat. Well, Ill just have to ask Einar what the beast way might be to trap such a critter, and well get him, too! The wire on the ruined snare was so twisted and crimped that she doubted it could be used again for such a purpose, taking it down replacing it with a noose of cordage, arranged as she had seen Einar do and held up at the top with a piece of wire from the damaged snare. The rest of the snares were empty, as were all of the deadfalls with the exception of the last, which, approaching, she was very nearly convinced had been tripped but left empty, a belief that she was glad to have proven wrong when she pried up the rock to find the body of an ermine beneath it, small, white with winter, only the black tip on its tail and its dark nose differentiating it from the snow beneath. Smaller than the marten and with a somewhat less thick coat, Liz was nevertheless certain that both the meat and fur of the small weasel would serve them well. Finished with the traps and believing that it was still fairly early in the day, Liz headed back across the two small ridges that separated her from the cattail swamp, wanting to take advantage of the continuing storm to add to their supply of rosehips and willows, and see what else she might be able to run across that could be put to use at the den. The wind had strengthened as the day went on, great gusts sweeping across the mountainside and periodically scouring the evergreens of their loads of snow, the icy whiteness thus released cascading down in curtains and showers, swept nearly sideways by the storm. Huddling beneath a tree during one such dump with her head drawn in under the yearling hide for extra protection and her chilled hands tucked under her arms for a minute of warming, Liz found herself very grateful for the presence of the warm, heavy fur, fairly certain that she would be plastered with snow and well on her way to freezing solid without it. Peeking out at the frozen, wind-tossed world that surrounded her, she did feel just a bit guilty for depriving Einar of the door-flap for the den on such a frigid, windy, day, praying that he had the sense to be keeping himself safe and warm under the large bear hide with a good fire going in the den, and looking forward to finishing up with her explorations so she could soon join him. Finding the marshy area without too much difficulty--a stand of several small, stunted, leafless cottonwoods serving as her landmark--Liz looked for a time for the half-buried thicket of wild roses she had previously harvested from, discovering after much searching that they were now fully covered in snow, needing to be excavated a bit before she could get at the remaining rose hips. The wind once more intensifying, Liz was startled to her feet when a large branch snapped out of one of the cottonwoods and crashed to the ground mere feet from where

she crouched harvesting frozen rosehips.

Cleaning up after breakfast and setting more snow to melt on the stove, Einar worked a bit at various projects around the den, finding himself having difficulty concentrating for very long on anything, frustrated with the knowledge that Liz was out doing his work while he sat in the den likelike a lazy, worthless, crippled old pile of skin and bones, thats what. What were you thinking, Einar, letting her talk you out of doing what you knew you needed to do this morning? He shook his head in disgust, tried to pace around the den but found it too small, his leg aching too badly to allow for much pacing, anyway, further reminding him of the fact that he was pretty crippled up at the moment, and while not entirely useless, a good bit closer to it than he found acceptable, for someone in his situation. Sobe useful, why dont you? Just pick something and do it, quit wasting your time moping around in here like some sort of caged predator. Looking around the den, he settled finally on the quartz-head axe whose handle he had begun work on, the day before. Sliding a corner of the bear hide over so that it protected his knee from any mishaps that might occur, he set the head upright, scrutinizing it carefully before giving it a hard and well-aimed strike with a smaller chunk of quartz, fracturing off a sliver of rock and continuing his work until he was satisfied with the shape of the axe head. Then, with the smaller chunk of quartz, he worked a depression into each side of the center of the head where he wished the handle to go, carefully pecking out small chips and chunks until a shallow ring ran all the way around the approximate center of the implement. The trench would, he knew, assist greatly in holding the head in place on the handle, or rather the handle on the head, once he had hafted it with wrapped and crossed lengths of prepared deer or bear sinew, hopefully leaving him with a functional tool which would serve to make firewood splitting an easier task, also coming in handy in chopping down small trees and carrying out a number of other tasks around the den. Even better than the design he was using, Einar knew, would have been to find a handlestick through whose top few inches he could have carved and scraped a vertical notch which would have been sized to admit the smaller--non-cutting--end of the blade, which he might have then cemented into place with spruce-pitch glue, if such had seemed necessary, leaving him with a very useful tool whose integrity would tend to be reinforced with each use, as the head would be constantly driven back into the handle. The only sticks around the den that had been wide enough for such a handle, though, had been aspen branches, and he knew from experience that they would tend to split and shatter on the third or fourth whack, if put to such duty. He needed something sturdier, and the willow had fit the bill, though the sort of doubled-over handle that he was constructing of it would not be quite as strong as the single-branch type. Well. Work with what youve got. Which he did, softening some lengths of sinew in his mouth, inserting the axe head into the arc at the top of the doubled over willow shoot and lashing the two together, crisscrossing the sinew over the head and handle on each side and making a few wraps parallel to the handle on each side, also. Setting the mostly finished axe aside so that the sinew could have time to dry and shrink before he was tempted to use it, Einar added a log to the stove, stood, stretched, and hobbled over to the door. He did not even

have to look out to know that the storm continued unabated, the howl of the wind and the frequent icy gusts that had been finding their way into the den as he worked leaving him no doubt about weather conditions out on the slope. And here I sit, while the storm wears itself out and the time when well have to lie low again comes closer and closer. Ive sat quite enough, it seems to me. Need to get something done, need to start work on that cache we keep talking about. Bet with a little looking, I could find that spot Liz mentioned where there are still some rock slabs accessible for building it, or one very much like it. Grinning, delighted to have come up with what seemed like a good way to redeem a wasted day and wear himself out some so he could have some hope of sleeping a bit when night came, Einar hurried to get into his crutch, sticking an extra hat, water bottle and some bits of frozen venison and bear fat into his pack and preparing to head out into the storm. At the door he hesitated, knowing that he was far from adequately dressed to face any extended amount of time in the biting wind and snow that waited to assail him out there, but, finding the prospect of continuing to sit in the den while there was so much to do a good bit more difficult to take than the threat of freezing out there on the mountainside, he quickly overcame his hesitance and left the den. Be back soon Liz. Just want to take a little look, maybe stack a few rocks for the cairn, and Ill be back here to get some stew going for you. Out on the slope the wind took his breath, cutting mercilessly through his two thin layers of clothing--he had put on everything he owned, knowing that he would need it--and Einar paused, focusing on his breathing and pushing back at the cold, knowing that with enough concentration he could combat it, at least for a while. By which time he hoped to be moving quickly enough for the work to warm him, some. Enough. Struggling a bit as he worked his way down into the dark timber, he worked very hard to spare his injured leg from excessive jarring or twisting, knowing that it would almost certainly swell some with the use, but hoping to avoid a repeat of the day before. Leaning on a long aspen branch for support and feeling terribly exposed in the absence of his spear, Einar stopped, took out his knife and sharpened the tip of his walking stick, continuing, satisfied. After a good while spent in searching, he did manage to locate a spot much like the one Liz had described, thinking it a fine spot to build the first cache, and, badly chilled and needing some hard work to get the blood moving, starting on the project without delay. The rocks were heavy, difficult to move, frozen to the ground rather firmly in some cases, and he wore himself out quite thoroughly struggling eight or nine of them up out of the icy spruce duff and getting them stacked in the rough ring that was to serve as the base of the cache, stopping numerous time to thaw half-frozen fingers and wrap increasingly stiff and clumsy arms around his body for a minute in largely futile attempts to warm himself. He needed a fire, knew it, could feel the haze descending over him, gripping, squeezing, slowing his movements and dulling his mind, a familiar force, well remembered, and one which, he knew, could and would take his life rather quickly if he did not pay it proper respect. Done here, though. No sense hanging around out in the snow and wind to build a fire when the dens so close, up there. I can make it. And he could have, most likely, had he not insisted on prying loose one last and final rock slab--if youre cold it just means you need to work harder. The work will warm you. Do it. Just this one more--

larger than the rest and heavier, finally prying it free and hoisting it with difficulty up into the crook of his arm, only to be met with a sickening crack! at the first step he took on the crutch, the horizontal leg support coming loose and sending him sprawling unceremoniously into the powder, face first in the icy whiteness, tangled up in the remains of the ruined crutch.

Scrambling clear of the large cottonwood branch, which, fracturing in the wind, had come within inches of pinning her to the ground with its weight, Liz hurriedly got herself into the safety of the nearest spruce grove, chiding herself for neglecting to keep in mind that weak-wooded trees like aspens and cottonwoods could become very dangerous in a strong wind, a storm frequently dropping branches or, in the case of aspens, entire trees to the ground. She had quickly learned in exploring the backcountry of those mountains to avoid aspen groves during windstorms, a lesson that had been reinforced by several close calls she had witnessed, and the numerous windfall trees of various sizes that often littered the forest after a day of gusty weather. In her excitement over finding the rosehips she had allowed herself to neglect those lessons, an oversight that had nearly ended in disaster. Waiting until the wind slacked off a bit to continue with the harvest, she returned to the spot where she had kicked and swept the top layer of snow aside to get at the buried rose brambles, finding them already drifted over with a thin layer of snow. One of the smaller side branches of the fallen cottonwood section had come to rest partially over her rosebush patch, and in moving it, Liz smelled something familiar, sweet, and, inspecting the branch more closely, found that the cottonwood leaf buds with their sticky (at warmer temperatures, at least) orange sap were already fully formed, awaiting the coming of spring. Thats what I smell, then! The sap. Recalling the time Einar had instructed her to harvest similar buds to make Balm of Gilead salve for his badly frostbitten toes, an age ago when he had spent a few days with her at her aunt and uncles house down in the valley, she collected several hands full of them from the fallen branches, her hands growing a bit yellow and sticky despite the cold, before she was finished. Finally, the outer pockets of her pack bulging with gillie buds and rosehips and a chill that she could not quite seem to shake even when she huddled down in the bear hide and drew her face inside telling her that it was high time to head back, she began the return climb to the den, looking forward to curling up on the bed with a big pot of fresh rosehip tea and a fire crackling in the stove, a bearfat-enriched marten stew bubbling and steaming in preparation for their supper, and telling Einar of the days adventures. The return trip was to be rather more of a challenge than the descent had been, Liz weary from battling the cold and breaking trail all morning on the trapline and the wind, which had for a time eased off, returning in full force to scour the slope. She kept at it though, kept moving, following where she could her old trail in the hopes of seeing where she had cut off to climb the ridge that morning, meaning to follow it back the way she had come. Reaching the spot where she believed the two trails met, though, recognizing it by a spruce with an odd, matted-looking round ball of a top, she could find no trace of that

mornings den-trail, the wind and snow done their work of cover and cleanup most thoroughly. It did not matter. She recognized the place, knew in which direction to head to intercept the den. Finally nearing the den, or the place where she believed it to be, she thought she smelled smoke, wondered how that was possible, as the wind was very definitely coming from down-slope at that moment, and she hoped she had not somehow managed to pass the den and end up above it in the near-whiteout. She did not think so, though, kept going, using the contours of the ridge and the limited view allowed her by the weather to aid in navigation, finally recognizing the open area just in front of the den and realizing with a whispered prayer of thanks that she had made it. Brushing the snow from her hat and beating some of the accumulated whiteness from the yearling hide, she stomped loudly to announce her presence and avoid startling Einar, crawling into the den with a pack full of harvested bounty. Only to find the den empty, lamp out, stove cooling, the pot of water on its top having apparently simmered dry some time before. Einar was not at first entirely certain what had happened to him, realizing only that he had fallen, needed to get himself flipped over and get his face up out of the snow, and in struggling to do so, the problem became clear. The crutch had broken, the pitch-glued stop that had helped hold the horizontal knee support in place apparently working its way loose, the support cracking its sinew bindings and breaking free under the weight of that last rock. Untangling arms and legs and rolling himself over onto his back, he sat up and scooted backwards up the slope until he was under the nearest spruce, pressing himself against its trunk, well aware that he had been way too cold and growing dangerously weary even before the fall and knowing that his life might well depend on how much shelter he could find or create for himself within the next few minutes. The leg had been wrenched some in the fall and it hurt, aching fiercely as he hauled it up over the rough ground beneath the tree and got it situated, dragging the heavy cast with his hands to keep from hurting his knee-which, upon examination, seemed to be the source of most of the pain--any further. The crutch was gone, everything but its main shaft lost beneath the snow, and though Einar knew that he must find the missing pieces, must make an effort to improvise a repair on the crutch so that he would not be left to crawl all the way back up through the snow to the den, he had no intention of doing so before eating something and attempting to warm himself a bit. The wind was cutting through his clothing, tearing mercilessly at him and though its stinging had been replaced by a pervasive numbness that encompassed everything but his leg and the partially healed shoulder that he had overused some in moving the rock slabs, he knew remaining within reach of its touch while he rested would be a huge, and likely fatal mistake. The spruce whose trunk he leaned on was fairly small, certainly no suitable windbreak for the sort of storm that had seized the slope that afternoon, and he fumbled with numbed hands at the zipper to the main pouch of his pack, finally using his teeth to open it and struggling to grasp the dry hat that he had stuffed into it before leaving the den, beating the snow off of the one he wore and struggling the second onto his head overtop of it, desperate for a lessening of the winds force.

Warming his hands for a moment against his bare stomach, he reached back into the pack and found one of the solidly frozen bearfat chunks he had thought to bring along for food, stuffing it into his mouth and waiting longer than he would have liked for it to begin melting. The second layer and the food helped, but not nearly enough, Einar breaking a bare, dead branch from under the canopy of the snow-covered spruce boughs and using it to slice into the snow just outside the ring of protection offered by the tree, hoping to find a hardened layer beneath the new powder and immensely thankful when, six inches down, he found a solid layer of wind slab. Prime avalanche conditions, if I was out in the open and on a slope of the right angle. Snow gets packed down by the wind or melted a little in the sun and then a big storm comes and dumps on top of that, the new stuff cant adhere well to the old, somebody comes walking along or skiing along and whoosh! Thats the end of that. And he sat staring at the slab-layer, picturing the slide, how it would start, what the slope would look like as the slab fractured and slid, carrying with it tons of rapidly solidifying snow and rock and, if it passed through a lightly treed area and grabbed them, splintered tree trunks and boughs and He shook his head and jumped, realizing that he had been slumping forward towards the ground, beginning to shiver violently with the cessation of movement. And this storms gonna be the end of you, too, if you dont quit daydreaming about avalanches and do something real quick here, Einar. Now. The slab-layer. Were you gonna cut chunks out of it with that branch and stand them up to make a windbreak, or what? Yeah? Well, get busy Which he did, breathing slowly and deeply in a marginally effective effort to reduce the trembling of his hands as he worked, cutting rough blocks from the slab layer and propping them upright against the deepening powder, the wall thus built soon greatly reducing the force with which the wind hit him. That was all he felt, anymore: the force, the shove of the wind. He was far too numb to feel its icy bite on his skin. So. Windbreak. Good. Now you better have a fire, if you plan on getting your hands limber enough to hope to repair that crutch, if there is any repairing itand if not, well, you better warm up real good, because its gonna be one long, cold crawl through the snow to that den. Quickly adding a few sticks to the stove and warming her hands near the growing flames, Liz looked around the den for any clue as to where Einar might have headed, found nothing, found, to her dismay, that he had taken very little with him at all, a quick glance around telling her that most of their possessions, including the heavy black plastic bag that they had been using to melt snow and which would have provided him some shelter at least from the terrible force of the wind, remained in place. Einar, what have you done? In a quick moment of terror she wondered if he might have intentionally left everything and gone wandering off to find the perfect spot to sit and wait until the elements claimed him, as his friend Willis Amell had apparently done; the way hed been acting of late, she would not have been terribly surprised. Maybe thats why he agreed so easily to letting me go run the trapline in his placeplease Einar, no! She shook her head. Get ahold of yourself, Liz. That is not him. He wouldnt do that. And looksee, he took his pack, and took his extra set of clothes, so he had a plan. Youd better go after him though, because with the storm getting worse and the shape hes in Leaving the den Liz began searching for tracks, found a few just below the den that, which largely drifted over, looked fairly fresh and she followed them for a short distance

but quickly lost them in the timber, the occasional sign visible but the ground for the most part scoured clean and drifted over with a thick coat of new snow, its contours offering, perhaps, some clue for a tracker as experienced as Einar but telling Liz nothing. Remembering the smoke she had smelled while on her way back up to the den, she realized suddenly that it must have been Einars, kept searching, hoping to smell it again or see some sign of where he had stopped to light it. Liz stopped finally after nearly an hour of searching and struggling to pick up his trail, admitting to herself that she was wandering rather aimlessly in circles in the storm-tossed woods, growing dangerously weary and chilled. Should have eaten something back at the den. That was a mistake. OK. Whats next? Sitting down on a fallen tree, at a loss as to how to proceed, she asked pleaseguide him back hereshow him the way back to the den so he can get in out of this stormguide him Guide him. The words echoed in her mind, gave her and idea and she began searching the nearby trees, coming up with a long, dry-dead aspen branch which she carried over to an equally dry standing dead aspen, whacking it in a regular cadence---three strikes, wait a few seconds, three more, stop and listen for a response, youd better be hearing this, Einar. Youd better be consciousplease, please dont let him be lying out there somewhere unconscious in the snow! What if he fell and hit his head or something, or just went until he couldnt go anymore--wherever hes going--he does that sometimes. You hear this Einar, and you come back! For a good while Liz kept up the sequence, never hearing a response but hoping very much that Einar might have heard the sounds, echoing, regular, not a sequence that nature was likely to produce without some human hand to help it along. Returning to the den, Liz, saddened but not surprised to find it still empty, tended the fire and set a pot of snow to melt, warming herself and eating a quick meal of venison and bear fat before hurrying back out into the teeth of the storm to strike a dead tree near the den entrance, three strikes, pause, again, a futile effort, she knew, as the wind snatched the sounds away almost before she could hear them, but an effort she knew she must make, on the slim chance that he was close, could hear. Nowhere near close enough to hear Lizs signal in the wind and storm, Einar knew that he must have fire, must have it before he could hope to sit long enough to repair the crutch, let alone attempt the long climb back to the den through that storm, but needing a thing and procuring it can be very different matters, and as he sat bent nearly double with hands pressed to his stomach to thaw, he ran over in his mind the things he had brought with him. Knife. Firesteel and striker in the pouch around his neck. Little bag of dry--he sure hoped it was still dry--tinder secured to the pouch, some milkweed down, pitch lumps and a was of finely shredded aspen inner bark. Enough. It would be enough, if he could get his hands to work. OK. Hands are as thawed out as theyre gonna get, this way. You need wood. Lots of little dead branches in under here, start breaking them off, kick through the duff till you reach some bare ground and start setting them up. Yes. Those. Aim for the polished-looking yellow ones that have been without their bark and drying for a good long time. Those, and the dull grey, brittle ones that are even older. Good. Get a nice pile of them going andaw, knocked them down, did you? Clumsy fool. Try again Several minutes later, cold and increasingly frustrated but knowing

that he had to succeed, and pretty quickly, Einar had again readied the little teepee of dry, thin sticks, moving with careful deliberation to avoid again obliterating it with one movement of his awkward, shaking hands. Time for the tinder. Briefly thawing his hands again he managed to unwind the cord that was wrapped around and around the little rawhide tinder-pouch, took out the bundle of aspen bark, dry, thankfully, or mostly so, and inched it up under his tent of dry sticks. Now for the milkweed down to catch the spark The second he laid eyes on the little wad of milkweed down in the bottom of the pouch, Einar knew something was terribly wrong, an assessment confirmed when he shook it out into his hand and found it to be not only wet, but frozen quite solid. The entire front of his shirt, he realized, was stiff with ice in places where the wind-plastered snow had been melted a bit by his body heat before re-freezing, and it seemed that some of that melt-water must have trickled its way down into the bottom of the pouch. Probably while I was working on the rocks, as he highly doubted that he had been generating that kind of heat, since. Well. In some trouble here. Dont think the aspen bark will take a sparkbut I got to try. Better have these little pieces of pitch ready to catch the flames, if any show up. Positioning the pitch chunks in the sticks just above the bundle of aspen bark, he fumbled the little fire steel into his hands, shoved a small rock slab over near the fire and set the device on it, clamping with the toe of his boot as he had done before when his hands were too cold to grasp items as small as it was with any reliability. Trouble was, he could not seem to grasp the striker, either, dropping it twice and having to fish it up out of the snow--thank goodness its tied to that cord, or it would have been gone--before deciding to put it away. No way can I grab that thing. Better try the knife. Come on, keep moving. Pressing with the heels of both hands, he finally managed to get a grip on the knife, drew it sharply up towards him across the secured fire steel, needing several tries before he could get things coordinated well enough to produce sparks but he finally got some, watching them sputter and die in the nest of shredded aspen bark without producing so much as a whiff of smoke. Not gonna do it. And Ive got that bark shredded up just about as fine as it will go without being dustmustve got a little damp in that pouch, along with everything else. Come on, think. Kinda starting to lose your hands, here. Dont know how much longer youll be able to hold this knife. The pitiful little wad of dampened milkweed fluff lay on the ground beside his boot where he had dropped it in disgust, and Einar picked it up, or tried to, jamming his near-useless fingers against the flesh of his stomach for a minute in frustration before he could manage and pulling the little bundle apart, staring in relieved amazement at the dry, fluffy little puff of fibers near its center. The moisture had, it appeared, frozen before saturating the bundle. Not much here, and this ice is gonna put the little fire out pretty quickly when it starts melting and steaming, but maybemaybe if I could position a little pitch right overtop of the dry stuff and get that to catch before the steam starts, I might have a chance. Moving one of the pitch lumps a bit lower in the tent of twigs, holding his breath and concentrating hard to avoid shaking and jarring the whole thing to pieces, he set the opened-up milkweed clump in the middle of the aspen bark nest, again getting into position and striking sparks. One try, anotheron the fourth, he saw a small flame bloom from the center of the down, dropped to his stomach and began blowing gently, giving the tiny flame a bit of

air and grinning through chattering teeth when he heard the pitch begin to sizzle. Got it! The little flame grew, the other pieces of pitch catching, the fire well established several minutes later against the trunk of the spruce and Einar beginning to warm as its heat was reflected back at him by the snow-block windbreak and the trees trunk. A time later, hands working again and a good snack of venison and bear fat in his stomach, Einar crawled back out into the storm to search for the missing pieces of his crutch. To no avail. They were gone, buried beneath not only the several feet of crumbly, churned up snow where he had fallen, but apparently also beneath a tangle of fallen trees that lay under the snow. He never did find either the knee support or the carved wedge that belonged beneath it, finally giving up the search when he began growing badly chilled again, his leg and especially the knee, which he had wrenched in the fall, giving him more and more trouble. Back to the fire, warm up again, and get moving. It was time to go. He knew it, dreaded leaving the little fire but could see the dimness of evening coming on, found himself increasingly assailed by falling clumps of half melted snow, too, as the little fires warmth filtered up through the frigid air to soften the snow on the branches of the spruce. He had, at least, managed to remember to build the fire up against the trunk rather than out further from the tree where snow heavy branches would have been inclined to smother the flames with their tumbling loads of snow. All right, get moving. Going to take you an awful long time to get back up there, stumping along with no crutches and only this stick for support. Which it did, Einar unable to travel faster than a creep and soon dangerously cold again, blinded by a fierce wind that drove the snow sideways and reduced visibility to mere feet, if that. He kept going, hauling himself up over one deeply submerged fallen tree after another, hip deep in snow at times when he managed to fall between tangled windfall trunks and wishing he had snowshoes but knowing that he must not take the time to stop and try to construct a pair. Wouldnt even be a pair. Cant be putting that kind of weight on the leg, yet

Darkness. It was almost complete, and Liz wept as she stood shivering in the winds icy blast just outside the den, striking the dead aspen over and over in an ongoing effort to signal Einar, her shouting this time accompanying the pounding of wood on wood, hoarse with the effort, her words scattered on the wind and unheard by Einar as he dragged himself along some two hundred yards above the den and a good distance farther than that to the East of it, having badly misplaced himself in the ongoing whiteout. So close and yet so very, very far.

Crouching in front of the stove after her latest session of tree-pounding outside the den-she was trying to head out every fifteen minutes or so to repeat the sequence, but found herself going much more frequently--Liz tried to separate herself from the situation, to ask what her SAR team would do if faced with similar circumstances. She knew the answer to that. We probably wouldnt have gone out at all on a night like this, realistically. Whiteout conditions combined with subzero temperatures and an undefined

search areathe search would have been called off until morning, at least, if not until the end of the storm. That was the reality, and she knew that there was little sense in continuing to endanger herself by making repeated trips down the mountain with no source of light and no real idea where to begin looking. Yes, thats the reality, butits Einar--my husband--out there, and I cant just sit here and do nothing while he wanders around until he freezes to death. He would have come for me. He did come for me. And she went, again searching the area just below the den in the failing light, descending nearly down to the cattail swamp and stopping frequently to bang on trees in the hopes that he might hear, voice hoarse and throat dry and hurting with shouting for him by the time a patch of slightly less dim ground told her she was nearing the swamp. Are you out there, she tried again, loud as she could, the wind snatching her words and scattering them into the darkness, no response, and she had not expected one. She did not dare use his name, not when shouting like that; even though the chance that anyone else might be within earshot seemed to her incredibly scant, she was not certain that he would see it the same way, and did not want to take the chance that he might decide to conceal himself from her and remain silent out of sheer stubbornness and disapproval of her raising her voice like that. Surely not even he would do thatnot on a night like this. Where are you? Wherever he was, it was apparently not on her path as she crossed the gully and climbed up by an alternate route to increase the search area--if you can really call this a search. I cant see a thing, between this snow and the darkness--and by the time she finally found once again the clearing in front of the den, dimly lit by the last of the evenings pale dusk-light, she was nearing exhaustion, her voice a hoarse whisper when she tried to call for him, dehydrated from her hours of somewhat frantic hiking and badly in need of a pot or two of water. And food, for that matter, reminded as she was by the weakness in her legs when she stumbled against the rocky protrusion just outside the den. Beating the snow from the bear hide and hanging it up across the entrance, Liz knew that she had made her last trip of the night. She had very nearly become lost herself in that storm, had barely found her way back to the clearing at all, and she knew that her search efforts were not and would not likely produce any result, as dark and windy as it had grown out on the mountainside. Sitting there glumly for a minute as she fed the stove and shivered herself warm again--the yearling hide was a tremendous help, but even it had not been quite enough to shield her entirely from the vicious wind and hard driven snow of that night--Liz made the decision to stay, to keep the fire going, tossing in the occasional green branch in the hopes that Einar might smell its smoke and be guided back, venturing outside on a regular basis to pound the aspen trunk on the chance that he might be close enough to hear. She wished for a whistle, for two pieces of metal to pound together, even, for a signal that might carry further, but she had none such. Night. It was all around her, pressing in from outside the den and leading her to light the lamp--which had come to seem almost like a living, breathing thing to her over the past days--just to help keep its terrible, empty darkness at bay and have a bit of additional company, and Liz could not remember ever feeling so alone as she did just then. She tried to keep busy--toss another green branch in the stove to make some smoke, add some

more snow to the pot that simmered gently on the stovetop, get into the yearling hide and prepare to meet the wind once more on the way to the signal-tree. Repeat. And again-but it was not enough, and she could not get the vision of Einar, injured and lost and dying in the storm, out of her mind. She prayed for him, pleading for his life, asking that she would please, please be shown what to do, how to find and help him, and finally, exhausted and out of words, conceding what she had known but been somehow unable to say from the beginning--there is nothing I can do for him; I cant find him, cant reach him, but You can. He is in Your hands. Shelter him, guide him, bring him back to meif Youre willing. Finally, not feeling the least bit hungry herself but wanting to have something ready for Einar if he returned--when he returns!--she cleaned the marten and the ermine and got a stew going, adding some dried chokecherries and bear fat and setting out the bag that contained the last of the cattail starch, intending to add that at the last minute to further enrich the meal. The stew bubbling and her eye caught by the cottonwood buds she had gathered that morning--was it really this morning? Seems like a week ago--she decided to work on a small batch of salve, remembering the instructions Einar had given her before and expecting that when he made it back, he would surely be in need of something to help frozen toes. Chopping a handful of bear fat into small chunks she dumped it into the second, smaller pot and set it on the stovetop to begin melting, sorting through the cottonwood buds and putting a pile of the best looking ones on a nearby flat rock to add to the liquefying grease as soon as she had got it hot enough to separate out the small pieces of meat and membrane, or cracklings, and remove them. The fat was soon not only liquefied but bubbling, and she used a stick to snag and remove the cracklings, eating a few of them despite the knot in her stomach, and dumping in the buds, orange and sticky in the warmth of the den. Setting the pot aside on a cooler part of the stove, she stirred the stew, added a few more chokecherries and again went outside to keep her vigil at the signal-tree, pounding for all she was worth and again shouting, her voice somewhat restored by the rest and the water she had consumed. The wind had slacked off a bit, she thought, and for several minutes she kept up her shouting and pounding, praying that he might hear, might come or, if he was unable, might somehow answer so she could go to him. There was no answer, though, nothing save the returning rush of the wind as it hammered down the slope and swept through the treetops, showering her with snow. Back in the den Liz scooted the salve-pot back over onto the cooking surface of the stove, staring into the pot as the buds slowly released their yellow-orange resin and the bear fat took on its hue, the entire place soon smelling of the stuff, an odor sweet, healing, homelike, sure hope I get the chance to use some of this stuff... It had been a good while since hed been able to feel his toes, their deep aching turning to numbness some time ago despite his persistent efforts at wiggling them and, when that ceased to be possible, slamming his feet against trees and stomping them frequently--the one on the unbroken leg, anyway. At first he had taken the time to stop and warm the toes whenever he felt the cold overwhelming his efforts, dragging himself beneath a tree

and leaning on it as he removed his boots and pressed his foot to his inner thigh until the toes began stinging again with returning circulation, attempting to warm those of his right foot by clasping them in his hands and rubbing, as the cast and wrenched knee would not allow the flexibility to reach his thigh. He considered removing the cast to give him access to further warm the foot, but decided against it, not at all sure that he would be able to tie the cords that held its two halves together if he took it off, and as bad as things were, he knew they would be many times worse if he had to crawl back without that cast. As it was, he was managing to limp along with the help of the stick that had served as part of his crutch, struggling not to put too much of his weight on the leg but able to use it a bit here and there to help him get through especially rough areas. Progress was still extremely slow, though. Too slow. Einar eventually had to give up his toe-warming breaks, knowing that it was getting too dangerous to go on stopping like that and doubting his ability to get up again if he sat down just then, not sure that he would remember, even, that such had been his intent. Keep going. Cant be far now Something was wrong, he knew it, knew he must have gone wrong somewhere, was beginning to recognize the angle of the slope and the proximity of the sharp dropoffs that marked the lower end of the canyon, getting a glimpse now and then through the nearwhiteout and the gathering darkness, and knew that he had somehow managed to end up too high. Way too high. Passed it. You passed the den somehow, have to go back. Which he did, turning around and stumbling down the snowy slope, walking backwards at times due to a steepness that he could not see but could feel beneath him, lowering himself one step at a time, knowing that a bad fall would mean the end. Endless. The slope was endless, the storm endless, the wind, not cold anymore but terribly forceful as it pounded his weary limbs seemed as if it would never end, and Einar knew that his movements, clumsy, jerky, increasingly uncoordinated, must not end either, for if they did his life would be soon to follow. And he needed to live. Wasnt entirely sure that he wanted to, didnt quite know what that meant at the moment, even, but he had left the den and had left Liz and needed to get back to her. Had duties back there. Keep moving. Darkness, and he could not go on. It had taken him a while this time to realize that he was no longer moving, the movement of the trees all around him making it seem as though he, too, continued to travel, but when his head fell forward and encountered the rough bark of a spruce he realized that his movement had ceased, had, apparently, ceased a good while ago, judging by the amount of snow that seemed to have accumulated on his hat and his shoulders, even there beneath the tree, and he tried to rise, couldnt find his legs and threw himself sideways, hoping that if he started moving in some way, any way, they might show up again. Nothing. Other than a mouthful of snow, and he spat it out, struggled to sit up. Should have been there by now. Must have gone wrong again, gone off course. Dont know how Im going to find my way now, but I must try, must try and get up, first He heard something, or thought he did, through the ripping and shrieking of the wind through the trees, a sound regular, repeated, something that did not seem to fit the pattern of the storm, and with it what might have been a human voice. Might have been almost

anything, for that matter, might well have been his own failing brain playing tricks on him and probably was, but he somehow got himself rolled over and on his knees, starting down the slope in what he guessed to be the direction of the sounds, rolling and sliding and only occasionally rising to take a halting step or two. Time passed, but brought with it no more sounds to guide him, and Einar finally accepted that he must have imagined or invented them--no surprise--just as he was then imagining the warm, rich smell of stew, near, ready to eat, reaching him on the wind and reminding him of Liz, and then he could see her there in the lamplight of the den, feel the warmth that rushed out when she pushed aside the door flap, beautiful sight, not real but beautifulthank you, Liz She heard something just outside, a muffled sound that differed somehow from the howlings and creaking of the storm-lashed forest, something human-like, almost, and taking the lamp she pulled back the bear hide, its light reflecting off of the nearby snow banks and illuminating a wild, snow-encrusted figure that stood feet from the entrance, leaning shakily on a spruce stick but standing, alive. She didnt say anything, just helped him through the entrance, held him for a moment and led him over to the stove.

Struggling to get Einar out of his icy clothes--a process with which he emphatically insisted on helping, though his hands were all but useless at that point--Liz realized that he was barely shivering, knew he ought to be and hurried to cushion one of the rocks that leaned against the stove in layer after layer of aspen bark, getting it behind his back and wrapping the bear hide around him while she quickly added some rose hips and dried chokecherries to the water she had simmering on the stove. Shaking the accumulated snow and ice from his clothes she hung them from roots above the stove to begin thawing and then drying, hastily changing out of her own bottom layer of pants so he would have something to wear while his dried. After checking the tea, she saw that Einar had managed to lie down while she dealt with the clothes, curling up into a ball with his arms drawn in against his sides and his chin tucked down on his chest, and when she spoke in an attempt to wake him he just looked up at her and smiled through cracked, purple lips, mumbling something about how it was so good and warm in the den, and he could finally sleep. Liz was not so sure. Somehow doubting his ability to generate enough heat to begin heading in the right direction by simply lying there curled up in the bear hide, she brought the tea pot and hauled him back up into a sitting position. Hey, come on now. Not time to sleep just yet. Have some of this tea. He sat there, couldnt quite seem to figure out how to take a sip of the tea but leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breathing the steam for a good while and starting to shake a bit more as she held the pot for him, the ice beginning to melt in his hair and beard and the frost-nipped patches on his cheeks and nose beginning to sting as they came back to life. Struggling to speak, he finally got a few words out, slow and indistinct, but Liz

understood. Crutchbrokesorry...m-meant to He lost his train of thought then and for some inexplicable reason attempted to rise, couldnt get his limbs to cooperate and quickly sank back down on the heap of dry grass. She put her arm around him, drew the bear hide in closer around his shoulders. Ok. Its Ok. Well talk about it later. Oh yes, well have plenty to talk about, later You just take a drink of this tea for now. Here. Ill help you. Good. Can you hold the pot yet? No? Ok, Ill just set it here beside you. Now let me get you a couple more of these warm rocks, get them wrapped against your sides with the wolverine hide so you can start warming up and then Id better have a look at your feet. Feetkinda bad. Castuh Doesnt help much, does it, when it comes to staying warm? Lets get it off. Im sure its wet down inside there, and youll warm up a lot faster without it. Not only were the shreds of cloth and the moss and grass being used for cast insulation wet but they were icy as well, frozen in frosty little clumps to the casts pitch-coated interior and to the hair on Einars leg, and Liz shook her head as she removed them, looking for the telltale white waxy patches that would have indicated frostbite and relieved to find none--except in a small area where his leg had emerged from the top of the cast--not until she got down to his foot, at least. Three of his toes were completely white as were the tips of the other two, white blotches creeping down the outside of his foot and across part of the sole. The white patches and the affected toes were, to her relief, soft to the touch rather than frozen solid, and though very thankful for that, she knew he was in for a number of rather difficult days before he could hope to use the foot again. Well, this ought to slow him down somepoor guy. Wonder if he realizes how bad it is, yet? I doubt it. Looks like hes still pretty out of it. The other foot, which had been protected by his boot and two pairs of socks, was in much better shape, only two toes showing small patches of white on their tips. As she warmed his feet against her stomach Liz inspected Einars fingers, relieved to see only a few small areas of concern and warming them, too, careful not to rub any of the frostbitten areas, as she knew that this would only lead to further damage, as minute ice crystals would grate and tear and chew up the injured tissues. The soup was bubbling and she left to stir it, pulling the pot off of the stove to cool a bit, pouring it into the wooden bowl that Einar had made and starting some snow melting in the empty pot, knowing that the best way to thaw out Einars frozen toes would be in some lukewarm water. He was asleep again or nearly so when she brought him the bowl of soup, shivering hard as the warmth of the rocks seeped into him and slowly began bringing his core temperature up, and she tried to get him to eat, but he managed no more than a bite or two before drifting off to sleep again. That changed when she got his right foot into the pot of heated water, warm, but only a few degrees above body temperature, the pain of his thawing toes leaving him wide awake, if not particularly interested in

eating. She was able to keep him breathing steam from the frequently-reheated and refilled teapot, though, taking swallows of it now and then at her urging. Several minutes into soaking his toes in the warm water, Einar suddenly sat up a bit straighter, leaning forward to take a look at the foot, which had gone from pale and white but otherwise fairly normal looking, to swollen, red and covered with large, fluid filled blisters as it thawed. He looked over at Liz, speaking through clenched teeth. Better havesome willow now. Bunch of willow, if we got it. Yes, we have it. I cut a bunch of them this afternoon down at the marsh. That must hurt awfully bad Some. But mostly need itbecause willow thins the blood. Will help with circulation. Looks likemay be losing a toe or two andwould kinda like to avoid, if possible. Quickly peeling one of the willow stems she gave him the bark to begin chewing, snipping the tips off of several of the other fresh willow shoots, cutting them into small pieces and adding them to the tea, which she set back on the stove to heat. Oh, dont talk like that. Theres no way to know yet just how bad it is, but if its any comfort, the toes were not actually frozen hard at all. They were still soft. White and waxy and pretty bad looking, but soft. It may not be as bad as it seems. Einar nodded gratefully, stuffing the wad of willow bark into his mouth and chewing, hastily swallowing the mouthful of terribly bitter juice that accumulated in his mouth. Right. Could be worse. If the...blisters were full of blood right nowbig trouble. Would mean deeper damage. This may come out Ok but He stopped talking then, eyes clamped shut as he devoted his entire focus--which, hypothermic as he still was and badly worn out from his climb, did not amount to much--to managing the increasing pain of the thawing foot, breathing slowly and struggling to keep control of himself. Watching, Liz did not have the heart to tell him that the blisters on the undersides of his toes were full of blood, as were those on the outside of his foot, which he had apparently not yet seen. Later. Let him get through this, first. Knowing that the salve she had earlier prepared ought to have some effect on the pain, as cottonwood buds contained a good amount of same the aspirin-like compound that gave willows their effectiveness, she was anxious to get his foot dried out and the salve applied, but when she made a move to lift it out of the water, Einar shook his head, spoke in a voice that broke a bit despite his best efforts. No. Not done yet. Can takehalf hour or so to get things thawed out. Stop too soon, worse damage. Need to addlittle more warm water to keep the temperature up. She added the water, bringing him at the same time the willow tea, which he gulped down quickly despite its bitterness, handing the pot back to her. For the next several minutes he sat there with his elbows on his knees and his eyes scrunched shut, Liz wishing she could do something to aid him in his obvious struggle, but knowing that he

really needed to be left alone to handle things in his own way. Finally, seeing that the look of intense concentration that had seemed to mark the worst of the pain was easing some and hoping that he might be ready to talk a bit she sat down beside him, again offering the bowl of stew. Einarwhy did you do this?

Slightly annoyed at Lizs question and not feeling much like talking, Einar supposed he had better go ahead and do so anyway, guessed he certainly owed her at least that much for going to the trouble to thaw out his feet. Was working on the food cache. Wanted totake advantage of the storm, so I went down there and stacked up a bunch of rocks. Too many rocks, I guess. Crutch broke when I tried to lift the last one. Stopped and made a fire once on the way back, but He shook his head. Couldnt see a thing out there. Got awful cold, was awful slow without the crutch. But I made a good start on the cache! Soon as I can rig up a replacement for that doggone lost knee brace on my crutch, Ill go finish the thing up! And he grinned at her, face haggard and pale and frostbitten, but eyes glowing. She wanted to get after him for further injuring himself, for failing to spend the day resting his leg when he had seemed to agree in their prior conversation that such was a good idea, felt like threatening to tie him up or knock him out--or perhaps both, just for good measure--before she left the den next time, but it had all been said before. Einar knew the facts, knew how she felt about things, and Liz saw no purpose in further belaboring the point. You need this, dont you Einar? The challenge. The struggle. Look at you. Here you are frozen half to death with your toes blown up like balloons and obviously in a lot of pain, yet you seem happier and more relaxed than you have been in days. Nodding slowly, he stared into the stove. Guess so. Sitting isreal rough for me right now. Feel awful lost just sticking around the den, awful jumpy, and I dont sleep at all unless I can really wear myself out first. Only time it really seems like Im doing what I ought to be doing, anymore, is when Im out there working right at the limits of whatever Im capable of, right at the edge I can see it. Though I can also see that you will never heal up if you keep doing this to yourselfwhy dont you realize that? And I dont want to take that away from you. But dont you thinkwell, it might have saved us both a lot of trouble today if we each had some way to tell the other where we were headed, when we left the den. You almost died out there tonight, Einar. And I could have very easily got lost in the storm too, wandering around looking for you, and never found my way back here. It almost happened on the last trip back up the hill, and Im learning, but Im not as good yet out there as you are

Humbled, he stared at the ground, shaking his head and chipping idly with his improvised quartz axe at a chunk of firewood, looking up at her out of the corner of his eye. You came looking for me? In that storm? Of course I came looking for you! I went up and down this mountain searching and shouting until I lost my voice and pounding on trees and praying that you werent lying out there somewhere unconscious and freezing to death and getting covered with snow so I could never find youEinar, youre not alone any more, but sometimes you sure act like you are. Dont you see that I care what happens to you? That Ilove you? Silent for a time, wishing he might sink into the floor and become invisible, Einar finally spoke. I heard you. Just before I showed up at the door here, I heard you pounding on that tree. Saved me. Iuhhad no idea where I was out there. Was trying butwas real close to going to sleep I think. Smelled the stew but thought I was dreaming. Yeah, I know you care. Just dont quite know what to do with that fact, sometimes. Forgive me? She scooted closer to him, again offered the stew, which was beginning to grow cold. Einar. There is nothing to forgive. He was not so sure, but, grateful, accepted the wooden stew-bowl and ate, the pain from his thawing foot finally down to a level where he was reasonably certain that he would be able to keep the food down and knowing that his body desperately needed the resources if it was to continue warming. Using the spoon she had made, Liz shared the stew with him, terribly hungry and hollow-feeling after her trapline excursion and the frantic afternoon out on the mountain, searching. Staring at the den wall as she ate, pondering, Liz suddenly leapt up, much to the startlement and consternation of Einar, who was sure she must have heard something outside that he had managed to miss in his half-wakeful state, rolling quickly to his stomach with the stone axe in one hand and his knife in the other. Hey! Nonothing wrong. Here. Let me help you get your foot back in that water. Just wanted to tell you that I had an idea! Why dont we use one of those big slabs of red sandstone from outside, and etch a map of sorts into it. Then if one of us leaves the den while the others already away, we can leave some indication of where weve gone. A little pebble or something--we could each have one of a different color. That way if something like this happens again, whoever gets back first will at least know where to start looking Ohand leave a clear map for the enemy if they should happen to stumble upon this place while were away? I dont think so! Who said anything about a clear map? I was picturing just a few basic contour lines to orient us, and then some pictures that only we would understand. Symbols that would represent places we both know, landmarks on the mountainside herea marten track or something for the start of the trapline, a heron or duck for the cattail marsh, things like that. It would look nothing but a bunch of petroglyphs to the enemy, if they ever saw it.

The idle etchings and chipping of a couple of modern primitives, passing the winter hours in their caveand if they were to give it some serious study, it would take them days to decipher, by which point wed either be long gone, captured or dead, anyway, so it wouldnt make any difference. He gave her an odd look, nodded. Sure sounds like youve got this all thought out Yes. Marten stew makes me very contemplative, as it turns out. And you know, this wouldnt be the first time you left some rock art behind. I was there when SAR went into that cave up above the waterfall to rescue the agent who fell and got stuck, and I saw your mural on the wall of that little calcite chamber--very detailed images of you hiding in a little crevice partway down a canyon wall, aiming an arrow at a helicopter that was hovering so close that you could see the mens facesIve never asked you about it, but ever since I saw that mural, Ive wondereddid you really shoot down that helicopter with an arrow, like they say? The pictures kind of left it an open question, but they certainly did pin the whole thing on you, in the press Einars face darkened, jaw clenched, his eyes taking on a familiar faraway look that told Liz she might have been better off leaving the subject alone, tightening his grip on the axe as the presence of that day returned to him in full force, rotor wash in his hair, that pervasive, echoing rumble all around him, in him, the taste of granite dust between his teeth and the sure knowledge that he was either about to die, or be capturedhe shook his head, wiggled his damaged toes, or tried to, the hurt returning him quickly to reality. Quit it. Just quit. You saw that, did you? I got a couple arrows off, yeah, but it was a lousy, quickly made bow, and I could hardly use my left shoulder at all, back then. Rotor hit the wall and the chopper tore itself up because they werent paying enough attention to the wind. You know how the wind can be in those canyons, some afternoons. I had nothing to do with it. Butit wasnt for lack of trying! Now, he took a big breath, blew it out between pursed lips, back to your map idea, Ok? Sure. And why dont I put some of this cottonwood salve on your toes, too, if youre done soaking them? We dont have any gauze or even mullein leaves, aside from these broken up ones that we saved for tea, but we have lots of usnea, and it ought to work alright between your toes, dont you think? Yep. He nodded, grimacing as he lifted his foot out of the warm water, leaning forward to inspect it. Thats what Id do, for sure. Smear the usnea with a bunch of that salve so it wont stick, shove some lumps of it between the toeshuh. Pretty ugly. Guess I may be sitting still for a bit now, like it or notlooks like youre gonna get your way on that one, after all. Ready to come back with a smart remark about how her way would have involved preventing the frostbite damage in the first place by tying him to a boulder so he couldnt leave the den for a week, Liz thought better of it, bit her tongue and began preparing the

toe dressings, picking good clean clumps of usnea and rolling them around in the salve, which she had set near the stove to warm, saturating them thoroughly before gently sliding them between Einars toes. He didnt make a sound while she worked, staring into the stove and trying to count the rocks that made up the area just around the door, giving Liz a thankful glance when she told him she was finished, propping his leg up on a raised cushion of grass, a rock slab tucked beneath for additional height. Youd better lie down now, if you can. Your leg is swelling again, probably from all of that use this afternoon, and Im sure it would be good for your toes if the swelling could be brought down. Ill make you some more of the willow solution. Complying, Einar flopped down on the grass and duff-insulated den floor, Liz getting the bear hide over him, adding a few sticks to the fire and joining him, dragging over a large slab of sandstone that had been standing just outside the den door, lying on her stomach as she began to sketch lightly on it with a quartz chip. Lizs work on the map-stone petroglyphs did not last long that night, as the exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on her, Einar, too, drifting towards sleep as they lay together on the floor, and finally, feeling the cold of the night seep in around the bear hide and settle on the floor, she roused herself and set about preparing for bed. Einar, immensely weary and near sleep despite his throbbing toes, wanted to stay right where he was, but she insisted on helping him up onto the bed, knowing that he was going to have a difficult enough time staying warm as it was, the need to keep his leg elevated preventing him from curling up for warmth, and his temperature not yet returned to normal from his extended wander in the snow. Adding more wood to the fire and closing the door and air vent most of the way to keep it smoldering for as long as possible, she joined Einar in the bed and attempted to make a bit of conversation about the map, but found him already fast asleep. Einar slept that night, slept without dreaming and without waking, soundly, despite the fact that his shivering did not entirely cease for hours after lying down, and Liz slept also, pressed against his side for warmth and holding him until his trembling eased, finally falling asleep with a grateful tears in her eyes and a prayer of thanks for the sparing of both of their lives, once again. Morning brought a continuation of the windy weather and low, heavy clouds but not of the snow, which had tapered off sometime in the night to leave the trees heavily burdened, the landscape outside the den rounded and smoothed by the numerous inches of fresh snow that had fallen and drifted and been sculpted by the wind over the past two days, and Einar squinted out at the white, billowy world, hoping very strongly that the snow would return so that they could continue using the stove. His injured foot would, he knew from past experience, be very vulnerable to further damage from the cold until the blisters healed, and as it would be rather a bad idea--he shuddered at the thought--to try and cover it with bear hide or anything else thick and warm until it began healing, keeping the den somewhat warm seemed like the best way to avoid further injury. The lamp would, if they could keep the place sealed up reasonably tightly, do an adequate job at keeping temperatures well above freezing in the den, but the stove would make things easier, and also make the task of melting snow and heating water to somewhere right

around body temperatures for the once or twice daily soaks that he knew would help prevent infection and speed healing in the toes. If theyre going to heal. Looks like I may have taken things a bit too far this time. Well. One good thingextreme cold and high elevations do not lend themselves well to the thriving growth of bacteria, so I have a pretty decent chance of avoiding life-threatening infection, even if I do end up losing a toe or two. Really have to stay on top of things though, and I sure would prefer Liz not be here to see if I have to start carving off chunks of dead toe with my knife He shook his head, shivered at the draft coming in under the door and added wood to the stove, stirring the breakfast stew and greeting Liz as she shook the sleep from her eyes and stumbled over to hold her hands out the welcome warmth of the flames. What are you doing up? I thought you were going to keep still and elevate that leg today Aw, now Ill elevate it in just a minute. First though I had to check on things outside and start us a little breakfast. Kinda felt like stirring around--well, scooting around, to be more accurate--just a bit, this morning. Havent slept that well for days, and it sure did feel great! Oh. Well I guess floundering around in a whiteout without a crutch and ending up half dead from cold and with a frozen foot agrees with you, then? Want me to take your clothes and lock you out there for a few hours so youll sleep well again, tonight? One problem with that. Only one? Really? Yeah. Door doesnt lock Swatting at him with her knotted aspen branch club, Liz was amazed at the speed with which he dodged the mock blow--well, a little sleep now and then really does seem to do him a lot of good, because he sure wasnt moving that fast yesterday--scooting out of her reach and snatching up the quartz axe before she could take another swing at him. Whats the weather like out there? I saw you checking. Snow stopped, but looks like it could start up again any minute. Still real windy. Guess youre not gonna get to do that calendar-stick anytime soon, like you talked about. Too many of these cloudy days. I get the feeling that we may have already passed the solstice. I was thinking about that too, this morning. Yes, I expect we have. Its probably Christmas by now, or nearly so. Einar glanced at her a bit oddly. Is that why you were so anxious to know the date all of a sudden?

Oh, part of it. I think I was just looking for some sort of connection tocivilization. It was silly. Its all right if I missed the solstice and cant figure out the exact date for a few months until the middle of summer. Well, I always figured it didnt much matter when a person celebrated such things; one day is as good as another, and which day you choose to remember a thing sure doesnt change the fact that it happened, which is the only part that really matters, in the bigger scheme of things How about today then? Today what? Christmas. Lets celebrate it today. Were close, I think. Though I know you just said it doesnt matter to you when things are celebrated or rememberedbut it does to me, still. Just a little. I havent managed to completely let go of the way Ive always done things, just yet. And you dont have to. Im not asking you to. Itll come, I think, but no need to rush things, I guess. So. Whatd you mean by celebrate? I celebrate every day just by breathing, eating, celebrate being alive, freefor one more day. What did you have in mind? Its a surprise. Youll like it. But I cant make it happen unless I can trust you to stay in this den until I get back. Yes? I dont like surprises, generally. But yes. Im staying here today, no question. Foot will freeze again awful easy if I dont take real care todayfor a number of days, actually, and if that happens, well, good bye, toes. Nothing worse than refreezing something you just got thawed out. I know. Ive done it. Doubles the damage, or worse. Better to just leave things frozen, if you know youre gonna be forced to walk on them, use them again in the near future. Yep, Ill be here when you get back. Wherere you headed, though? He asked in a sincere effort to respect her stated desire that they each know where the other was headed, when leaving the den. Just out on the trapline. Ill do the traps, and take care of the surprise on the way, hopefully! Then head right back here. He agreed that her plan sounded like a fine one, swallowing a sudden desire to find a way to quickly repair his broken crutch so he could go with her. No way. Not even an option this time. Got to save that foot. Watching as Liz broke trail through the new snow and disappeared out of sight into the timber, he scooted back into the den, dragging the sandstone slab over beside the stove and setting to work with a quartz chip and some shards of granite, determined to present Liz with a finished map when she returned, since the project seemed so important to her.

She paused, the third trap checked, empty, as the first two had been, no surprise, considering the whiteout that had prevailed throughout the previous day and most of the night, listening, her eyes scanning the nearby snow drifts for any sign of movement, certain that she had heard a small, familiar sound. There! And she let her war club fly, a brief struggle and a single pure white feather, drifting, rising on the breeze, telling her that the stick had flown true.

Ptarmigan in hand, Liz hurried to check the remaining traps, finding them all empty, bait undisturbed, the fury of the storm apparently having kept most living creatures--aside from Einar and herself--den-bound, curled up for warmth. Reaching the farthest trap-one of the pole-snares--she quickly began the last section of the loop, the one that led back towards the den, starting to see a few flakes drift down once more from an increasingly leaden sky and anxious to finish the return trip before the second wave of the storm broke over the mountains and made travel more difficult and dangerous. Shortly after the lower loop of the trapline trail turned uphill and began climbing back towards the den, it crossed a wide, wobbly trench-trail in the snow, largely drifted over but still visible even in the flat, gloomy light of the morning, and Liz knew she had discovered part of Einars trail from the day before. Must have been snowing and blowing so hard by the time you crossed my trail that you never even saw Curious to see what he had done on the food cache she followed the trench downhill for a ways, finding beneath the spreading, ground-sweeping boughs of a large spruce evidence of the work he had done. Neat, regular, the rows of rock had been fitted together one atop the other with the skill and precision of some of the dry stone masonry she had seen back East; walls and fences and spring houses built hundreds of years before and without the use of any mortar, standing as straight and symmetrical as they had been at the end of their construction. The slabs and chunks of granite, though, unlike many of those she had seen used in such building, were massive, few of them weighing less than seventy pounds by her estimation, and in walking around the mostly finished structure she discovered the slab that must have finally led to the failure of the crutch. She tried to lift it, could not, stood there prying at it with her foot and shaking her head. Einar, you crazy fool! No wonder you broke that crutch. And a wonder you didnt break something else, too, lugging these heavy things around. Frustrated as she was with him for reaching so far beyond his current ability and doing himself more harm in the process, she did have to admire his persistence and determination, recognizing it as one of the forces that had kept him alive, going, through the ordeals of the past year and beginning to realize that it was not a trait that he could easily turn on and off at will, as she knew that she had originally been expecting him to do with some of her requests.

Einar labored tirelessly until he finished the map-stone to his satisfaction, half cipher, half work of art, vague contour lines serving to orient their relationship to the nearby slopes and their nuances and stylized symbols representing the landmarks that made sense of their craggy, heavily timbered corner of the world--heron with a fish in its mouth for the cattail marsh, big round cat track for the clearing where the bear meat had been stolen by the lion, and so on, finally inspecting the slab one final time, nodding and blowing the rock dust off of it for one final time, sliding it over against the side of the bed and concealing it with a thick layer of grass. Can be her Christmas present, I guess, since she seems so dead set on us doing something like this. He knew it mattered to her and recognized on some level that Liz was correct in her insistence that they ought have some way to communicate each others whereabouts, but it was not his way; such cooperation was unfamiliar and uncomfortable to him, and he would have been inclined to flat out refused the proposal, had he not felt so bad about her wandering around out there in the storm the day before and risking herself on his behalf. Finished with the map-stone and anxious to present it to Liz so they could discuss its particulars and use, he lay on the floor in front of the stove with his leg propped up in an attempt to reduce the swelling, wishing he dared to use a few hands full of snow to make a cold compress for it, but fearing that such would serve only to reduce the circulation to his toes at a time when they needed it most, if they were to have any chance of remaining viable and eventually healing. Though surely the swelling must be reducing circulation some, too. Leg is every bit as bad as it was two days ago after setting up the trapline, worse, maybe, after that long slog without the crutch. Tried to go easy on it at first, keep most of the weight on the other side and thought I was doing a pretty good job, but once I started getting so cold, losing my focuswell, who knows what I was doing. Putting way too much weight on it, from the feel of things. Well. Didnt re-break anything as far as I can tell, just made it swell up awful bad. No permanent harm done, I dont expect. Aside maybe from the toes He shrugged, sat up and scooted over to the side of the stove where yet another pot of dark brownish willow solution, wickedly bitter and stinging as it went down, awaited his consumption. Shuddering at the smell of it--hed downed two pots of it already that morning and really wanted no more, but could think of no better way to bring down the swelling in his leg and help with circulation to the damaged toes-he crushed up three of Lizs dried rosehips and threw them into the mixture, wishing he had some mint to add, as well, to help buffer the willow barks harsh action on his stomach. Knowing he needed to eat but his appetite nonexistent between the gnawing, twisting discomfort of what he was sure was more willow solution than he ought to have had in a day and the persistent throbbing of his damaged toes, Einar got to thinking about their food supply, knowing that they were rapidly consuming their reserve of venison. They had been eating three or four thousand calories worth of it--combined with the bear fat--a day on average simply trying to keep up with the demands of working hard in the snow and living in the bitter cold that had gripped the mountain for the past week or so. Even at that, he could feel that he was still shorting himself, that though he had, fortunately, stopped losing weight he did not really seem to be gaining any, either, and he knew from past experience that his body probably needed somewhere near twice what he was giving

it to get beyond simply keeping him from losing any more ground, and begin repairing itself. He stretched out a hand, flexed his fingers and inspected a bony wrist and lower arm that more closely reminded him of the leg and foot of some giant, water-dwelling bird--heron, perhaps, or a crane--than a typical human hand and arm, and the thought occurred him that he would find the whole thing a good bit less disturbing if only he could fly, like the bird he had very nearly come to resemble, and he laughed a little at the ridiculous image that brought to mind, wingless, featherless bird, trying to get off the ground, to soar, taking a big leap off some ledge, flapping, realizing its mistake at the last second and thensplat! More laughter as he imagined the hilarious cackling of the deer and the bighorn sheep and the small, agile kestrels that floated high above in the sparkling winter sky, watching--yeah, especially the kestrels--and the martens and mice and squirrels as they gathered on the ground to stare at the ruined carcass of the humanbird critter where it had finally landed, shattered, food for the scavengers, but not much of it, and awful stringy I bet, guess I get the last laugh after all, and he laughed right along with all of the forest creatures, adding his own absurd, cracked cackle to their own until the tears ran down his cheeks and stung the raw, red patches of frost-damaged skin stretched over his cheekbones, jolting him back to reality. All right, whats this? Mind is wandering here, Einar. Big time. Where were you headed with this particular train of thought, again? Right. Food supply, and the fact that I probably ought to be eating a good bit more than I am, if I want to see much progress. Well. For now Ill certainly take not losing any more ground. There wasnt much left to lose this time, I dont believe, and I can certainly feel a difference, if not see it, since weve had all this bear fat around to add to everything. Its helping. Aside from the sizeable and plentiful slabs of bear fat that sat creamy white with the occasional marbling of meat or membrane on their spruce sled in the corner, they were growing dangerously low on food, the supply of venison nearly exhausted and the bags of dried chokecherries, serviceberries and spring beauty and avalanche lily corms hardly sufficient to get them by for long, as cold as it had been. Although, Einar had to admit, studying rawhide bags of roots, berries, pemmican and jerky where they hung in orderly semblance--Lizs doing-from the ceiling-roots, this certainly is an incredible bounty, compared to what I had most of last winter. The occasional rabbit, some roast spruce bark that filled my stomach but offered little nutrition, andnothing. A lot of nothing. Lot of spruce needle tea, too, and finally that porcupine when Id got so weak that I could barely lift my head anymore, and had to just shove rocks off the ledge and onto his head, to take him. Yeah. Thisall of this is an incredible blessing, and I thank You. He stopped, scrubbed the dampness from his eyes with his sleeve and continued with his inventory of their food supply. Despite what was, in comparison to his last winters fare, relative bounty, he worried about Liz, saw her constantly trying to give him the larger portion of whatever she cooked and was determined not to let her go down the same path he had, if at all possible. Which is probably going to mean heading down lower where theres more to eat, as soon as Im able to make the move. Fine for a fellow like me to spend a winter starving up here near treeline--my choice, and Im well aware of the cost and willing to pay it--but I sure cant ask her to do the same. Well. Time to move anyway. Way past time. Been here far too long. Not that my foot is gonna be up to that anytime in the foreseeable future

A noise outside, the soft sound of boots in the deep snow, and Einar recognized Lizs walk, released his grip on the stone axe that had somehow found its way into his hand at the first indication of a human presence near the den and added another log to the stove, stirring the stew that he had prepared against her return.

Bustling into the den, shrugging out of the snow-encrusted bear hide and beating it as dry as she could, Liz hung it once again over the door, relieved and smiling to see Einar very nearly where she had left him, reclining beside the stove with his leg propped up, bear hide draped over him and his spear, atlatl and stone axe arrayed at his side. Such cooperation being rather unlike him, she was a bit concerned despite her relief, doubting that he had simply come to his senses and decided to allow himself a day of rest and healing. That was not his way. Standing with her back to the stove for warmth and taking a few quick spoonfulls from the pot of stew he had prepared for her, she noticed that his eyes were glazed and distant-looking, his words, when he spoke, clipped and short, and though he wouldnt admit to it, she supposed he must be in a good deal of pain with the frostbitten toes. They looked bad, the huge fluid filled blisters that had formed on his big toe and along the outside edge of the foot varying between deep red and an ugly black-purple, the tips of his other toes very nearly black, and Liz could not help but think that the damage certainly appeared worse than what she had previously helped him treat that time so long ago at her house after he had spent several days wandering around in the high country with a grass and bark creation substituting for a proper boot. Having the leg in the cast, she supposed, must not have been helping any when it came to keeping the leg warm and maintaining blood flow to the foot. She wanted to go ahead and change the dressings, seeing that some of the blisters had oozed a bit, but knew that she ought, for Einars sake, to wait until she had warmed up from her excursion and would be surer of having steady hands for the procedure. Well. At least he seems to recognize now that he needs to keep still for a while, stay warm so some of this can start to heal. Whether or not the toes ever manage to completely recover, the stillness will certainly do the rest of him some good! Einar noticed the way Liz was looking at him, the slow, deliberate words with which she addressed him when she spoke, and wondered if he might be behaving a bit more strangely than he was aware of. He struggled to sit up just a bit straighter just to show her that he was alright and certainly didnt require any special treatment, squinting his eyes against the pain-haze that spread up from his foot and leg and seemed to further entangle him, body and brain, with each movement. Doggone toes. Kinda like to just go ahead and chop them off, and be done with this nonsense. Better give it some time though, wait and see if theyre gonna do any healing. Wait and see ifdoggone it Liz, whyre you looking at me like that And he slumped back down against the pile of insulation behind his back, feeling suddenly a bit faint and wishing to conceal the fact from her, if possible. Finally warmed a bit by the heat of the stove and pulling the ptarmigan out from beneath

her polypro top, where she had stashed it to prevent it from freezing, Liz sat down beside Einar and laid the bird on his knee. Brought you something! The traps were empty, all of them, no tracks even, aside from some of chickadees or other little birds, but this time I was ready when I heard a ptarmigan. Took my club and she made a quick, fluid flying motion with her hand, whack! Got him! All I saw was a feather, just a single feather drifting up from the cloud of powder, and I knew I had him. Einars eyes lit up when he saw the plump little bird, feathers a pure, snowy white, taking it in both hands and holding it as if to estimate the weight--just under a pound, he figured, large for a white-tailed ptarmigan, which a quick look at the tail feathers, normally visible only when the bird was flying, told him that it was--and he grinned at Liz, handing the prize back to her. You even kept it warm! Much easier to pluck when the blood hasnt had a chance to cool down. Good work! It isnt much food, I know, but itll be something different at least. I thought letting it cool off and freeze might be bad news when it came to plucking--or skinning--and I didnt know which was better to do with a little bird like this. So I just tried to keep it warm. Well, some people will just skin them--easier and quicker than plucking--you make a cut down along the front and slice the breast meat out, but you lose a lot of the fat that way and some of the flavor too, I think. Best cooked whole with the skin on, just plucked, cleaned and cooked whole. Thats how the Inuits usually did it, and theyd eat the heart, liver and kidneys, too. Ptarmigans are great! Good rich reddish meat, real high in iron, all dark meat like a guinea or a duck, though not as greasy as a duck, and its so dark that the meat tastes a little bit like liver to me, at least in the winter. Early in the winter anyway, like now, when theyre still feeding on willow buds. Later when the willows are all snowed under and theyre eating mostly spruce buds they get to tasting pretty sprucey--is that a word? Dont know if thats a real word--but I dont mind that taste, and come to think of it, I never have tasted a ptarmigan that was anywhere near as sprucey as your typical winter porcupine in evergreen countryand did you know that in Iceland, ptarmigans are one of the traditional Christmas dinners? Used to be more a tradition of the poorer folks who didnt have access to pork and lamb and such, but now its a pretty widespread tradition. Of course they have more than just the one, usually, and hunters will make special vests with a series of hooks or wire bales to hang the birds from as they huntbut, he laughed, you probably didnt really want to know any of that, did you? Sure I did! Its all interesting. Though for this meal, it looks like well have to make do with just the one, rather than a whole vest full like those Icelanders, because hes the only one I saw out there, she quickly responded, amazed at the speed of Einars apparent recovery from the half dazed state in which she had found him, and again caught off guard by his ability to spout massive amounts of detailed if not always quite relevant information, especially coming from a man who would many days go for hours on end without saying so much as a word to her, unless she pressed him by asking specific

questions. Well. Keeps life interesting, thats for sure He had taken the ptarmigan and begun plucking it, sorting the feathers as he worked into two piles--larger tail and wing feathers and finer down--and Liz hurried to help him, setting the feathers she removed in a pile so he could sort them to his specifications, as she was unsure as to their intended use. They worked in silence, Einar finding that the foot once again demanded most of his focus after the brief and welcome reprieve brought him by the excitement of the ptarmigans existence, Liz wanting to ask him what she could do to help but unsure how to approach the subject. The plucking and cleaning of the bird finally finished and the entrails--those parts that Einar had not already tossed into the stew pot--set aside in a chilly corner as bait for future traps, she began peeling a willow stem and tossing the bark into a pot of heating water on the stove. One of the treatments they use now for serious frostbite, she began, shaving off a few more curls of the reddish brown bark, is to bathe the areas in body-temperature water a time or two every day before putting on fresh dressings, to help with circulation. I was thinking that maybe if we put some of this willow in the bathing water, it might help with the pain and swelling some, too. What do you think? Dont know if the willow would help that way, but Ill sure give it a try. Cant hurt. Let me have a gulp or two of it to drink first though, Ok? Ran out a while ago and had not got around to making any more yet. And like you said, water needs to be no higher than body temperature or theres a pretty good risk of it burning me, on top of the frostbite, as bad as the circulation is bound to be in parts of that foot right now. With Liz preparing the willow solution and gently heating it on the stove, checking frequently to make sure it was not getting too hot, Einar got himself turned over onto his stomach, holding his bad foot up off the floor with difficulty as he crawled over to the bed and dug the map-rock up out of its concealing layer of insulation. Dragging it over near the stove he showed it to Liz, who stared at first in half disapproving amazement at the amount of work he had done while she had believed him at home sleeping. Her look of uncertainty was quickly replaced, though, with one of obvious joy as she realized that he had created a symbol-board which, while virtually indecipherable to anyone else who might happen upon it, would allow the two of them to easily communicate their intended whereabouts to each other when leaving the den. Even more significant to her than the work that had gone into the map itself was Einars implied agreement to use the system, to trust her that much and allow her to enter just a bit further into his world. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. Merry Christmas, Liz Its great, Einar! Great. I wanted to make something to give you, but Ah, Liz. You already have. Oh, theres not much food on that little old ptarmigan. It hardly

Einar laughed softly. Nah, ptarmigans great--starting to smell great, too--but not what I meant. Meantuh" he stared at the floor, twisting some dried grass between his fingers, clearly uncomfortable, "meant...you. Rather abashed at his unaccustomed and rather clumsy expression of emotion to Liz and not wanting the conversation to go any further in that direction (as he had absolutely no idea what else to say on the matter and knew he was sure to make a mess of things if he tried) Einar hurriedly got himself out of the den on the pretense of needing to check on the state of the storm before they settled in for dinner, huddling for some time on the bitterly cold, windswept rocks just outside the den, until his own violent shivering and concern for his damaged toes told him it was past time to return to the shelter of the den. Waiting for the ptarmigan to finish cooking, Einar, with Lizs assistance, worked on his frostbitten foot, soaking it in body-temperature willow-water for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before allowing Liz to carefully dry it and apply new dressings, which consisted of clumps of usnea lichen, spread liberally with the sweet-smelling and soothing cottonwood bud salve. He found himself having to rely on Lizs judgment when it came to determining the appropriate water temperature, as anything above cold felt that day as if it was close to scalding him when he tested it with his hand, the result, he knew, of having slightly frost-nipped most of his fingers. When finally she presented him the pot of lukewarm water and declared it to be as close to body temperature as she could get it, without a thermometer to take an exact measurement, he carefully lowered the injured toes into it, gritting his teeth against the desire to shout at her that I meant my body temperature, not yours, doggone it, and what are you trying to do here, boil me alive? Liz saw his distress and asked if he wanted to skip the soaking step and have her go ahead and dry the foot and apply the fresh dressings, but he shook his head, got a tighter grip on one of the rocks that made up the side of the bed, set his jaw, lowered his head and prepared himself to wait out the half hour of soaking that he knew ought to help restore circulation in his--hopefully--healing foot. Every time she added a bit of new water from the second pot in an attempt to keep the temperature steady, though, she could see the fresh agony on his face, finally sitting down beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder. Einar reacted as though she had slapped him, his concentration broken. Ive never done this before Einar, so I dont know how its supposed to go. But it seems like the water is making things worse for you He nodded. Think maybeuhmay have made a mistake about the water. Too hot. Not supposed to feel good I know, but thisyou sure its not too hot? Im sorry. It sure feels right to me, buthey! I know! Rummaging around in the remains of the medical kit she searched for and found the digital thermometer that had been with it, glad to see that the batteries were still good, checking the water in the pot beside his foot. Dont know why I didnt think of this sooner. See? Its right at 98.3 degrees. Im sorry

its so uncomfortable for you buthmm. Maybe we should check your temperature, too. If it was a little low, that might explain Dont bother, he answered thickly. Be alright. Can do a few more minutes of this. Just wanted to make surewerent burning the foot. Liz insisted, though, getting the thermometer under his tongue and reminding him not to bite it in half, which he appeared rather inclined to do. Busying herself with checking the ptarmigans state of doneness--they had opted to bake the bird rather than boiling, for a treat, wrapping it in a bit of foil that had been in Lizs pot and setting it on the coals on one side of the stove--she returned to him several minutes later, worried wrinkles creasing her forehead as she inspected the thermometer. Einar! Heres the problem, right here. Youre freezing. Your temperature is barely registering above 93 degrees, if this thing is accurate. No wonder the water hurts so bad And she gently lifted his foot out of the too-warm water, propping it up off the ground with the rolled-up wolverine hide. He shrugged. No big deal. Probably been like that for a couple months. Not got enough fat on me to maintain a normal temperature in conditions like these, probably a little anemic on top of that, not moving around too much with this doggone leg I get along Ok. Just need to make that water a little cooler next time is all, so it doesnt scald me. What are you talking about? Of course its a big deal. You should barely be able to function at temperatures like that. Youre seriously hypothermic. Weve got to get you warmed up somehow, and keep you that way She retrieved the ptarmigan from the coals of the stove, setting it on top to stay warm and adding a log to the fire, pulling Einars hat down to his eyes, gently pushing him down on the grass floor-insulation and wrapping the bear hide more snugly around his shoulders. He laughed, shivered, sat back up. Im warm. Enough. Telling you, this is normal for me right now. Though Im pretty sure some of that roast ptarmigan wouldnt hurt things any, if its as close to being ready as it smells You are impossible. Thanks. Einars foot bandaged up again and the pain beginning to subside a bit after gulping a big pot of willow tea, they sat down to a meal of roast ptarmigan and chokecherry pudding that Liz had made with the last of the cattail root starch, Einar hungrily devouring his portion of the small snow chicken despite his stomach being a bit restless after the introduction of so much of the willow solution. Liz was right, he knew, about his lowered temperature technically putting him in the range where normal activities ought to be growing all but impossible, his movements awkward and his thinking slow and not

altogether rational--ha! And who says it is?--and he was a bit surprised to find that hed managed to adapt to the change as well as he had. Though I know this is probably putting me in greater danger of frostbite injuries like I got on those toes, making it harder for them to heal maybe, too. Dont know. And not much that can be done about it right now anyway, other than just doing my best to get enough to eat, I guess. One good thing, the lower temperature ought to reduce the amount of oxygen Im using, the amount of energy it takes to get through a day or a night where Im basically immobile, so I guess it may be my bodys way of trying to get by on less, since it seems there is never quite enough of anything. Its way of trying to become more efficient. Interesting adaptation. A little scary, too, because I wonder how far it can possibly be from where I am now, to systems simply starting to shut down and ceasing to function. Well. Fascinating question, but one I really hope not to discover the answer to, anytime soon! And he returned to his meal, picking the remaining fragments of meat from one of the ptarmigans leg bones and cracking the bone with his teeth to extract the marrow. All of the leftover bones--or, in Einars case, bone fragments--after the meal, as after all meals, were tossed into a pot of heating water to be boiled down for broth; Liz had become very efficient over the weeks, also, in her own way, and he no longer had to remind her that every scrap of sinew and gristle and bone from their meals was to be saved and used again for one purpose or another. It was a concept that she had found foreign and even a bit disgusting at first, though she had never told him so in that many words, but over time hunger and need and a keen, firsthand understanding of their circumstances had led her first to a greater comprehension and then a sharing of Einars seemingly obsessive intolerance of waste of any kind, where food was involved, and she carefully helped him gather up all of the split, chewed bone fragments and deposit them in the pot for the mornings broth. Plenitude. Unspeakable bounty. All a matter of perspective. They knew it, both of them, and were thankful. The meal finished, Liz encouraged Einar to sleep, but his foot hurt too much, and searching for projects to occupy his mind if not his body, he settled on the little pile of ptarmigan tail feathers that he and Liz had set aside while plucking the bird for their dinner. Choosing several of the larger tail, Einar carefully split them down their centers, starting at the quill end and, once he had made a small split with his knife, drawing the feather up over its blade, splitting it as he went. Ptarmigan feathers, he knew, had frequently been used by the Tlingit tribe and others for fletching arrows, and while he was not sure their small size would work quite as well on the much larger atlatl darts, they were the only feathers he had access to at the moment, and he was willing to give them a try. Normally he would have preferred to use something larger like turkey or even raven feathers for the atlatl darts, and turkeys, he knew, did make their home on the lower slopes of those mountains, down closer to the river. Not up this high though, and not where I can get to them in the near future. These little ptarmigan feathers have to be better than nothing I expect, maybe increase the effective range some on these things. Not that Im likely to be out and about very much over the next few days--next few days? Thats being awfully optimistic, Einar. This foot could take a month or more to heal up, if its going to heal--to use them, but it would be good to have the better darts ready for

whenever Im ready The thought that it could be a good while before his foot was fit to walk on again--longer than itll take the leg to finish mending, possiblyat least its on the same leg--was rather disturbing to Einar, who knew that men in his situation were not always afforded the luxury of choosing the time and distance of their travels, and he paused in his fletching project to retrieve the spruce upright from his ruined crutch, looking it over and planning the steps that would be necessary to rebuild the walking aid that had served him well until he had destroyed it trying to lug around that eighty pound granite slab Big mistake. He could feel the results in his previously injured shoulder, in the knee he had wrenched in falling, and allowed that perhaps he would have been better off skipping that last rock. Back to the crutch, though. One I had worked pretty well, so I see no reason not to replicate it as closely as I can when making the new one. Burn out a knee brace, carve a triangular support to go under in, lash everything together and glop on a generous amount of pitch glue, and I should be good to go. Yeah. And make another snowshoe contraption that I can fit onto the end of it. Sure wish Id been able to find the snowshoe, at least. That thing took a good while to build... Then when I get the crutch done, the only thing keeping me from getting out there again will be the risk of refreezing the toes before theyre healed up, and I aim to prevent that by making a good thick double layer boot of bear hide, with a marten fur, this ptarmigan down and maybe some extra milkweed fuzz to insulate it. He nodded, ran his hand lightly over the little pile of down that he had collected from the bird, knowing that while it was not nearly enough, alone, to insulate such a boot, the added warmth certainly could not hurt. Now. All rabbit trails and mental wanderings aside, werent you in the middle of something? Yes? Thought so. Maybe Liz is right, and youre too chilled and sluggish to think straight. Now, back to fletching those darts, before you sit here and fall asleep, daydreaming about insulated boots and being able to walk again. Choosing a long strand of sinew from the coil of deer backstrap tendon that he had prepared and separated, Einar took three of the split ptarmigan feather sections, removing the feathering from the top quarter inch or so of each of the split shafts. Making a quick wrap twice around the top of the dart where he meant to attack the feathers, Einar laid the trimmed tops of first one and then another feather across the sinew wrap, securing each with an additional turn of sinew before flattening the split shafts of each feather against the dart, pressing them in place with two fingers down at the quill end and starting another piece of sinew, holding one end of it in his teeth and rolling the dart over and over to wrap it around the quills of the feather pieces. The feathers secured top and bottom, Einar then took the bottom length of sinew and began spiraling it up towards the top, making wraps through the feather barbs every half inch or so until he reached the top, where he wrapped, further wetted and secured the nearly spend length of sinew before repeating the process with the top strand of sinew, bringing it down through the feathers and, by the time he reached the quills with it, seeing that his fletchings were securely held in place. The dart was finished then, with the exception of the coating of pitch glue he would later add to help waterproof the sinew loops at the top and bottom of the feathers, and he continued on to split a number of additional feathers and fletch three more of his darts.

Watching him, still concerned about his low body temperature despite all of his reassurances that such was normal for him at the moment, Liz kept bringing Einar pots of tea, spruce, rose hip, often enhanced with bear fat, and seeing the trouble she was going to in continually adding snow to the pot to melt, he could hardly refuse the offerings, pausing frequently in his work to share with her yet another pot of steaming liquid, and he could not deny enjoying the little reprieves and the warmth they brought him, breaks which he knew he never would have allowed himself had he been alone. Einar was not accustomed to pausing on a project, whatever its nature, until he was finished, and had often in the past become so absorbed in one thing or another that he would look up hours after beginning only to be astounded at how much of the day had passed while he worked without pausing for so much as a sip of water. As seldom as circumstances allowed him such unbroken concentration anymore, it had been a difficult adjustment having Liz around, had frustrated and even angered him at first when she would interrupt something he was doing with her words and presence, but he was managing alright with it and she was learning, also, keeping her distance when she saw that he needed to be left alone. Such focus, while still possible for him, did not come as effortlessly as it once had, though--usually only when it was storming and everything was consequently grounded, a fact which had led him to love and long for what might have ordinarily been considered foul weather--the circumstances of the past year leaving him progressively more restless, jumpy, unable, unless deliberately stalking something or someone or striving to stay hidden from immediate danger, to remain still for many minutes at a time without getting up to look, listen, test the air and the ground for the signs of approaching danger that his mind, his body, his entire being had learned to seek for on a constant, almost unconscious basis. It was a state of being familiar to him, comfortable, in a way, if you could call it that, one which had long ago become a part of him and had more than once meant the difference between life and death during his time in the distant and rather interesting corners of the world, and closer to home, both. It had been only in the passing of many quiet years at his cabin on the mountainside and in roaming the surrounding ridges and peaks that this alertness had begun to ease a bit, and he had been able to rest. No more. And no matter. He had slipped back into the old mode of existence with an ease that might have surprised one who had never spent time there before, and which had no doubt greatly reduced the learning curve when it came to growing accustomed to life on the run, had blessed him with sharpened senses and a stronger connection than is necessary or possible for most to the subconscious workings of the brain that gather and piece together tiny clues in ones environment and deliver a fully formed and more often than not correct plan of action before the conscious mind realizes that anything is even amiss. This allowed him the ability to make the split second decisions that had more than once in the past months kept him from death, from serious injury, and from the hand of his pursuers. And, like anything of value, it had come with a price. Mixed blessing for sure, but Ill take it. Im still here, arent I? And he drove one of the darts savagely into the soft dirt beside the stove to emphasize the point. Still here. And better get busy on something else too, it seems, before I end up giving this particular matter too much thought. Time to leave it alone. So how about working on the new crutch, or maybe

coming up with a way to make some waterproof tinder you can carry for the next time you end up out there stuck in a storm and soaking wet, in need of a quick fire The fletching project finished, he looked up to see Liz watching him, yet another pot of tea held suspended from its wire bale with her improvised pot-holder of aspen inner bark. What are you looking at? He growled, the question coming out a bit gruffer than he had intended, giving her a crooked smile the next moment in a belated attempt to tone things down a bit. You looked lost in thought. Unpleasant thoughts. Whats on your mind? Aw, nothing much. Price of freedom, I guess, stuff like that. That doesnt sound like nothing much. She sat down beside him and offered the tea. It can costeverything sometimes, cant it? Yep. Worth it though. Hey, how much of that milkweed down do we have left? Wishing he had not changed the subject so quickly--there are still things he just wont talk with me about, places he wont let me into. Maybe it will come with time, maybe not--but knowing the matter was closed for the time, she retrieved the bag of milkweed down, setting it on the rock beside him. Well, that depends on what youre wanting to do with it, I guess! Plenty for sticking in your ears if my snoring is keeping you awake at night, but if you were wanting to make a down comforter, feather bed and matching pillowswere just a little bit short! He snorted, grinned, shook his head. Feather bed? Feather bed, whats that? Sounds like something for a baby bird to sleep in, either that, or one of those soft, civilized human-critters down in the valley. Not me. No way. I sleep out in the rocks and the ice and the snow under the sky with one eye open and Now thats funny, because I seem to recall seeing you curled up on a bed of cattail fuzz and soft warm bear fur quite a bit lately, all snug and cozy and fast asleep Glowering at her out of the corner of his eye in mock fury--she hoped it was not real, anyway, sometimes it was hard for her to tell--Einar mumbled his reply. Yeah wellgot to get out of that habit I guess. One of these days. But no. Not looking to make any feather bed out of the milkweed down, just wanted to work on some little tinder bundles. Nearly did myself in out in that storm yesterday, and by the time I stopped to have a fire, everything was wet. Tinder had ice all over it and in it from where the snow had melted and run down my neck and got in the little bag I carry. Now, I guess I could focus on better waterproofing the bag itself, but seems to me like even better would be to waterproof the tinder, itself. You know, like those specially treated waterproof cotton tablets some folks carry, or the petroleum jelly soaked cotton balls. Ive carried both of those things myself from time to time in the past, and theyre good ideas, but you know,

youve got to have a way to replace such stuff when youre out here long term, like we are. Nearly got myself froze solid out there because all my tinder was wet, and theres no excuse for that. What about just melting some bear fat, and soaking the milkweed down in it like you would the cotton balls in petroleum jelly? Wouldnt that have a similar effect? Expect it would. Lets give that a try. I got another idea though that I think may work even better, and its something you could do with what you can easily find lying around in the woods, even if you didnt have access to bear fat. While Liz softened a bit of bear fat on a rock near the stove, Einar sorted through the pile of deer and bear bones and fragments from which he often drew materials for making new atlatl and spear heads, settling on a piece of split leg bone from their recent deer kill. Taking several lumps of spruce pitch from the good sized pile he and Liz had collected and set aside for use in various projects, he lined them up in the hollowed out center of the bone, mashing and elongating some of the larger, softer ones so they would fit, before setting the bone-dish on top of the stove so that the pitch could begin softening. Pulling a good sized wad of milkweed down from their remaining supply, he then separated it into smaller piles, arranging them in a row on a flat rock a good distance from the stove, over on the earthen shelf that ran along one wall. Alright, just need to wait for that pitch to liquefy, now Checking the sticky, oozing contents of the bone, he saw that the sap was beginning to melt around the edges, giving off a sweet, spicy aroma that filled the den rather pleasantly and left him wishing the stuff was edible. Growing a bit impatient, he slid the stove door open by several inches and held the bone by one end with a wrap of aspen bark, the heat that radiated out serving to quickly finish the melting process on the lump of pitch that sat near the opposite end, sending it dripping out into the coals, liquid amber, looking rather like honey, where it sizzled and flared and went up in a burst of brilliant orange flame. Oops! Too fast. Have a little patience, how about? Put the thing back on top of the stove to melt slowly so you dont lose all of the pitch before you have a chance to experiment with it. A better method of melting the pitch, he knew, if not a quicker one, would have been to fill the larger of their cooking pots with water, bringing it up near a boil and covering the bottom of the second pot with pitch lumps and chunks, setting it down into the larger pot for a double-boiler effect that would melt the pitch without risking setting the whole mess aflame, as he had seen happen when heating it directly on the stovetop. He had also, on occasion, successfully melted entire pots of pitch lumps directly on the stovetop by keeping the heat very low and constantly monitoring the project, making sure the stuff got moved to a cooler area as soon as it began smoking and skimming off all of the little pieces of bark and twig and the evergreen needles that floated to the surface as the sap liquefied. This, though it was a lot of work, always left him with a pot full of perfectly clean and wonderful pitch that, when poured into a cardboard or foil form and left to cool, formed itself into a nice neat block of smooth-surfaced, caramel-colored pitch that could then be easily melted down and used for various projects throughout the year. No matter. He had no intention of employing either of those methods, at the moment. Liz

was already using one of the pots for stew, though, the other for her constant batches of tea, and he doubted she would take too kindly, anyway, to having one of their only two cooking pots coated with melting pitch that would be terribly difficult to thoroughly remove, when the project was finished. Wouldnt bother meIve done it before, and dont mind having the taste of spruce in my stew for a week or two, but Im not sure what she might think of such an experiment. And for the small amount Im needing to test out this idea, itll melt faster in the bone, anyway, and the thing will make a handy pouring spout. The pitch at the front end of the bone appearing liquid and quite ready to pour, he carefully picked the vessel up by one end, pouring the pitch onto one of the waiting piles of milkweed down, hastily working it with his fingers in a half successful attempt to smear it on the outside of the bundle without getting everything all mixed up and mashed together, ending up with slightly burnt and very sticky fingers, but a product that looked like it might be headed in the right direction. Need more sap, though. More layers. As Einar worked to soften the rest of the sap, feeling carefully for the hottest area of the stovetop with the back of his hand, Liz picked up the half-done tinder pellet, its initial coating of pitch solidified smooth and glossy in the cool air of the den, stretched across the white lump of compressed white milkweed down in thin sheets and strings that bore a striking resemblance to caramelized sugar. Scooting over beside Einar, she held up the pellet to show him. Mmmcaramel corn! Lets make a big pile of these and curl up in front of the stove in the bear hide for the evening, munching on them and telling stories Glancing at her as if she had lost her mind--aw, great, guess thatd make two of us--he shrugged, smiled, realizing in looking at her that she was joking and supposing that he had probably been expected to know that, somehow, quickly returning to his work, knowing that the pitch would begin running out of the little melting vessel if long neglected. Huh. Doubt youd care too much for most of my stories. And youre welcome to eat this particular variety of caramel corn if you like fuzz and spruce pitch all stuck in your teeth, but Id have to be a good bit hungrier than I am right now before you caught me snacking on it! Been that hungry plenty of times thoughand come to think of it, this caramel corn might be less unpleasant to fill up on than the raw usnea Ive stuffed down my throat on occasion just to lessen the emptiness in my stomachthat stuff doesnt have much nutritional value when you eat it raw like that, and I do believe the milkweed down and pitch would probably leave you with less of a stomach ache, too! Ill have to keep it in mind. These arent finished though. Need another layer or two of pitch before Id really trust them to be waterproof. May not look quite so tasty when I get them done Checking the melting pitch on the stove and finding it to be ready--beyond ready, actually, as a few drops had managed to ooze off the end of the bone, dripping onto the stone stovetop and smoking slightly on the heated rock--he quickly dipped his finger into

the molten sap, swiping it over the outside of one of the half-finished tinder tablets and rolling it lightly back and forth between his palms, the pitch solidifying quickly as he did so to form a hard glaze over much of its surface and Einar avoiding burns by moving quickly. Several more pellets he prepared that way, twice adding pitch to the bone half and waiting for it to melt, setting the finished products aside. As he worked, Liz had been busy with her own experiment, softening several small lumps of bear fat and rubbing milkweed down in the grease, forming a number of soft, fat-imbued lumps that she hoped might function similarly to the petroleum jelly-soaked cotton balls that she had long carried in a film container as part of her fire starting kit. Finished, she returned to Einars side and inspected the growing pile of pitch-coated pellets. Wrinkling up nose, she scooped up a small handful of them. You were right. Not so tasty looking, anymore. In fact, they look just like elk droppings, she laughed. Shiny, polished elk droppings. Well who ever would have guessed what a short journey it could be from caramel corn to elk droppingsyeah, guess thats exactly what they do look like. But they should work, and thats what counts. Holding the handful of the finished pellets, weighing them in her hand and surprised at how light they were, Liz took one and tossed it into the cooled pot of tea that sat half empty between them, having been forgotten in their excitement over the project. Look at this, they even float! So they do. Ought to, as buoyant as that milkweed down is. Was used for life jackets at one point, when the Second World War made it impossible or importers to keep up with the demand for kapok as a life jacket stuffing, since the major source for it was Japan. Hey! Now if one of us falls into a fast moving, ice-clogged river at some point and gets swept away and all our gear torn off our backs or jettisoned to keep up from being pulled under--has been known to happen--then all well have to do when we drag ourselves out of the water all covered with ice and barely alive is to look in the nearest little eddy pool, and well find all of our tinder pellets floating there, all nice and dry inside, just waiting to be retrieved and used. If our fingers still work after all that Who knows? I may just have to jump into the next river we come across, to test the theory out. Been a while since I spent any time in the water, and Liz shivered, snatched up her club and shook it menacingly in his direction. Oh! Youll do nothing of the sort! Every time you get near a river, it seems like bad things happen and you somehow end up in it, frozen half to death and having lost all of your gear. Stay away from the water! They float. I see it. No further demonstration necessary. Laughing, Einar fished the pellet out of the tea-water, drying it on his sleeve and pulling it apart, exposing its dry, fluffy milkweed down core. Heres the real test. And he struck sparks into the down, using the small fire steel and striker from its pouch around his neck. The down, compressed into pellet form, proved less anxious to take a spark than it had been when loose, and Einar had to fluff it out a bit and try again with the

sparks before it took, but when it did the results were as he had hoped, the down flaring up and the resulting flame catching the pitch before it died out, leaving a flaming, sizzling little puddle of sap that burned for well over four minutes before the flame disappeared, leaving behind a glowing orange ember. Plenty long enough to have lit some kindling. It works! Evening had come as they worked, and with it a stillness that portended yet another shift in the weather; already the snow had lessened, and when Einar crawled out of the den for a minute near dusk, he could see numerous gaps in the cloud cover, ragged-edged and moon silvered as the storm began breaking up. He took in a great breath, held it for a moment, exhaled. Cold. And growing colder quickly, as the protective and warmthretaining blanket of cloud was shredded and scattered by what appeared to be tremendously powerful winds aloft, their force beginning to show itself on the mountainside as he waited, listening, the stillness broken by a great rushing and sighing from down below as the first of many gusts tore through the trees, lightening their snowburdens and leaving them to dance and sway lithely in the wind. Einar shivered, pushed aside the door flap and hauled himself back into the den, reminded by a growing ache in his foot that a stay of more than minutes out in the bitter cold of the night could well mean further disaster for his toes. He shook his head. Had really wanted to be out of the den and far from the area before that particular storm broke. Not happening. With the changing weather came a great restlessness that seized Einar, a knowledge that the air search might soon resume, an almost irresistible desire to move out ahead of it and put some distance behind him, and he fought it, knowing that he was going nowhere until the foot did some healing. The toes looked worse than they had that morning--expected, but alarming nonetheless--more of them filled with a dark liquid that he supposed must be blood, the surrounding tissue grotesquely swollen and discolored, and Einar, half because he knew the foot would probably benefit from it and half to get his mind off of his growing desire to get moving, began preparing the days second warm water soak. As the water heated he fingered the pile of remaining willow wands, debating with himself whether or not to brew a pot of strong salicylic acid solution to drink before immersing the foot, in the hopes of dulling the pain just a bit. He decided against it finally, knowing that the nausea that had been plaguing him all day and which had nearly prevented him from enjoying more than a bite or two of the ptarmigan meal was likely being caused as much by overuse of the solution as it was by the persistent throbbing of the toes. Needing to keep his hands occupied as his foot soaked--the pain was slightly less than it had been that morning when using too-warm water, but only slightly--Einar sorted through the finished tinder pellets, choosing three of the largest and boring holes in them, two each, on their short ends, with a sharp quartz fragment. Once he was through the pitch layer he used a stick to burrow the rest of the way through each of the pellets, further compressing the down inside and allowing him to string the pellets onto a length of milkweed stem cordage like beads. Melting a bit of leftover pitch on a hot rock from the stove, he dabbed it around the areas where the cord passed through the pellets, sealing them back up so they would continue to be waterproof. The next time Liz came to add freshly warmed water to the foot-soaking pot--he had said he could manage the entire

operation himself, but she had insisted on helping--he held the finished string of beads out to her. Here. Tinder. So you always have some with you. Delighted with the gift and telling him so, she slipped the cord over her head and tucked the tinder beads down inside her shirt, but Einar laughed, shook his head. Better not wear them inside your bottom layer like that, or theyll end up sticking to you. Kinda unpleasant to remove. They should keep their texture pretty well out in the cold air though, and be ready when you need to use them. Preparing two more of the pellets as he had the first three, Einar slipped off the leather cord that held his string of wolverine claws, untying it and adding the pellets one on either side of the claws and sealing them in place with pitch. Alright. Better way to carry tinder than in the little bag, maybe. Well see how durable the coatings on these things are, whether they start to crack and let moisture in over time, but maybe by carrying both these and the bag of tinder, Im at least giving myself a better chance of having something dry when I need it than with only the one. Deciding that his toes had, by that time, probably soaked plenty long enough, and growing tired of trying to bend and wiggle them as he knew he ought to be doing, he lifted his foot out of the water and carefully dried it, hating to touch it at all but knowing that he must, and that he needed to apply a fresh coat of Lizs cottonwood bud salve, as well, and when she offered to do the second part for him he did not resist. She was doing a better job of it than he could at the moment, was a good deal less clumsy and he knew it, though accepting the assistance went rather against his nature and left him feeling a bit grumpy, wishing he could come up with a good reason to refuse the help and tend to the foot himself. Forget it. Foot needs to heal, and thats an awful lot more important right now than having your way about everything. Shes here, offering to help, so youre just gonna have to let her. I wish we had some gauze rolls or something to wrap around your toes once we get the usnea and ointment in between them. Something to help keep them clean and warmer at night, since you dont seem to be able to put up with having the bear hide slipper rest on them at all. Its too heavy, I guess? Yes. Too heavy. Gauze would be good, or fresh mullein leavesthat ermine fur or even one of the martens might work, but I hate to use it for this. The ermine would be perfect though! Light weight so it wont press down on those blisters, and if I sew it up into a slipper-type thing for the end of your foot, the fact that the hide isnt tanned yet and is kind of stiff ought to let it stand up away from your toes, if you dont want it to come into contact with them just yet. Itll be warm, will protect your foot and help keep it clean. Im going to get started on it right away, if youll let me have that ermine! He shrugged. Your trapline, your ermine. Guess that does sound likea fine idea, if you dont mind using the hide that way.

While Liz began work on the ermine foot-cover, Einar tended the stove and tried to rub some of the soreness and itching out of his healing leg, which was still swollen after his crutchless excursion in the snow, but seemed to be doing a good bit better, that evening. The rest was helping. Flexing his ankle as he had been attempting to do whenever the cast was off and he though of it, he was pleased to see that, while still stiff and a bit painful to move after so long immobilized by the cast, its range of motion seemed to be steadily improving with work. His knee, also, was regaining some of its usefulness, the improvised platform crutch seeming to have been good for it, keeping the muscles around it stronger than the use of two standard crutches might have. Well. Wouldnt be doing too badly I guess, if I hadnt frozen the doggone foot. Got to put together another crutch tomorrow so I can at least hope to get out and about a bit right here near the den, over the next few weeks. Got to do that at least, or Im gonna keep losing muscle in this leg, and its not going to be good for anything much, by the time the foot does heal and I can start putting some weight on it again. If circumstances even allow us to stay here that long He had a bad feeling about that, about the amount of time they had already spent at the den, about the likely resumption of the air search with the ending of the storm, and, immensely frustrated at his inability to get out and cover distance as seemed wise and unable, even to crawl out of the den and wear himself out by struggling up and down the mountain for a while so he could have a hope of sleeping that night, he tossed aside the bear hide and lay flat on his back in the middle of the den, keeping well out of Lizs way. For the next half hour, Einar doggedly put himself through a routine of leg lifts, sit ups and the few other exercises that his condition would allow him at present, an exertion which would have been rather insignificant at most times in his life but which was, at the moment, stretching the limits of his endurance and ability. It pained Liz to see him so exerting himself at a time when he could clearly ill afford to spend his resources in such a way; simply keeping himself alive appeared to be a big enough challenge at the moment, without adding extra strain on top of it, and she wanted to stop him, to try and talk him into eating some stew and going to sleep, but she could see that he needed the exertion, the movement, and supposed she ought to be glad that he had found a way to meet that need there in the warmth of the den, rather than creeping out into the snow when she was not looking. Finally he stopped, exhausted, having fallen asleep spread-eagled on the floor and quickly shivering as he cooled down from the exertion, and she dragged the bear hide from the bed and spread it over him, propping up his frostbitten foot to keep it out of contact with the floor and crossing his arms on his chest to help conserve some warmth, a bit concerned for her safety in approaching him thus while he slept, and amazed when her actions did not wake him. Adding another log to the stove and eating her share of their evening stew--not good that he went to sleep without eating this, but Im sure not going to try and wake him--Liz dragged the deer hide down off the bed for additional cover and curled up against his side for some sleep. Sleep was not to last long for them that night, as the wind cane in great gusts, sweeping down the mountainside and, in one of its frequent direction changes, blasting against the door flap and sending the rock slabs that held it in place clattering to the floor. Einar was up before Liz even realized what she had heard, lying perfectly still for a brief moment to identify the direction from which the noises had come before rolling out of the bear hide,

vaulting himself up and over Liz and leaping on the intruder for all he was worth, going at it with the axe. Liz looked up to see sparks flying where quartz met granite with a force and fury which certainly would have spelled the end for a flesh and bone intruder, had there been one, Einar getting in two or three good blows before he realized what was happening and stopped, sticking his head outside and listening, breathless, to the roaring and sighing of the wind. Finally, shivering, he leaned the rocks back up against the door flap and he crawled over to Liz, wondering vaguely why they had ended up on the floor, instead of the bed, but pretty sure that it did not matter, as he had no intention of doing anything related to sleep, for a good long while. Liz let him be for a bit, eventually deciding that his toes had better be looked at after all that commotion, finding him by the chattering of his teeth in the stillness of the den and warning him of her approach, speaking as casually as she could manage. Well, it looks like quartz makes sparks, if we ever needs sparks Yeah, sparks, he answered a bit shakily, willingly accepting the bear hide as Liz pulled it up to his shoulders and slid in beside him for warmth. Quartz sparks real well, if you use the right technique. Requires practice. You just got some good practice then, I guess! Im sure glad it wasnt me you were practicing on. What if Id just gone out to use the bathroom or something when that rock fell, and it had been me? It wasnt. She lit the lamp, working by its light to replace the usnea clumps that had come dislodged from between his toes and treated as well as she could an area where one of the blisters had been torn open on the rocks of the floor when he scrambled for the door, apologizing that she had not managed to finish the ermine-hide slipper, that evening. There was a growing chill on the floor as the night air seeped in around the door flap, and she asked if Einar wanted to move up onto the bed where it would be a few degrees warmer, but neither of them especially wanted to move at that point as they had just managed to warm up again, and Liz was not sure she liked the idea of being sandwiched between Einar and the wall for the night, anyway, in case another rock should fall and he end up confused about the location of the door. The floor, then, seemed like a fine option, and they curled up again to sleep, not realizing at the time how very blessed they were to be by that decision, not realizing it, in fact, until several hours later when they awoke coughing and choking with stinging eyes and burning lungs to a den full of smoke.

Einar woke first, the worsening air and the acrid sting of smoke troubling his breathing and snapping him awake to glance hastily about the den for the source of the trouble, thinking that perhaps an ember had been ejected from the stove to begin smoldering in the dry grass and duff insulation that covered the floor, but there was nothing, no telltale orange glow, other than that coming from the stove. He knew what that meant. Liz

started to speak but he quickly found her face, clamped his hand over her mouth, struggling at the same time to restrain his own coughing. Keep low, he whispered. Face near the ground so you can breathe. Got tograb your pack, the axe and then soon as were out there, you drop down into the gully over on the right. Theyre probablyon top of the den, off to the side but if you can get down therejust take off, Ok? What? Who? The stoves just Do it. And he was gone, moving away from her, grabbing his own pack and shrugging into it, atlatl and dart at the ready in one hand and spear in the other. He could hear Liz crawling around over near the wall, heard her scuffling and slithering for the door, and on his way past the stove, he paused to check the damper, finding it cracked open just as he had left it, confirming his suspicions that the source of the trouble lay above. He found Liz again, just inside the door, stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Give me a minute out there. Count toforty or something, then you just come on out and drop down into that gully as fast as you can. Got your boots on? Yes, but you He was gone, scrambling out of the den as quietly as he could, knowing that the entrance was almost certainly being watched and hoping only that he might be able to distract them long enough to give Liz some sort of a chance, let her slip away, knowing there was at least some chance of success, as there was no good position from which the entrance could be watched from the front--the slope dropped away too sharply--leaving the enemy to concentrate on the area above the den and the ridge off to the left of it. Jamming a long stick into the dirt just inside the den, Einar propped the end of the door flap up on it, releasing a sudden billow of smoke into the night air which would, he hoped, offer him just a bit of concealment as he exited the den, give him a few more seconds perhaps to draw the attention of the enemy before they were able to get a shot off at him. The night was frigid, clear, brightly moonlit, everything standing out in a sharp relief of silver and blue, black tree-shadow offering the only protection, and Einar made for the little cluster of firs that stood just to the side of the open area in front of the den, scrambling, half running, marveling when he reached it without feeling the searing heat of a bullet in his shoulder or, worse, the sting of a tranquilizer dart as they had used on him the last time. Kneeling there within the scant cover of the scraggly firs with the bitterly cold air catching in his throat at every breath, he struggled to steady his hand, dart ready in the atlatl, squinting through the smoke, ethereal, moon-silvered, in search of the enemy he knew must be out there somewhere, up above the den or A sharp sound, the snapping of a stick, and he glanced down, relived to see Liz scrambling out of the door, a brief glimpse, uncertain through the smoke, before she

dropped without hesitation down into the gully, safe, at least for the time. No movement from the area above the den, where they had to have been--some advanced scout, a surveillance team, someone--to block up the chimney and smoke out the occupants of the shelter. Where are you? What is the plan, here? You waiting for me to show myself again, or what? Well, I can wait. And can see pretty doggone well in this moonlight, too. Im not real fast and you may well get me this time, but more than one of you will end up with a dart through your neck before the night is over. He waited. Silence. Moonlight and silence, a stirring of the breeze in the spruce-tops, a glittering shower of snow cascading down from high boughs as they shook with the coming of a greater gust. Cold. It was beginning to assail him as the adrenalin of that initial sprint across the clearing drained away, and though he was able to hold it back for a time through intense concentration and focus as he watched, listened, reaching out for any sign of the enemy who he knew must be out there somewhere, its advance was inevitable, inexorable, and he could feel himself all too rapidly approaching the point beyond which he would lack the dexterity and strength to make an accurate and effective throw with the atlatl. Flexing his hands, pressing numbed fingers against his stomach, he shook his head, rose. No sense waiting here till the cold stiffens me up and I cant do anything about the situation. The snow has stopped. Stopped last night before we went to bed. That was our mistake, had to bekeeping the stove going after it cleared up. I thought the wind would protect us, but you must have had something making passes way up high there where we couldnt hear it, spotted the heat, somehow got people in here. So. You may not be up there anymore, but your tracks will, and you better believe I can track in this moonlight. Its been too windy for you to have come from the air just yet; you hiked in, you will be alone or with a small group and Im gonna track you down. Track you down and if things go right youll be taking a real long nap in the snow while we scurry out of here ahead of whatever reinforcements youre able to call in. Go, Liz, use this time to put some distance behind you. Ill be along soon, if Im coming at all. And he rose, stealthy, walking, leaning on his spear and keeping to the deep shadows of the timber as he climbed up onto the slope beside the den area, meaning to get up slightly above the little shelf that held the chimney, hoping to get a glimpse of whoever lurked out there, to see, at least, some sign of their trail so he might know what direction to take in seeking them out. Nothing. He saw nothing, squinted into the dimness beneath the trees atop the den but could make out no sign of human presence, climbed a bit higher and began inching towards the shelf, pausing frequently to listen, but met only by the keening of the wind. There it was, the tree that shielded the chimney, he could see it in the glint of the moonlight, trunk plastered and crusted with blown snow, snow having blown clear in under the tree, no tracks in sight and the chimney, on closer inspection, covered over with wind drifted snow.

Staring for a moment in relief at the source of the chimney blockage--quite natural, it appeared, and easily explained by the ferocious winds of the evening--Einar suddenly realized that he was awfully, terribly cold, legs going all weak and wobbly and barely

able to support his weight, particularly the right one, which he had been using very nearly as if nothing was wrong with it, and without his cast, though reminded sharply to spare the foot as much as he could. Sinking to his knees in the snow beside the buried chimney he dug it out, using a soft, melting area in the snowdrift as his guide and soon exposing the foot-high rock structure, shaking his head and holding numb, nearly useless hands over the rising warmth released when he cleared away the wind-packed slab. As his hands thawed he scooted closer to the rocks of the chimney-top, pressing himself against it and seeking to absorb its meager warmth, but knowing that it would be a losing battle, if he kept it up for too long. He wanted to stay there anyway, probably would have had it not been for the realization that Liz was still out there somewhere, down in the gully where he had told her to go and wait for him, uncertain about what was happening and little better dressed than he was against the cold. Got to find her. You get up and you go find her. Managed to get yourself up here, so you can get back down again and follow her tracks Which he did, reaching the plateau in front of the den after what seemed like a terribly long time floundering about in the snow--though careful, as always, to keep to the trees and so avoid leaving tracks in the open where they would easily be spotted-and finding in the moonlight the spot where Liz had left the den. His foot had nearly ceased hurting by that point--though the leg ached terribly--not a good thing, he knew, but there was little he could do about it other than to duck briefly into the den and fumble around in search of Lizs half-finished ermine foot covering, slipping it on over the sock that had been providing rather inadequate protection for the foot and securing it in place with several terribly clumsy wraps of paracord before heading out again in search of Liz. Neither of them were certain later just who had found who--they stumbled upon each other, Einar heading down and Liz, having waited for nearly twenty minutes down in the gully and hearing nothing, finally starting up in search of Einar, moving as quietly as she could and alert for any sound that might have confirmed Einars suspicion of the presence of their enemy, but hearing nothing. She heard him coming, though, saw him long before he saw her and determined from the careless way that he covered ground that he must no longer be concerned about intruders. Either that, or he had grown too cold to remember what he was supposed to be doing, but either way it was clear to her even by the pale light of the moon that he needed help, was barely managing to keep to his feet, and she hurried to him, relieved when he recognized her in time to lower the atlatl and avoid putting a dart through her, lifting him when he stumbled over a buried tree trunk and could not seem to rise. Safe, Liz. Can go back. Wind drift covered the chimney. No feds. Good. Good, Einar. Lets get back up there. She wanted to say more, wanted to wring his scrawny neck, actually, as she had been trying to tell him precisely that as he hurried them out of the den, too focused on his apparent certainty that they were under attack to listen to her, but she kept quiet. He had, after all--though this time he was decidedly, ridiculously wrong--managed to keep himself free and out of the grasp of his pursuers thus far, and had, in the process, developed a far sharper sense of danger than she possessed, she was sure, though too many more incidents like this one, and I expect Ill be catching up with him pretty quickly

She got him back to the den, dragging him up the last several yards through the deep snow, not too heavy a burden but awkward and a bit difficult to handle over his repeated protests and occasional attempts to twist out of her grasp and get back to his feet, and they were both exhausted, freezing and soaked with melting snow by the time the door flap fell closed behind them, leaving them in a den which, while it reeked of smoke, was at least dry and allowed them to get out of the wind, the air breathable again with the unblocking of the chimney. Liz, her own clothing soaked from the struggle of hauling Einar back up the slope and finding with a brief inspection that his situation was even worse, was anxious to bring the fire back to life now that the chimney was drawing again, and before taking the time to get out of her wet clothes, even, she hastily began breaking up sticks for kindling, shoving aside the stove door and finding, to her relief, that coals still glowed brightly inside. Einar was pretty cold, but still alert enough to realize what she was doing, and stopped her with a quick lunge towards the pile of sticks she was about to shove into the stove. No. Too clear out there. Wind dying down. Cant risk it. Better stick with the lamp. She wanted to object, knew that he needed heat and without delay, but did not want to risk sending him scrambling out the door again by building the fire up against his will, settling instead for gathering up several still-warm rocks that lay on and around the stove and setting them near him, giving him one to hold as she prepared to help him out of his wet and icy clothes. Crouching there for a minute with a warm rock, herself, working to restore some flexibility to her hands, she dragged the lamp out into the beam of moonlight that streamed in through the cracked den door, preparing the wick and shoving one of the kindling-sticks into the coals until it burst into flame, using the small torch to light the lamp. With the cheery glow of the lamp spreading through the den and lending the promise of warmth, though the difference could not yet be felt, she hauled the bear hide over to where Einar sat, half out of his wet clothes and appearing a bit baffled as to what to do next, and helped him finish the job, joining him under the bear hide after checking her second set of clothes that hung above the stove and finding them still to be damp. The wolverine hide, which had been shoved aside in the scramble to leave the den and left was dry, and she got it wrapped around her shoulders, searching the den for any other dry scrap of clothing but finding nothing, aside from a hat and some socks, which she quickly helped Einar into. We dont have anything dry to put on, either of us. How are we going to dry things without the stove? Hang them out to freeze and then beat the ice out of them? Put them on wet and do jumping jacks and things here in the den until our body heat dries them? Mistaking the irony and near-desperation in Lizs voice for a try at humor--and a pretty good one, too--Einar gave his best attempt at a laugh, which came out sounding rather more like the croak of a dying frog, alarming Liz just a bit. Huh. Done it both ways from time to time butno. Lamp is better. Take a while but itll do the job. As Liz did not appear inclined to leave the bear hide and hang their wet clothes from the

ceiling-roots above the qulliq, Einar rose and began the task, fumbling with hands still nearly useless from the cold and hopping on one foot to spare his frostbitten one, which had, he did not doubt, suffered further damage from his excursion in the snow. It would have to be dealt with, too, checked and assessed and treated as well as he could manage, but one thing at a time Better get some snow melting over this lamp too, so we can have some tea, maybe a little broth to help us warm up. Cheerful as he worked despite the increasing violence of his shivering as he warmed and a fierce and growing ache in his leg and battered foot that told him his foray was to end up costing him a good deal, Einar found himself immensely relieved to know that, had the threat on top of the den been real, he would have at least stood some chance of making a good end of things, giving Liz a chance to get away and ensuring that the raid-and his own end, most likely--did not come without cost to the enemy. This pleased him greatly, and when Liz, huddled in the bear hide and wishing he would rejoin her for a minute until he had warmed some, asked about the source of his obvious good spirits, he did his best to explain the matter to her, his speech choppy and slurred with his trembling and the barely mitigated effects of his time sitting out in the bitter chill of the night but jubilant, almost joyful, nonetheless. When he looked over at Liz, though, wondering why she was not responding, it was to find her staring at him out of eyes bright with tears, shaking her head in near despair. Is this what the whole winter is to be like, time after time until the one time when he finally doesnt make it back? He doesnt get it, does he, doesnt realize what hes doing? Thinks this is great. And I dont even know how to begin to explain it to him Finished with the tea preparations and sensing that something was seriously amiss, Einar hopped back over and sat down beside Liz, joining her in the bear hide when she held it open for him. With the fire no longer an option their clothes slow in drying, hung over the lamp and needing to be re-positioned frequently to allow the heat to reach different areas, Einar and Liz spent much of the rest of the night working to get them dry. They took turns leaving the warmth of the bear hide to move the drying articles of clothing, Einar insisting on taking on his share of the chores despite Lizs objections that he ought to keep still and rest his leg, keep the injured toes elevated to reduce the swelling. The toes, as far as either of them could tell, had not frozen again, a great blessing and an unexpected one, considering the amount of time he had spent tramping around in the snow, but, re-frozen or not, the use had certainly done them no good, several of the blisters breaking open and turning the foot into an angry, ugly-looking mess whose throbbing ache splintered up his leg and tore at him, consumed a good bit of his focus, try as he might to direct his mind elsewhere. Despite the hurt of the foot, Einar, who knew he had brought the additional grief on himself by his rash response to the smoke filled den--but Id do it again without hesitation; what was I to do? Could have been real, could have been them, and in that case the slightest hesitation could have got us both killed, or worse--felt it his duty to take part in the lamp-tending and clothes drying chores in the den that night, a small

gesture and, he supposed, rather an inadequate one, of the genuine gratitude he felt towards Liz for putting up with the situation andwith him. No small task, he was sure, and though he wished he might assure her that circumstances would change, or that he would, such would have been dishonest and he knew it, and Einar had never been much for false pretense or for attempting to dress up the reality of a situation in fancy or appealing words. The circumstances were far beyond his control, the complex confluence of weather, game patterns and the activities of their pursuers that dictated in a sometimes disconcertingly unpredictable fashion so many of the details of their day-today lives, and as to himself and the constructs and habits he had over time established, both voluntarily and otherwise, to deal with the situationwell. He shook his head, scrubbed his hands over his face. Cant see any of that changing anytime soon, either. I do what is necessary. Am--have become--what is necessary. Not interested in giving any of that up, even if I thought I could. Which I doubt. It is what it is, and will remain so, at least for the foreseeable future. And I kinda wish I could tell her all of that, but cant exactly think how to do it right now, with this doggone foot gnawing on me like it is. So, he plugged away at the chores, limping painfully about with his spear acting as walking stick as he did what he could, all he could, to make his penance and ease the burden on Liz that night. She heard the message that his actions communicated more clearly than any speech he was capable of might have done, accepted, and very soon ceased objecting when he rose to carry out his periodic tasks, sensing in them a purpose deeper than the work, itself. The clothes finally finished drying, the tea heated and drunk, as was a second pot and part of a third, and when Einar finally put out the lamp, checked one final and rather lengthy time on the situation outside and crept shivering over to the sleeping platform, Liz welcomed him back into the bed with open arms, holding him and working to rub the persistent chill from his limbs as they curled up in the hopes of managing a bit of sleep. Morning came all too soon for the weary pair, the harshness of reflected sunlight shoving its way persistently in around the door flap to wake first Einar, who, as always, slept perched on the very brink of the sleeping platform, a hairs breadth from tumbling to the floor, just the way he liked it. He lay there staring at its brilliance and wishing his throbbing foot would have allowed him another hour or two of sleep, as the little he had got had been unaccustomedly peaceful, warm, even, after he had finally managed with Lizs help to stop shivering, and he was warm still, lying there. Time to move, though. Lamp needs lighting, need to get some snow melting for breakfast and I better get a second pot heating for soaking the foot, because much as I dont want to mess with it at all right now, I can feel that its demanding attention. Feels pretty swollen this morning, kinda inflamed, and Id hate think that some of those busted blisters may be getting infected. Which, upon inspection by lamplight, appeared to be exactly what was happening, and Einar knew that he needed to get a strong solution of Oregon grape root simmering right away, and soak that foot. Liz was up by that time, joining him beside the lamp and sharing a cup of morning tea--spruce and rose hip--sniffing the air and commenting that everything smelled rather like smoke that morning, the floor insulation, their bedding, clothes, everything.

Yep, sure does, Einar responded. I always did like the smell of smoke, myself. Willow smoke especially, and juniper--dont have any juniper up this high of course, but aspen is fine, too. Smellssafe. Cause things must be pretty safe and steady if you dare have a fire, you know And if a house has to have a smell to it, Id very much rather it be smoke of some sort than those awful artificial scents that seem so popular with socalled civilized folks these days. Air fresheners and candles and sprays and soaps labeled with goofy names like fresh spring breeze, mountain stream, such things. Well I certainly never did smell a breeze or a creek that reeked like that, and if I did, Id sure as anything clear out of the area as fast as I have from time to time from those folks houses, because that would be a sure sign that something had gone terribly amiss with nature in that particular place. Smoke smell makes you feel safe, huh? Well, if you say so! Mostly just smells burnt in here to me this morning, but it could be worse I guess. We could have actually had a house fire! Den fire to be more exact, but with all of this dry grass and stuff, all it would take is one unnoticed ember jumping out of the stove and we could be in for some real trouble, end up with nothing left but a burnt-out shell of a denbut yes, I have to agree with you about those stinky scents people are in the habit of using. Not very pleasant. Speaking of soap thoughwhat do you suppose it would take to turn some of that leftover spruce pitch into something like pine tar soap? Spruce tar soap, I guess Surely you wouldnt object to having something like that around? Well the foot-soaking water was warm, and Einar broke up and tossed in a small handful of Oregon grape root pieces, their yellow brilliance almost immediately infusing the liquid with a soft radiant glow, it would take lard, and ashes. Both of which it seems we have plenty of around here. Guess hardwood ash is supposed to be ideal, more concentrated or something, but I know people have successfully used evergreen ash for that purpose. Im not one of them, though. Always wanted to experiment with making soap, but hadnt quite got around to it, yet. But no, of course I wouldnt object. Pine tar soap is about the only kind I would buy and keep around, before, up at my cabin. Cleans great and leaves you, and your clothes, smelling like a pine tree, rather than a chemical plant or perfume factory, like so many of the others. Doesnt spook the critters, and doesnt give your location away to sharp-nosed predators of the two-legged variety, either. Used to use it for everything, clothes, dishes, washing up, hair, all of it. Yeah. Ought to try and make some. Ill help. If you let me soak this foot for a minute, first. Oh, I didnt mean we needed to do it today, but sometime would be good. Maybe next time it storms, so we can have the stove to heat and cook it on. That would probably work better than the lamp. But I have been thinking that some soap would be awfully welcome, around here He nodded, took the pot of water down from its place hanging above the lamp and tested it with a finger--good, not too hot, and nice bright yellow from the berberine. Ought to help stop any infection thats trying to take advantage of this torn-up foot--and immersing his foot in the bitter-smelling solution, sucking air in through clenched teeth at the shock of the water on the open sores that had developed along the outside edge of his foot,

where the blisters had broken. As he soaked the foot, Liz worked on breakfast, wanting to go check the trapline but supposing the onset of clear weather might keep them denbound for a while. Well. Certainly plenty of projects to work on, in here! Prevented from leaving the den that day by the clear weather and Einars concern over fresh tracks being spotted, Einar and Liz set about tending to things inside, work long neglected in favor of the more pressing matters of securing food, running the trapline and, in Lizs case, searching for Einar after his periodic wanderings and struggling to patch him up and help him recover from the damage. Which recovery was Einars primary focus that day, the likelihood of a renewed air search leaving him restless and jumpy but the inescapable fact that any trip outside would mean leaving sign that searchers would be likely to pick up on eliminating the possibility of any forays out into the wider world and leaving him resigned to make the best of the shut-in time. This reduction in what Einar saw as his options served to ease a bit of the tension that had gripped him during the days of wind and storm; the constant, nagging voice that had shouted at him to be up and doing, moving, going, silent for the time, his mind clear to focus on the tasks at hand there in the little world of the den. The first of which, he had determined, had to involve the rebuilding of his broken crutch. In looking over the materials available to him he settled on using the same spruce upright that had served him well on the first device; having not broken under the strain of moving those heavy granite slabs down at the food cache, he supposed it had more than proven its soundness. The crutchs knee brace, as expected, had proven the weak point on the device, and as he worked, carving out with his knife a depression in the aspen slab chosen for the new brace, as he lacked a fire to produce the coals with which he had burnt out the first one, he determined to do all he could to strengthen that weak point. The wrenching his knee had got in the fall when the first crutch failed and of course the subsequent crawl through the snow that had nearly cost him his life and, he knew, might well still end up costing him a toe or two, served as constant reminder of the importance of developing a stronger connection between the brace and the upright. And probably ought to remind me not to go lifting any more seventy pound rock slabs while using it, either Working the knee brace until it met his satisfaction, he chose from the firewood pile another chunk of aspen wood, clamping it under his good foot and going at it with the quartz axe until it had been worked into the roughly triangular shape that he had used before as additional support beneath the vertical knee platform, spending a good many minutes afterwards refining it with his knife until it fit snugly up against the upright, the brace resting on its top. The crutchs basic design, he was still convinced, was sound, the initial version lacking only a firm enough bond between pieces, and he had an idea by which he hoped to remedy that problem. The dampened sinew and pitch glue that he had used on the previous crutch had held well, but he feared that a contributing factor in the crutchs failure might have been the tendency of many pitch glue mixtures to become brittle under conditions of extreme cold, which that day had certainly been. A more flexible and cold-hardy mixture could, he knew, be developed through a day or two of experimentation and testing, but knowing that he was not walking far at all on that frostbitten foot without destroying its chances at recovery and hating the thought that he would not have a reliable way to travel over the next day or two should it become imperative, he decided to cook up a batch of

hide glue, instead. Normally produced from small rawhide scraps left over from other projects--thats how he had most often done it, anyway--hide glue was a sturdy and easy to produce adhesive that had from ancient times been used to cement sinew backings onto bows, and had been a favorite of woodworkers, and makers of musical instruments. Very similar in makeup to gelatin, it was normally made up in big batches and stored dry for future use. Trouble was--to Einars mind, anxious as he was to get that crutch back up and operational--it took a good full day of simmering to effectively extract the stuff from the scraps of deer rawhide and small tendon pieces he intended to use. The process could really be sped up by using the scrapings from dry scraping a hide for brain tanning--all those layers of outer skin and membrane that had to be removed to allow absorption of the brain mixture made excellent glue, and their much smaller size and greater surface area significantly sped up the process, allowing it to be completed in the space of three or four hours. He considered briefly attempting to stretch the dried hide of the deer he had taken and begin its tanning process by doing a bit of scraping and thus obtaining the hide dust that he needed for his glue, but he knew that, dry as it was and far from flat, the hide would need a good day or two of soaking before it could be made pliable enough for stretching and lacing in a frame. And I got to make the frame, too. No. This crutch is first priority. Making the glue from larger rawhide scraps will take longer than the dust would for sure, but sure wont take as long as soaking, drying and scraping that deer hide would! But when I do get around to scraping it, Ill be sure and save the scrapings, turn them into more glue. The jello-like glue, he knew, once cooled, could be sliced thin and dried, the resulting glue chips kept indefinitely for future use, which would involve dissolving them in a bit of water to reconstitute the glue. A good thing to have made up ahead of time. Dragging himself over to the bed and inspecting the deer hide, he settled on cutting off and using the two front leg portions as raw material for his glue. Turning the stiff and crunchy hide hair-side down, he worked on scraping the hair from the chosen portions, not certain what the acids and proteins released by cooking hair might do to his glue, and wanting to stick with the product whose properties were familiar to him. It was hard work scraping the hair from that fresh-frozen hide, but he did not have much area to cover nor, since he was just chopping the resulting rawhide up into tiny pieces for simmering, did he have to take the care not to nick and abrade the hide than would have been necessary in scraping with the intention of tanning, afterwards. The quartz axe was sharp, its handle giving him good leverage, and the task was soon complete, Einar winded but satisfied with the results, slicing up the rawhide into a pile of strings and shavings and tossing them into the smaller cooking pot, taking water from the other--Liz had been diligent about keeping it hung over the lamp and full of melting snow that morning--and just barely covering the shavings as they lay in the bottom of the second pot. All right. Now for a day of simmering--right, dont want it to boil, better raise this pot, some--and Ill have my glue. I can first glue the brace in place, then wrap it with sinew reinforced and cemented with hide glue for extra strength beyond the glue that the sinew itself produces when you wet it, and finally I think Ill lash everything down with some wraps of dampened rawhide that can shrink into place and hold the whole thing a

bit tighter, and to top it all off Ill paint everything with a layer of pitch to waterproof it. Without drilling and pounding in pegs--huh. Maybe I should do that, too--thats about all I can think to do for this thing. If it breaks after all of thiswell, guess I was just meant to crawl, that day! Liz had, while Einar worked, been busy with several projects of her own, the first of which involved the good-sized bag of milkweed seeds she had found among Einars things. She remembered him collecting and saving them when he showed her how to harvest milkweed down, the intention being to try and sprout them that winter for a source of fresh greens. With their supply of dried greens--nettles, mostly--from the summer exhausted and the world outside buried beneath many feet of snow, Liz supposed some fresh greens would do them both a tremendous amount of good, both nutritionally and to add a bit of variety to a diet which changed little, from day to day. This sameness seemed not to bother Einar in the least. Give him a bit of meat, fat and the ubiquitous pot or two of spruce needle tea every day and he was happy--no, more than happy; he was overjoyed, always staring at his food for a minute with a look approaching dazed wonderment in his eyes before partaking of it; she had seen him, knew that his experiences had left him terribly grateful to have anything to eat, at all--but she was herself beginning to feel the need for some variety. The milkweed seeds, if they would sprout at all, would at least provide her with the ability to add some fresh green growing things to their stews, now and then, and she expected she could roast some of the sprouts and grind them up to add value to the flat bread she hoped to begin making once again from cattail starch, as soon as the weather and other circumstances allowed her back down to the march to pull some more cattail roots from the spring-thawed area of open water. Measuring out a small palm full of the dark brown seeds, she set them in the wooden bowl and covered them with water to soak, setting the bowl on a platform of rocks beside the lamp to stay warm. She intended to allow the seeds the remainder of the day to soak, after which--lacking a better idea--she meant to place them between two wide strips of aspen inner bark, which she would try her best to keep warm and wet until the seeds hopefully sprouted. Well see. It will be a challenge to do that here in the den, but as long as we can keep the lamp going It was to be an interesting experiment, at the least.

The snow had fallen for two days straight down in the valley as it had on the higher ridges and peaks around Einar and Lizs shelter, blowing, drifting, plastering the trunks of evergreen and aspen alike with crusty blankets of white. Susan, while she had worked to keep up with the shoveling during that time, was to find herself with a good bit of work to do when the storm finally broke and the winds calmed. The cessation of the storm woke her early that morning while it was still quite dark, the winds absence seeming somehow louder than its continual battering against the log walls of the house had been. The sudden change had not been the only thing to wake her, a dream as near and vivid as any she had experienced lately further disrupting her sleep. For several months after Bills death she had relived the events of that day in her sleep, the crash, the sickening sound of his head being slammed repeatedly into the steering wheel by the agent who had

been first on the scene and had followed them down the embankment, her own groans and cries, heard and remembered as if made by someone else, as they had pulled her, injured, from the truck, tried to interrogate her and resorted to kicking her mercilessly when she would not or could not answer, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge that Liz was back there in the truck, likely injured as well, and at their mercy. Over the months the dreams had eased, diminished in frequency as time and the nearness and quiet support of her good friends, her children and grandchildren had begun the healing process for her, but there were still rare occasions upon which she woke to the sounds of twisting metal, the pounding of boots on her battered body, and the taste of blood in her mouth. That morning though, the dream that woke Susan had been of a very different sort, far less unpleasant if no less disturbing, as it involved not the ending of a life, but a beginning. It was not unusual for Susan to dream of babies, or of birth; she had acted as midwife at the births of her two grandsons after having the last two of her five children at home, had attended births for a number of women in the valley since, and she had always known when their time was near, often awaking after a dream of the woman to hear that she had gone into labor in the night. She did not, though, know what to make of the lingering dream-images that were fixed in her mind that morning: Liz--she could not see the womans face but knew it was Liz with the blind certainty that one often has in dreams--sitting there plain as day on a bed of soft grass and rich, dark brown fur of some sort, cradling a little one all wrapped up snug in soft buckskin and wolverine fur, adding an aspen branch to a fire whose soft flickering reflected off of earthen walls with a gentle warmth that permeated the entire scene and made it appear beautiful as it was raw and wild. Lying there listening to the silence with that image before her eyes, Susan shook her head, wiped away a tear. Much as she welcomed new life, any new life, she could not help but hope for Lizs sake that her dream had been just that, and no more. With that hope came an almost overpowering wish to be with Liz, to go to her, find her, make sure everything was alright, but she shook her head. Wouldnt have the first idea of where to go, and even if you did, you couldnt. She is beyond your reach now, and must stay that way. Rising and stepping into her sheepskin slippers she grabbed the quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, padding over to the window and squinting out at the dark world of snow and trees outside. Dark, but far less dark than it had been that evening when just before bed she had ventured out through the storm to damp down the little stove in the greenhouse, finding her way with some difficulty through the howling darkness and lashing wind to its shelter, completing her task and lingering for a minute under the covered entryway that Bill had constructed for her that past summer, just a month before She had shaken her head, smiled into the storm. The separation was not to be forever; she knew it but still, after the passage of six months, had to remind herself of the fact at least once every day, it seemed, when the loneliness began growing too keen, when memories of that day returned unbidden to darken her countenance and shadow the smile that usually attended her work. Simple work, and hard, and since the events of that summer she had thrown herself into it as never before, not so much because she needed the money--the place was paid for; she could get by on very little--as to keep

herself occupied. It had worked, to some extent, but the loss was still there, the emptiness, the missing. Not forever. I will see you again It was not of Bill that she thought as she stood staring out at the moon-silvered fastness of the surrounding peaks early that morning, though, glimmering sharp and tooth-like under their layers of new snow, but of Liz, the almost-daughter who she had lost just a short month after Bills death, bidding her a hasty good-bye down there on a curve of the highway and watching as she disappeared over the embankment down to the river, just ahead of several vans full of pursuing federal agents bent on holding her, interrogating her, perhaps making her disappear, if recent history was any indication. Shed had no word of Liz since the cryptic photograph that had been left just outside her door the month before, left, she had no doubt, by her husbands former associate--Bill, also, Bill Foreman, who had over the years shown up unannounced from time to time to share a meal and a few stories about old times before slinking off into the dark again to disappear for a few months or even, at times, years, neither of them knowing his whereabouts or what he did with himself. Susan suspected that Foreman had been at least in part responsible for the gruesome events down in the valley shortly after her husbands murder and her own severe beating that had left three agents dead--their heads brazenly displayed on sticks in front of the FBI compound the next morning--including the man who had run their truck off the road that day and stood over her as the other two beat and kicked her to within an inch of her life, later taking her against her will from the hospital in an attempt to finish the job. Though the bloody vengeance wreaked upon the men responsible would not have been Susans way of handling things, even should she have been capable of the logistics involved in such an operation, she had been grateful when her attacker, Agent Day, had been permanently and decisively removed from the federal payroll. Grateful, also, she had been when Foreman returned silent and unseen to leave her that photo of Liz-goodness knew how he had obtained it or what he had been doing in the area--alive and apparently reasonably well, wearing Einars wolverine hide. Hope you two are alright out there, staying warm, getting enough to eat Liz was a tough girl, smart, knew well how to adapt to different situations, from all Susan had seen of her, and had some experience up in the wilderness that was now presumably her home; she should do fine. She was where she wanted to be. Still, Susan worried, and she prayed frequently for Liz and also for Einar, a man who she had met only a time or two down in Culver Falls the autumn he had been working for their friends Jeff and Pete Jackson, the outfitters. His quiet intensity, work ethic and unshakable determination had struck her even in those brief encounters as something to be respected, something that would have taken him far, had he been able to settle on a direction. Well. It seems he has found one, now, and Liz along with him. You two take care, out there. She left the window, headed out to the living room to open up the stove and add a log or two, starting some water for tea and shaking her head as an image from her dream returned to her, mother and child, faces flickering in the glow of a fire. She sighed, turned on the radio, where that the local station had been doing a series of daily reports on the aftermath of the disastrous avalanche that had wiped out the federal camp in the valley, and of the ongoing search. There had been rumors over the past days of storm of a new strategy that the searchers

were intending to employ in the hunt for their fugitive--and my Liz; hide her well, Einar Asmundson, and protect her, or Ill come for you myself--and though she knew that the story she would get from the morning news would be far from the complete one, she was interested to see what they would have to say. The air activity started up sometime around mid-morning that day, the drone of a small plane followed several minutes later by a rumble that grew and built as the beast neared, and though the search did not seem in any way focused on the area of the den, the presence of the aircraft left Einar quiet, sullen, thinking as he worked on the crutch of all of the things he ought to have done while the storm went on, including moving them a good distance from a location where they had spent far more time than was wise, and of the fact that he had managed to leave nearly all of it undone. Weakness. Laziness. Both, maybe Call it what you will, but it looks like I gave in to it, and here we are. Hard as he tried to keep focused on his work, Einar was a wreck after a couple hours of listening to the air search, jumping every time Liz moved and once leaping to his feet at the sound of some ice falling from a tree outside, nearly howling in pain when he landed on his frostbitten foot before he clamped his mouth shut and shifted his weight, collapsing back to the ground and grabbing up the crutch pieces in a belated attempt to look busy and keep Liz from realizing what had happened. She had seen, though, sat down beside him, bathed the grass and spruce needles out of his wounds and applied fresh usnea clumps and salve between his toes. No sooner had she finished than there came another sound from outside, the muted whump of a sun-bathed spruce releasing its load of snow, and Einar was on his feet again, knife in hand, sprinting for the door. Liz had had enough. She threw her knotted aspen club, striking him in the shoulder and dropping him to the ground, where, taken by surprise, he whirled around on her in fury. She met him with equal fury, snatching up the club and staring him down until the cold fire in his eyes subsided a bit and she became convinced that she was to go on living. She knelt beside him then, pressed a clump of usnea to the abrasion her war club had left on his collarbone. Stop it, Einar! Now youve got to stop this! Yes, theyre up there, and theyre going to be up there for who knows how long, and weve got to live through it, both of us. The more you use that foot right now the longer its going to take to heal, if it is even capable of healing, and until it heals youre not going to be able to do anything or go anywhere faster than a crawl. Id think you would know that by now. You get ahold of yourself. He stared at her, wanting to let her know that she was right and he knew it, but remaining sullen and silent. It was to be a long day. Sitting down at the kitchen table with her cup of tea, Susan waited for the mornings music to wrap up on the public radio station out of Clear Springs--one of the only FM stations that she could pick up there in her valley--after which their half hour local news broadcast always came on, just in time for the morning commute. The first story was the one she had been waiting for. The hunt for fugitive Einar Asmundson continues this morning in the wake of the

discovery last week of a primitively-made arrowhead lodged in the remains of one of the agents swept away in the recent avalanches that occurred during a recent search of a remote canyon in the Wilderness Area up outside of Culver Falls. Though our reporter at the Mountain Task Force headquarters just outside of Culver Falls tells us this morning that it appears the air search is continuing for the time, with several helicopters and at least one small plane making runs from the towns air strip, recent comments from authorities and local sources both indicate that the manhunt may, once again, be taking a new direction. Several local sources, speaking on condition of anonymity, tell us that over the past week, agents from the Mountain Task Force have been approaching and attempting to quietly recruit employees of the Division of Wildlife, Forest Service and a number of wilderness outfitters and hunting guides to help them, according to one source, map winter water sources, game migration paths and wintering locations for various species in the vast wilderness that has been the focus of the search. They are hoping, according to our source, to settle on a number of locations that bear further watching, keeping track of activities using aerial and possibly even satellite surveillance, and possibly placing a number of remote monitoring stations from which video, infrared and other data would be broadcast back to Mountain Task Force headquarters for review. Residents in Culver Falls, the town nearest the search area and the one where the Mountain Task Force is currently based, seem to have mixed opinions on the latest change in search tactics, the reaction varying this morning from humor, to ambivalence to open hostility, depending on who you ask. When we stopped in at Rosies Caf, a popular local breakfast-spot, earlier this morning, opinions were mixed, but everyone seemed to have a strong one. Just let the weather have him, one long-time rancher quipped. All these storms, and as hungry as he must already be, that boy wont last long up there. Deer and elk have come down, all the smaller critters will be holed up. Hell starve pretty quick, if he hasnt already frozen to death in a snowdrift. Dont see why theyre going to so much trouble and expense, when the mountains would be glad to do their job for them. And probably a lot more effectively than theyve managed so far, too, and with a lot less loss of life The loss of life over the course of this manhunt, a figure whose numbers were nearly doubled by the tragic and devastating avalanche destruction of the federal camp two weeks ago, is one of the reasons why, as Mountain Task Force officials assured us, they will not end this search until Asmundson is either captured, killed, or his body found. A monumental task considering the sheer magnitude and ruggedness of the search area, but one whose odds of success agents are optimistic that their new smart search targeted approach will greatly increase. The remainder of the morning passed in silence, Liz finishing work on the ermine-fur foot protector that she had previously started for Einar, making a series of holes along its edges with one of the bone awls she had found among his things and stitching it up with a strand of sinew, which she soaked in her mouth prior to use as she had seen Einar do. Soaking made the sinew limp and a bit difficult to work with though, leaving Liz to wonder whether it might have been better left dry for sewing. She knew shes seen Einar

soak strands before using them, but come to think of it, I believe he was using those to wrap things--the axe-head, dart points, things like that. Ive probably made a mistake, here. Wishing to ask Einar about the sinew, she was discouraged from doing so by the grim silence with which he went about his crutch-building work, startling but holding himself rigidly still with obvious effort when she got suddenly to her feet and not giving her so much as a glance when she scooted a bit closer in an attempt to get his attention. Long practiced in silence from his months alone in the mountains, Liz had little doubt that he could maintain his stony-faced indifference for days, months, the rest of his life, perhaps, if he chose to, and she did not know how much of that she could take, feared that she might in her desperate effort to get his attention have destroyed the trust that had taken so long to build between them. But I had to do it. Had to do something. Hes tearing himself up and doesnt even seem to realize itIm just trying to help, Einar, but I sure dont seem to know how Returning to her work, she finished the foot-protector and set it aside, supposing that he could try it on later, if and when he stopped sulking there in the corner and began acknowledging her presence once again. Einar, too, kept busy with his crutch project as the morning wore into afternoon, consciously steeling himself against the desire to move, grab for a weapon and press himself into the rocks of the entrance every time he heard a distant rumbling, remaining still and continuing very deliberately with his work if only to show Liz that he was capable of doing it, but the effort required was tremendous, exhausting. But there. There you go. That what you want? Well, youve got it. And he set his work aside, watching as she meticulously spread her batch of soaked milkweed seeds on blackish-brown strips of aspen inner bark, soaked also, arranging them so that they were in no place more than one layer thick, covering them with a second strip in the hopes of keeping them moist as they sprouted. She glanced up, caught him watching her and he held her gaze, staring, his face blank, unreadable, eyes cold and distant, and she would have looked away again had she not become so caught up in trying to figure out what she might say to break an uncomfortable silence that was largely of her own making, how she might begin to repair things between them. A strange thing happened as they sat there glaring at each other, Einars face softening almost imperceptibly and a corner of his mouth turning down, twitching. Liz, sensing an opportunity, seeing perhaps a hint of humanity in his stony countenance, started to say something, but he just got an odd look in his eyes and began laughing, softly at first and then uproariously, hilariously, until tears were running down his cheeks and he leaned forward holding aching ribs, fighting for breath. The next moment Liz was sitting behind him, holding him, chin on his shoulder, laughing with him until finally he stopped, exhausted, leaning back and looking up at her. Guess I should havepaid more attention when you warned me youd let fly with that doggone club if I didnt shape up, now shouldnt I have? You sure can pack a wallop, let me tell you! Right now Im just real glad Im not a pine marten or some such, or Id be dead on the floor with my skull crushed in Im awfully sorry Einar. I wasnt right of me to hit you

Aw, thats the only language that gets through to me sometimes, Im afraid. I can be kinda dense. And, he rubbed his bruised collarbone, I sure heard you this time! Now about what you said, its uhnot that I really want to keep jumping up and hurting my foot every time I hear something out there. Im sure not doing it with the intent of irritating you or messing up the work youve done on my toes but he threw up his hands, it happens. I know. I wish things could change for you, wish we could somehow go where there is no air search and never would be so you could feel alright about letting your guard down a little, where you could rest. Ohtheres no leaving some things behind, no matter how far you go. Believe me. Ive tried. He sat up, put a bit of distance between the two of them, feeling suddenly awkward to be lying there with his head in Lizs lap. But Illuhtry to stop alarming you so much. Must be getting pretty aggravating. No, not aggravating. Its just that I cant stand to see you keep hurting yourself like this, and I wish there was something I could do to make things a little easier for you, but I cant seem to figure out what He shrugged. Liz, things are what they are. Were like this for me way before you came along, so you sure dont need to be trying so hard to fix them. Ha! Been this way for years, off and on, and certainly more and more over these last months. Should have seen me last winter. This is nothing new to me, but I get through it, Im still here. Only difference is now youre here, too, and sometimes I dontwell, I just have no idea how to live with another person, when it comes down to it. Got no practice at it. Sorry. I guess weve both got some things to learn. Now. Surely youre hungry? Because Ive got some stew ready After cleaning out the stew pot--portions were growing steadily smaller as the supply of venison diminished, but neither of them spoke of the matter, each knowing that the other was acutely aware of the change, and of what it meant--Einar and Liz returned to their work, Einar testing the simmering hide glue and finding that while the water was beginning to grow slippery with released glue compounds, it still needed a good bit of simmering before it would be ready for use. Making a few final adjustments to the ermine-fur toe protector she had been working on, weaving in or trimming out all of the protruding ends of sinew thread left from its stitching and stuffing the toe end with a layer of soft usnea, she showed it to Einar, anxious for him to try it on. To Lizs dismay, the toe cover, which she had several times checked against his foot as she worked, had been rendered woefully small by the increased swelling of Einars toes after his two latest untimely attempts to walk on the foot. About to demonstrate his gratitude by dutifully jamming his foot into the slipper despite the discrepancy, Liz stopped him. No. Youll just hurt the toes and maybe tear open another of those blisters. Itll fit later,

when the swelling goes down some. For now maybe we should think about soaking your foot and changing the dressings again, because I can see that some of those blisters are starting to ooze, and Ive got some water heating in the cleaned-out stew pot. Einar didnt want it, could hardly stand the thought of having the foot tampered with at all just then, as it had only recently settled down and returned to what had become its standard level of gnawing, sharp-toothed pain following the last dressing change, but knew he was just a hairs breadth away from developing a serious and potentially lifethreatening infection in some of those toes. Conditions in the den, even with Lizs attentive assistance, were nowhere near sanitary enough to keep what basically amounted to a series of small second and third degree burns clean and free of foreign materials, and so far at least, the soaking seemed to be helping keep infection at bay. Besides, the dressings definitely had to be changed, and he hated to think what it would be like to have them pulled loose without prior soaking. Yeah. Probably take big chunks of the foot along with them, the way things look down there. Which might actually be a good thing, because that stuff is gonna have to come off at some pointbut not now. No. Got to do the soaking. He nodded. Be a good idea. I should be making up a strong berberine solution to drink a couple times a day, too, if we have any Oregon grape roots left. Want to give the toes a chance to heal--lots of times with frostbite, things can look absolutely awful up on the surface for a number of weeks, while healthy new tissue is growing underneath--but that can take a good bit of time, and while youre waiting theres a fair chance of ending up with blood poisoning from gangrene or some other sort of infection in the dead tissue. Keep wondering if I need to justget rid of the toes before that can happen, like the old time prospectors and such sometimes had to do, but Im hoping that between drinking enough berberine and using the cottonwood salve you made, there may be some chance still of saving them. Whenever Im sitting here not focusing particularly hard on anything else I take time to concentrate on getting blood down to the foot, helping to restore circulation. I use some of the same breathing exercises that help me maintain my body temperature when Im out sitting in the cold for whatever reason, help generate heat and keep the blood flowing to my extremities so I dont lose function as quickly as I otherwise would , and I expect thats helping, too, but cant tell yet if its all going to be enough. Just wish Id have been able to keep up with some of those exercises while I was out there crawling around in the snow freezing my foot Why couldnt you? Was it just too cold, too windy? No, Ive trained in weather like that, in the snow, in the water, even, and done just fine, butit takes a lot of focus. Lot of energy. Theres only so much I can do. Had got so caught up in stacking rocks for that cairn that I was already pretty cold and a little slow by the time I realized the foot was becoming a problem, stopped and warmed it a few times but even after I realized I was in troublewell, it took all the strength and focus I could scrape together just to keep from sitting down and going to sleep, to keep moving and looking for landmarks, trying to recognize the terrain and find my way back here. Nothing left for working on the foot. Just one of those things. It happens.

Yes, Liz added silently, but it happens a lot less often to people who dont choose to go wandering around in blizzards all day with a broken leg As Einar spoke she had finished preparing the soaking water, apologizing that she did not have any willow solution made up for him to drink and handing him, at his request, one of the remaining willow wands instead. Peeling off a strip of bark and wadding it into his mouth--hed had no willow at all so far that day, and none the past evening, either, and hoped that his stomach might be able to tolerate it again after the break--he eased his foot into the waiting water. Before the soaking was finished, Einar would find himself--the chewed bark having done little for the pain--resorting to clamping a several-inch section of peeled willow branch between his teeth and keeping it there, head down, eyes half closed, focused on using his breathing to quiet the screams in his head as Liz carefully worked free the old dressings, dried his foot and slid the fresh, salve-coated usnea clumps into place. Einar was certain that simply chopping off the toes and cauterizing the bleeding stumps with the fire-reddened blade of his knife would have hurt considerably less, but did not mention the fact to Liz, who was clearly going out of her way to be gentle, and was, he knew, doing a far better job of it than he would have, himself. It was a routine which was to become all too familiar to him over the coming days, during the course of which more than one willow branch would become cratered with deep tooth marks, would finally split and be discarded in favor of another. For that day--the first half of the day, anyway--the task was finished, though, and Einar was very anxious to get his mind on something else. Like this crutch. Still not quite ready by his estimation, the hide glue simmered nicely above the lamp-didnt smell so nice, but at least the hide had not been old and beginning to rot, as had some that he had successfully turned into glue, in the past, and the lingering smoke smell covered it up pretty well--the rawhide strips and chunks shrinking and curling as they released more and more of their proteins into the water. Another hour or two, and this stuff ought to be ready to go. Ill let most of it set up and then slice the glue jello into thin strips to dry for future use, but might as well use what I need for the crutch fresh out of the pot when it gets done. In the cool air of the den, Einar knew that he would have thirty seconds or less between applying the glue and the time when it began setting up and a solid bond would no longer be possible, and thus needed to have all of the pieces completed and ready to go. Which they very nearly were, a few quick knife strokes to the surface where the knee brace was to join the upright finishing the job. Good. Ready to go. Now, on to something else, before you can get too focused on that foot again, either that orha! Yeah, I hear you up there, you buzzard, but Im sure not jumping up and ruin the work Liz just did on this foot. See this? I can sit here just like anyone else and The helicopter neared, something small, a Kiowa or similar, no deep rumble, only a higher-pitched, persistent buzz, and Einar sat staring at the door as the thing hovered momentarily over a spot not too far down slope from the den, holding himself rigidly still against the action every fiber of his being was calling on him to take, until the aerial intruder abruptly changed direction and faded away into the distance. Einar let his breath out, realizing only then that he had not been breathing for the past minute or so, eyes stinging with sweat and hands shaking, but he had done it, had caught himself in time and had kept still.

Liz had been watching, realized the immense effort his actions--the lack of them, actually--must have taken, and scooted over beside him, bringing along her project, which at the moment consisted of the cotton balls she had put together the day before, of milkweed down and bear fat. I had set these aside and forgotten about them, Einar, but I was wanting to test them out and see how they compare to your little pitch-coated tinder pellets, as far as waterproofness and how long they burn. Want to help me with the test? Breaking open one of Einars pitch and milkweed down tinder pellets and setting it on a flat rock near the lamp, Liz chose a similar-sized lump of bearfat-soaked down and set it nearby, taking the fire steel from around her neck. In the time it took her to set up the experiment, Einar had crept over to the door and was staring intently out into the thenquiet woods, and hoping to prevent him from deciding to go bolting out the door as he was appearing increasingly inclined to do, she tried to involve him in the experiment. Hey. I want to compare how long these two types of tinder burn, and I cant light them both at once. How about you light your little tinder pellet, while I light the cotton ball? Then we can time them. Scooting back over to the lamp, more than a little annoyed at Lizs interruption of his listening at the door but unwilling to refuse Lizs direct plea for help, he got himself situated beside her in front of the prepared tinder, Liz making a few practice strikes on her fire steel before following his lead and placing the end of the rod almost on top of the tinder. Each took at the first try, the pitch variety starting slowly, glowing red for a brief second before taking off in an almost explosive flare of red-orange fire that lit up the ceiling and surprised Liz with its intensity, the bearfat-treated down glowing clear and even like the wick of a lamp. Liz counted the seconds as they watched, making a mark in the dirt of the floor for every minute that passed and pleased to see that both types of tinder were still burning strongly at the three minute mark, the pitch pellet producing a far more intense flame, but neither threatening to go out. Past four minutes the flame of the bearfat cotton began diminishing, shrinking, having consumed most of its fuel, charred down becoming increasingly visible beneath the flame. Somewhere just under five minutes, it flickered one final time and died, the pitch showing no sign of going out, but producing a steady and growing stream of black smoke that reminded her of the smell of kerosene and left flakes of black soot drifting down all over the interior of the den. She snuffed it out with a rock, inspecting the shiny black smear of leftover pitch, which closely resembled melted plastic. Well! It looks like both of them work pretty well! The cotton balls seem slightly easier to light, but the pitch definitely burns longer and hotter, and is probably more waterproof too, over the long term. How do you think it would be to coat some of the bearfat-soaked fluff in pitch? Seems like that would burn even longer still, and Einar wasnt listening anymore, though, was staring out through the crack in the door,

eyes on the treetops as he recreated in his mind the sound-pattern of the recent helicopter, its approach along the adjacent ridge, that brief hover over something that lay just down the slope, its subsequent rapid change in direction and disappearance. Something in that pattern had been bothering him, eating at him, and he Strange. Wasnt hovering over the den, but Abruptly returning to the area beside the lamp, he pulled over the map-rock that he had made for Liz, studying it to refresh his memory and get some perspective as he once more faced the door, orienting the rock and replaying in his mind the flight sounds of the chopper. Liz scooted over to his side--she knew better than to try looking over his shoulder--and studied the map with him for a moment, hoping that he was not planning on going somewhere, just then. The water. He glanced up at her. Thats got to be what they were looking at, why they hovered down there. Tell me. Last time you were down thereThree days ago, was it? Four? Yes. Four days ago. The day you Ha! Might as well say it. The day I got lost. I was lost, alright. And I know with the amount of snow and wind we had that afternoon, any tracks you made ought to have been wiped out pretty well, especially out in the open where that chopper might have seen them. Need to know, though, if you did anything else down there that they might be able to pick up on--cutting cattail stalks or disturbing a big section of ground to pull roots, anything like that? No, I didnt pull any roots this last time, and sure couldnt see any evidence of the spot where I had, before, over in the thawed mud beside where that spring keeps the water open. The whole area was drifted over with snow aside from the actual pool of water, all smooth and even-looking From the ground. Hard to say just what it looks like from the air. Has been a lot of snow, for sure, but depending on where the wind piled up the drifts, there may be depressions, uneven places that might not look entirely natural to someone studying the spot from the airmight look human-caused, and there are all those cattail stalks you cut, too. To make the bed. That was in the same general area? She nodded. You did a great job collecting them, and they sure do make a warm bed--must have cut hundreds of them. Did you harvest them all from the same area, or did you take one here, one there, from the entire meadow, scattered-like? Iswept up big armloads of them, like sheaves of wheat, held them together with one arm and cut with the other. Kind of went around the edges of the marsh cutting them like that, trying to avoid the center where it looked like there might be some wet patches with

thinner snow where I could get my boots wet. It was quick, and seemed very efficient at the time, but I think youre saying Surely from the air though, and with all of this snow, they wouldnt be able to see much? Not in the amount of time they spent hovering just now, no. But if they took photos, take them back and study them and decide something doesnt look quite rightthe way they hovered and then just took off like that, like theyd seen what they had come to see and were done, it makes me wonder. Dont like it. Should be glad theyre not focusing in on the den I guess, means theyve not picked up on our heat signature and in that case they probably wont, but I keep thinking of that dream with the geese and all, down at the water That open marshy area is big enough for somebody with a little skill to set a chopper down in, drop folks off. Somethings up. Somethings not right. He shifted restlessly, scowled at his bandaged toes and scanned the contents of the den, eyeing the door, where a faint rim of sunlight showed on two sides of the bear hide. Liz shook her head, looked up at him sadly. Theyre looking. Just looking. They didnt see us, didnt see the cattails, not with all that snow, dont know were here and have no reason to drop anybody down into the marsh to take a further lookIll tell you whats not right...youre not right! Youre wanting to go, arent you? Been wanting to go for weeks. Cant do it right now though, not unless we absolutely have to. Need a storm to cover our tracks. One flyover shortly after we left, and theyd be liable to see something, come in for a better look and if they get on our trail with conditions clear and sunny like thiswere pretty much through. For now were just gonna have to stay put, hope nothing they saw down there warrants a second look, and wed better not make any more trips down to that spring, either. The lamp is doing fine at keeping snow melted for water, and theres nothing down there worth risking discovery over. Better be thinking about this move, too, prioritize things and decide what we can carry, what we have to leave. They were silent for a time after that, each absorbed in their own thoughts, Einar finding the hide glue to be ready and working feverishly to assemble and glue his new crutch. Finally, the crutch drying in a corner, he took the cooling pitch glue, which was more and more resembling a tan-colored jello-type dessert if not smelling particularly sweet, and poured it out onto an area of ice-coated ground that he had earlier prepared for that purpose. The intention was to allow it to solidify it a bit more, a process that would take mere minutes, in the cold, slicing it up thinly and setting it well away from the stove-heat would re-liquefy the stuff--to dry for later use. Outside, darkness was descending, the cold having clamped down quickly as the sun left the slope, and as he watched the last of the light fade, Einar knew the time had come to change the dressings once again on his foot, and he kept busy with cutting and setting to dry thin slices of hide glue jello, half hoping that Liz might forget about the procedure. She did not forget, though, and he knew that, as much as he was coming to dread the operation, he did not have the luxury of putting it off until the following morning. The dressings looked and smelled awful after being on the toes for several hours, and when he

tentatively lifted one of the usnea clumps off of his big toe, wanting to get a head start on things and save Liz some work, the flesh beneath looked as if it had been chewed away by a small hungry animal or two, rat, weasel, and he gingerly pressed the usnea back into place. Liz was heating the water, and he peeled a strip of bark from one of their last remaining unpeeled willow shoots, wadding it into his mouth. Doggone it, Einar, you sure did pick a bad time to do this to yourself. Gonna be one interesting hike, when you have to leave here Down at Mountain Task Force headquarters that evening, photos and electronic intelligence gathered on recent surveillance flights were analyzed and studied by agents and the few local wildlife and Forest officials who had agreed to provide them assistance, and the process of elimination begun in their quest to settle on a number of locations that seemed to merit setting up remote monitoring stations. Most of the spots thus given highest priority involved terrain where a major water source intersected with known game wintering areas or migration paths, places that would surely appear tempting to a hungry fugitive attempting to over winter in the back country. Others, it was decided, mainly smaller water sources and open meadows, would be kept under occasional surveillance from the air and, if they could get authorization, by satellite, as well. Needing something to keep him occupied while his foot settled down after the dressing change and finding himself aggravatingly unable to focus on plans for their coming departure and how it might be carried out, as he wanted to do, Einar sorted through the pile of bear and deer bones that represented to him a stash of raw materials for any number of projects. Choosing a long, fairly straight section of bear leg bone that he had previously scored and split, using its other half for atlatl dart heads, Einar balanced it in his hand, studying its contours and finding it quite suitable. Dragging over a much-used chunk of sandstone, he began methodically drawing one end of the split bone across it, tapering its end into the beginnings of a point. Curious, Liz stopped with her work of shaving frozen venison off of a section of deer ribs for that nights stew. What are you making? Looks longer than an atlatl point for sure, and isnt quite shaped like a spear head Snow knife. Weve got to be able to make shelter in a hurry while were on the move, and it may usually be enough to dig down under a tree and curl up in the duff, but sometimes that may not be an option. Trees may be too small, things like that. Happened to me last winter after I borrowed that snowmobile to get away from the feds camp and then got stuck way up high waiting for another storm to come so I could move without leaving trackswind was awful bad, I didnt have enough layers to really keep warm, and a snow cave is what saved me. Dug into a drift with a deer shoulder bone that I had on me at the time, sat on my jacket for insulation and just huddled there trying to get some sleep. Wasnt warm, but sure didnt freeze, either. And with a little bear fat to burn, we could heat a place like that up real good. Weve got deer scapulas of course, and ought to pack one along as a digging tool, but if the snows right, you can sometimes cut out and remove big blocks from the hard packed drifts, save yourself a lot of time in digging. And if we end up someplace where theres no place to tunnel into and we just

need to put something up to get us out of the wind and maybe hold in a little heat from a bearfat flame, we may be able to use a snow knife to cut blocks for stacking. An iglootype idea. Shelter like that goes up pretty quick if you keep it small. Temperatures in a snow cave can easily get up close to freezing like it sometimes does here in the den, which is an awful lot warmer than twenty or thirty below! Might make all the difference some night, especially if we dont have this bear hide to sleep in. Ive been thinking about the bear hide. I know it would be awfully bulky and heavy to carry, but what if we make some sort of sled to pull it on? Or just tie it up in a bundle and drag it along behind us? We could tie up a good bit of the bear fat inside the bundle, too. Einar squinted at her out of the corner of his eye, laughed a little, continued scraping at the snow-knife. Would work great out on the tundra, or if we were trying to trek across Antarctica, maybe in one of the river valleys around here butyou ever pulled a sled through black timber like is on these slopes? Or tried to ski through it, or even use snowshoes? Kinda rough, when the trees are eight inches apart in places and youre struggling up--or down, or across--a slope that is probably going to be somewhere better than fifty degrees most of the time, the ground under the snow all littered with deadfall that you cant see, but it sure seems able to see you, and it must be hungry because its always grabbing at your feet or trapping a snowshoe at the worst of times. The sled gets stuck between tree trunks or drags you down and gets tangled up and forces you to spend the next half hour floundering in waist-deep snow in an attempt to un-jam it, losing a boot to the grabbing, clinging mess of deadfall underneath, all the while clinging for your life with one hand to the little fir whose top few inches are poking up out of the snow, just hoping and praying that you, or the sled, or both, dont start sliding prematurely and end up tumbling over the nice little fifteen foot dropoff below you and end up smacking head first into the jutting, only half-snow-covered shelves of granite near the bottom. Then you finally work the load free, take a few careful steps to the side to get yourself out from above that dropoff, only to have the whole sequence repeat a few minutes later. Whew! No thanks! Oh. She stared at the ground, not sure whether to laugh at his rather humorous foretelling of the woes that would attend the unfortunate soul who attempted to move his possessions by sled or travois across steep, heavily timbered slopes, or to insist that she wanted to give it a try anyway, because they really, really had to keep possession of that bear hide, if they were to avoid freezing and dying on their first night out. That sounds like the voice of experience speaking. You think? Yeah, Ive tried it. Works great on flatter ground, and I used to have one of those big long utility sleds that Id use a lot of times to haul firewood over to the cabin out of the woods nearby, just go chop up a downed aspen or something and load it into that sled, and used it a few times every week to haul wood from the woodshed to the cabin, but in terrain like thisit definitely does not end up saving you any work! Tried it a few times out on one of my traplines, because you have seventy, eighty pounds of gear to lug around by the time you count traps and everything and then if you get a few beaver

or some muskrats and are carrying those, itd weigh closer to a hundred by the time you were through, but I kept having to abandon the sled when things left the valley floor and got steep and brushy, so I eventually parked it at the cabin that winter and went back to hauling everything in the pack. Huh. Used to be no big deal for me to lug those seventy or eighty pounds around on my back all day, cover ten, fifteen miles, sleep out for one night at the far end of the line sometimes and head back to the cabin next day, get in way past dark and quick start a fire in the stove, take care of the pelts Id brought in while supper heated, gulp down some stew and then roll up in my blankets for a few hours of sleep before heading out to do it all again the next day. Spent a number of winters that way, when I was trapping beaver and muskrat. Thats been a while ago, now. It was good work. Didnt pay that much even back then but it sure did cover my needs for the winter, let me make a little money while staying far away from town, which was every bit as much a priority for me then as it is now, though of course for very different reasons Afraid I wont be carrying any seventy pound pack when we leave here. Iuh He shook his head, pounded angrily at the depression he had worn in the den floor as he spoke, digging and chipping with a granite chunk. Well I dont know, you could call it pride, I guess, but its awful hard for me to ask you to do what I cant, to carry the bigger pack when we head out of here, but thats how its gonna have to be. She had no words, swallowed the lump in her throat and rested an understanding hand on his shoulder, offered him some tea which he thankfully accepted. The bear hide, thoughIll think about it. Try and find a way for us to take it along. May just try your bundle it up and drag it along idea, if I cant come up with anything else. Sure is worth a try, as long as were not having to leave in too great a hurry By the time Einar had worked the blade of the snow knife to his satisfaction---giving it a slightly rounded tip and scraping until the entire blade had a slight upward sweep to it-the mountainside outside had been entirely dark outside for well over an hour, and Liz had the stew ready. He didnt feel like eating, gave it his best try anyway, at her insistence and because he knew he would be in for an awfully cold night if he went to bed with an empty stomach, knew also that he had to try and keep up his strength as well as possible against their upcoming and potentially sudden departure. Not too sudden, I hope. If we end up having to clear out ahead of them sometime when its not storming to cover our tracks, itll just be a matter of time before they catch up or find us from the air, and I dont know if Ive got too many more avalanche stunts or stealth atlatl attacks up my sleeve right now to throw them off our trail. Will sure give it a try if it comes to that, but the only way this is likely to have a good outcome is if we leave deliberately and not under that kind of pressure, just make ourselves scarce during the next big storm and find some other place to hunker down. Try as we might though, we dont always have the benefit of seeing these sorts of things go according to our timing, and theres always a possibility that we may end up having to make a run for it With that thought as motivation, he managed, despite the knots in his stomach, to down nearly half the contents of his stew-bowl before having to stop lest he lose the entire meal.

Its all that willow, isnt it? Liz asked, taking his bowl and offering him in its place a scoop of warm water-softened chokecherries blended with softened bearfat--a common and much-enjoyed dessert for them over the past days--hoping that its tartness might agree with him. Probably. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaned forward with his chin on his knee, trying not to look at the ice cream Liz was offering him, because he knew it would just further turn his stomach. Reached my limit on that willow I guess, should have left it alone today. As little as I can eat with it aggravating my stomach like this, doubt I would have been able to manage even a bite or two, without it. Not the way this foots gnawing at me. Kinda puts thoughts of food way in the background. I guess it would. You know, I think theres at least some possibility of finding a few little sprigs of some sort of wild mint down by that open water, in the sheltered area under the rock ledge that backs up to it. The spring must keep the soil just warm enough to allow some things to grow, even now. I know you said adding mint to the willow solution makes it a lot easier on your stomach, and youve got to be able to eat No! Cant go back down there. Not for any reason. You heard them hovering over that spot, and theres no way to know whether or not theyll be back at some point, but clearly they saw something that interested them. Ill be OK, been through worse, but if we have to take off running all of a sudden before were ready because they see tracks or see you down there harvesting mint he shrugged, stared at the ground, and Liz got the message, but still wished there might be something she could do to. Speaking of being ready to go, he picked up the clean white chip of aspen bark that held the chokecherry ice cream, taking an experimental bite to show Liz that he was alright, or trying his best to be, been thinking about just how much we can carry, what thatll mean for our food supplyweve been eating better lately, and that means weve got some reserve, hopefully, arent so close to outright starving as we may have been at one time. That gives more options when it comes to food. Got to take as much as we can carry of course, but if it ends up being necessary to leave somewell, not the disaster it would have been a week or so ago, I guess. She looked at him sadly, busied herself with holding her portion of the dessert over the lamp to soften further, mashing and stirring the berries into the fat. Maybe Im not in any immediate danger of starving, Liz wanted to respond, but you couldnt convince me that its the same for you. I dont think youve managed to build up much of a reserve at all, so far, and youve barely been able to eat what we do have over these last couple of days, the way your foots hurting you. You try to cover that up, but I have eyes, I can see You need time, rest, need to let that foot heal, need to stay here holed up in the den out of the weather until all this food is eaten up and youre stronger and we have been able to make better clothes for traveling. They dont know were here, that helicopter was just part of whatever ongoing search theyve got going on, and well probably never see it againbut Im never going to be able to convince you of any of this, am I? But all of that bear fat

Yeah. Be a shame to have to leave any of it, but I think we may have to. If so, and assuming were not surprised and have to take off in a hurry, well finish that granite cairn I started and cache what we cant take, along with whatever else we have to leave behind. Whether or not well ever be back this way is hard to say, but at least itll be there if the opportunity comes up. Stuff may start to get real soft and maybe even melt a little when summer comes, will eventually go rancid if we havent managed to render it down before stashing, but where that cairn is, all tucked in under a couple of heavy spruces, I doubt more than a couple minutes sun ever reaches those rocks, in a day. Could be that fat stays good for a long time, under those conditions. Will certainly be fine for the rest of the winter, and I could see us getting into a situation--living off of rabbits and squirrels for a couple of months, that sort of thing, where a trip back to the cache from wherever we settle might be in order. Can get into some pretty bad trouble trying to live exclusively on that kind of lean meat, and though it really helps to eat liver, brain, marrow, everything, for extra fat, sometimes it isnt enough. Maybe the fat should be our first priority then, if we have to go. Leave almost everything else, and load my pack down with itthere cant be too much over fifty pounds of it left. I can carry that! That, sure, but how much else? No, the weather--especially the weather Im hoping well be traveling in, viciously windy and thick with snow--will tend to kill us a lot faster than hunger will out there, if we dont have adequate shelter. Bear hides, deer hide and furs have to take first priority. Still not sure how were carrying the big bear hide, but weve got to try, and then any carrying ability thats left, we can start to focus on having more than a minimum of food. Here. He handed her the snow knife, finished but for a bit of refinement he wanted to do to the handle. This is yours. Tomorrow youll use it to make a snow-block shelter, if we can find some good crusty snow thatll cut and stack reasonably well, near the den and hidden thoroughly by the trees. You need the practice, and I need to know you can do it if we get out there and Im not able to, for whatever reason. For instance, he declined to mention, though the thought certainly crossed his mind, if this foot ends up a festering mess that leaves me septic and barely conscious a day or so into our journeyyeah, you need to know how to make shelter, in that case, and you might as well know that theres no need to crowd things by dragging my bony carcass into it, either, because at that point Ill be as good as gone, the way things go up here Though hoping very much that the we Einar mentioned did not involve him hobbling around out there in the snow and then sitting under a tree freezing for a few hours as he watched her build the shelter, she quickly agreed. She knew she needed the practice, had dug a snow cave once up at Bill and Susans, but had no experience with other types of snow shelters and knew that such experience could prove valuable or even life-saving in the course of their future travels.

The hurt of his foot finally beginning to lessen a bit Einar was fading fast, growing sleepy and having a difficult time keeping his eyes open as he tried to work on forming yet another bone atlatl head against the day of battle that would, he supposed, come sooner or later, as it always did Liz, seeing him slumped forward with his chin on his chest and his half finished project gripped in hands that seemed unable, even in sleep, to quite let go and relax, covered him with the bear hide and made sure his damaged foot was propped up in such a way as to keep it out of contact with the dirt of the floor, at least until he jumps up in his sleep and tries to go somewhere, which is more likely to happen than notbut maybe he can manage to get an hour or two of good sleep first, anyway. She was, for once, not the least bit sleepy herself, mind racing with thoughts of a departure that might come at any time and with little warning, either due to a real threat manifesting itself, or, just as likely, to Einar taking a sudden and, to her, inexplicable notion that they had to go right now! The thought of leaving just then, of trying to take care of Einars foot, particularly, on such a journey, was something she did not even want to entertain, but she knew that she must, because he was, began trying to think of ways to keep such an excursion from ending in disaster. The use of fire, she expected, might well be out, unless they ended up traveling through blizzard-like conditions similar to the ones that had gripped the mountains several days prior, and it seemed to her that having the ability to melt snow and heat water might be critical to Einars well-being and perhaps even to their survival, as the dehydration that would come of attempting to get all of their water by melting snow in their mouths would put them at far greater risk of becoming dangerously hypothermic. How to melt snow, then, without a fire? They could, she supposed, create a lamp of some sort that was smaller and much more portable than the large sandstone qulliq that had been serving their heating, cooking and clothes-drying needs so very well, something that would easily fit in the palm of a hand and would more closely resemble a candle than a larger lamp but which might, through the use of more than one wick simultaneously, or even a row of wick material as they used in the qulliq, provide enough heat to melt snoweventually. It would be good to have a quicker method, because who knows how long hell let our breaks be, even if we have no reason to believe were being pursued? I get the feeling that when hes by himself, there is no stopping until he reaches whatever hes decided his destination is to be. So. Quicker way to melt snowwell, a gas stove would be good! Quick, smokeless, easy to packbut of course we dont have one, and thats one thing that I doubt Einar can slap together out of deer teeth and bear sinew and ermine bladders and such in an evenings time, as he does so many things, so think again! Remembering their experiments with the tinder pellets and how long and energetically the pitch and milkweed variety had burned, she wondered about making a similar but larger product for the purpose of boiling water. Like trioxane. Only with an orange flame instead of blue Excited at the prospect, she pulled out their remaining supply of milkweed, not very much after all of the tinder-making, and decided to use cattail instead, as it was incredibly plentiful, the entire bed being made of it. Einar, she remembered, had told her that cattail fuzz flared even more quickly than milkweed and might go up so fast as to have a difficult time lighting the pitch on fire, but she supposed that problem could be solved by sticking a little pellet of pitch-coated milkweed down to the side of each of the much

larger cooking sized cattail filled pellets. Melting some pitch over the lamp--it was slower work than when using the stove, but she succeeded--Liz pulled one of the cattail heads from the bed and pulled the fluffy, brown-tipped fuzz from it in tufts, the entire thing practically exploding and sending down flying all over the interior of the den as soon as she had removed the first bit. Scraping together several good-sized piles of it she dripped pitch onto them as she had seen Einar do with the tinder pellets, quickly rolling them between her hands until everything was coated, dabbing more pitch on here and there to thicken the covering. Finally, her hands sticky and slightly tender from handling the hot pitch she stopped, four completed tablets sitting on the flat rock in front of her, each about the size of a large prune. Should be enough to melt some snow or boil a little water, even, if it was already in liquid form. Looks like it, anyway. Anxious to test one of the tablets before making too many more of them, Liz filled a pot with snow, first covering the bottom of the pot with a bit of water to speed up the heating and melting process--hopefully well have at least a little on us at most times, in the bottles--hanging it on a stick that she had stuck horizontally between two of the rock slabs that made up the bed frame. Breaking open the little milkweed-filled addition she had stuck onto the side of the tablet, she struck sparks into it, failed to see anything ignite, fluffed the milkweed up a bit and pulled a few little strands of its silk free of the remains of the pellet, tried again. Smoldering for a moment before it took off, the pellet sizzled and popped as the pitch lit, flames shooting up five or six inches with almost explosive intensity and blackening the bottom of the pot. No sooner had the loud crackling started than Einar was awake, flipping to his stomach and grabbing the nearest weapon--the axe, as it happened--all in one fluid motion that would have quickly continued and left him scrambling for the door had Liz not grabbed him rather forcefully by the arm and spoken to him insistently until he realized what was happening. Lying there on his stomach, grimacing at the pain of having whacked his injured toes on the floor of the den in flipping over, he stared at Lizs flaming, hissing experiment, at the pot full of snow, at the undisturbed door flap hanging exactly as it had been when he fell asleep, and seeing that nothing was actually amiss, he let his breath out in a great sigh, rested his forehead on the cool ground. Wow Liz. Really had me going there for a minute. Now what on earth He saw what, though, saw the unused tablets and saw that the test was working, too, snow beginning to melt around the edges of the pot and the lump of flaming spruce tar with its thousand tiny wicks of cattail fuzz showing no sign as of yet of going out. Well. You made us a way to cook. Not exactly smokeless, he glanced up at the thin black stream of smoke that curled up from the flaming tar, blackening the bottom of the pot and a small area on the ceiling, as well, but sure is gonna be safer than making a fire. Lot smaller heat signature, and can be put out with a quick scoop of snow or the bottom of boot if need begreat idea! Lets make more. Sure, we can make more if you think theyre a good idea. I was just experimenting. Im sorry! Should have woke you up and warned you first before lighting this thing I guess. I didnt realize how loud it would be, and to be quite honest I dont really know how to wake you up safely

Aw, just throw something from the other side of the den and hit me, then real quick duck over to another position so that whatever I throw back wont hit you! Ought to be safe enough, right? Well she rolled her eyes, that was not really what I had in mind. And it would defeat the whole purpose, or half of it, anyway. He shrugged, gave her his best attempt at an innocent look and threw up his hands. Hey, it was your idea to find a different way. Way you did it was fine by me. Waking up to popping, spitting masses of pine tar a couple feet from my head now and then is just the thing to keep me sharp, I suppose. Just what I need. Now, want to make some more of these, or what? Yes, but let me look at your toes first, Ok? It looks like you hit them on the floor just now. Yep, did. Doggone things. Wish these blisters would start going down. Know its gonna happen eventually, but in the meantime He rolled over onto his back, kept still with some difficulty as she used a bit of the water that had melted in the pot to carefully dab the grass, dirt and spruce needles off of his foot, sliding two of the usnea clumps that had been partially dislodged back into their places between his toes. Even after the several minutes it took her to complete the operation, the cooking tablet was still burning strong, its flame not as high as it had been at first, but still showing no sign of being near the end of its life. Eight minutes or so, by her estimation. It is going to work! After working well into the night producing fire tablets and finally stopping only when they began running quite low on spruce pitch--Einar volunteered to go out into the bitterly cold night and search for more, saying that he would simply go from tree to tree, feeling around until he found a good supply of it, but Liz quickly and emphatically nixed that idea--they were both ready for some sleep. Before settling in, however, Einar insisted that they go ahead and divide up the fuel tablets, half in each of their packs. Weve got them, he said, no reason leaving it so we might end up running out of here without them. Though of course if we leave here at a run, theres a good chance the situation will be such that were not gonna be risking lighting even these things to give them a heat source to zoom in onbut well sure hope it doesnt come to that. The little stream of black smoke these things make ought to be easy enough to disperse and conceal by choosing the location carefully--at the base of a heavy spruce, preferably, so unless we are being closely pursued, in which case we probably wont be stopping long enough to melt snow, anyway, Id feel pretty safe about using them now and then. Einar could not seem to stay asleep for very long at a time that night, the pain of his foot frequently disturbing his rest and, just as often, the cold creeping in to wake him. He could not, despite the fact that temperatures in the lamp-warmed den did not drop too far below freezing that night, quite seem to stay warm lying on his back as he had to do to keep the foot propped up and out of contact with things, and after a while he lay there

wide awake and just trying his best not to shiver, hoping to allow Liz to go on sleeping. It wasnt working, the hurt in his foot demanding too much of his attention for his normal cold-combating breathing exercises to be particularly effective. He couldnt keep still, didnt really want to as he knew that he needed to generate some heat, tried to edge away from Liz but, between his habit of sleeping on the very edge of the bed and the fact that she had gone to sleep pressed close against him for warmth, he did not have much leeway and ended up on the floor. Well, guess I can shiver as much as I want now without bothering anyone Which he definitely did, curling up on his side, keeping the bad foot suspended off of the ground by wadding up a good bit of dry grass and propping it between his ankles. Doubling up the wolverine hide, which had fallen out of the bed with him, he draped it over his foot for some protection from the cold, scraping up a big pile of grass and duff and heaping it over himself and tucking his arms beneath his body for warmth. The change in Einars situation had not been an especially helpful one, as, even flat on his back, he had been a good bit warmer up on the bed between the bear hide and Lizs presence, but he finally shivered himself to sleep there on the cold floor, satisfied, at least, that his difficulties would not be keeping Liz awake. She needed her rest, had a lot to do the next day, has that snow knife to test out and a shelter to buildand he fell asleep dreaming of snow-block shelters in all their many possible variations, of the many nights he had spent in such constructions, both before and after the search had begun. Most of those nights had been reasonably comfortable, the walls of snow blocking out all of the wind and insulating reasonably well, too, and as long as one has access to something warm and dry to separate your body from the snow beneath--foam sleeping pad, pile of evergreen boughs or something similar--sleep tends to be quiet and reasonably warm. As long as you remember to scrape the interior fairly smooth before settling in for the night, to prevent protrusions and rough spots in the ceiling from turning into growing, dripping stalactites of ice as your body heat warms the place overnight, leaving you pelted with little drops of ice water just after you manage to get to sleep Which he must have neglected to do, either that or the padding to insulate his body from the snow beneath him, because while the shelter was indeed quiet and wind-free, he was absolutely freezing, and things seemed to be getting worse in a hurry. Well, he shivered, tucked his nose in against his shoulder, have to remember to cut some spruce branches to put under me for tomorrow night, or even better fir branches, because theyre so much less prickly. Got to do something though, because this sure isnt working. And Id better see why that one wall is sagging, too, and try to do something about it, because it feels like its crushing my footbad. Gonna lose those toes if they freeze again, and how can they not freeze again, crushed under the snow like that. Not that it probably matters much either way. Might have a chance of the toes healing if I could stay put for a month or so and keep bathing them every day, treating them with that Balm of Gilead salve, but theres no way that is happening. Been in one place too long. Theyre gonna end up seeing something and coming down on us if we stay here too much longer, and you know it. Just waiting for the next storm, and were out of here. No way youre going to be able to save those toes while youre on the move. Sure cant walk on them, and itll only be a matter of time before they freeze again, sitting motionless in that

crutch device, no matter what you wrap the foot with. Youll end up either having to chop them off and live with the consequences, or risk dying of some sort of systemic infection in pretty short order. Soall that to sayno big deal about the shelter crushing your foot I guess. Just hastening the inevitable, or something like that He slept, then, for several hours, fitfully and never especially deeply as the chill kept waking him just enough to wonder why his snow shelter was not performing better, but he never did become aware enough to get up and investigate the cause of his growing discomfort, simply curling up more tightly and occasionally reaching out to pull another handful of grass over himself. It was thus curled up on the floor beside the bed with all of his grass coverings shaken off in the night that Liz found Einar when morning came and she began seeing a bit of light around the door flap. She had felt him move away from her in the night but had learned better than to disturb him in his sleep and had let him be, assuming he was still in the bed and had simply found himself needing a bit more space as was his way, occasionally. He was clearly not in the bed, though, and when after a bit of searching she reached down and encountered his neck and shoulder they were very cold, her touch eliciting no response aside from a low groan and a bit of rustling as he drew his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them. Reaching over and getting the lamp lit in the hopes of waking him and so the place could begin to warm, Liz hurried out of bed and knelt beside him, knowing she needed to get him into the bed but unsure how to do it when everything she did resulted in him simply coiling up into a tighter ball and turning his head away from the sound of her voice. At a loss, she was in the process of wrestling the bear hide down from the bed to drape over him when a passing helicopter, high and apparently just passing through rather than scouring the area, did what she had been unable to do. Scrambling stiffly to his feet and balancing precariously on the uninjured one, Einar stared at her with a mix of startlement and confusion on his face, sitting down heavily on the side of the bed as the rumbling faded away. Sorry. Forgot thespruce branches I guess. Cold night, huh? Yes, I guess itwhat spruce branches? What are you talking about? Here. Youre freezing. Lie down here in the bed so I can cover you up. There. Ok. Good. Let me start some water heating, and Ill join you in there. Were you down there all night just lying on the floor? Of all the ridiculous things to do Einar just shook his head and blinked slowly at her, a bit confused by her angry-sounding tirade and still wondering why, exactly, the walls of his snow shelter looked so much likedirt. Because youre in the den, you fool, and a good thing too, cause youd be in mighty bad shape right now if youd just spent the night lying un-insulated on the snow, as you thought you were doing. Probably done some more damage to the foot, as it is. At least--finally remembering his reason for ending up on the floor--at least Liz looks like she had a good night. Doesnt look particularly happy about it, though. Think Im in some sort of trouble A pot of water hung to heat over the lamp, Liz returned to the bed, bringing with her a good-sized lump of the chokecherry and bearfat ice cream that was leftover from the previous evening, offering some to Einar and relieved when he took his

portion and ate hungrily, though grasping it with great difficulty in cold-stiffened fingers. Well. It looks like hes going to be alright, but what do I have to do? Tie him to the bed? You probably didnt get too much sleep down there, did you? Ohnot so much. But I bet you did! Couldnt uhkeep still for very long last night, figured at least one of us ought to get some sleep. Sorolled out of the bed. Kept dreaming about snow shelters and thats how come I mentioned those spruce branches when I woke up. And since Im thinking about itmight as well mention that branches like that are probably the best way to insulate the floor of a snow cave or block shelter, either one, when you dont have foam pads and such handy. Just cut a bunch of live branches--fir is less prickly than spruce, if youve got a choice--and spread them out on the floor of your shelter, first one way and then if you have time, add a second layer cross-ways to those, and even a third if you can. Keep you up off of the snow, keep you from losing too much heat to it and also make it so you wont wake up halfway through the night with your clothes soaked through as the snow starts to meltnot a good thing! Thought that was what had happened to me last night Its even better still if youve got a tarp or a tanned hide or something to put down under the branches, but we dont, and a thick bed of branches will be enough to get you through the night. Now. You ready to go out and build that practice shelter? I figure if you duck into the heavy timber just outside our little covered ledge-porch out there, stick to the timber and dont go far, you shouldnt leave anything for the buzzards to pick up on. Well let me eat some breakfast first since we have it, and then yes, Ill be ready. I dont know what your plan is, but you know that theres a pretty good chance of re-freezing your toes if you insist on coming out there with me No. Not coming with you on this one. Ill show you a few things about using that snow knife in the drift right out under the ledge here, draw you a sketch maybe of how to put the blocks together, but thats it. I know the situation with the toes. Probably gonna lose a few of them, and thats if we get to stay here for a while yet Not interested in making things worse before I have to. Surprised and glad at what she considered to be Einars rather sensible outlook that morning, Liz went about breakfast preparations, taking a peek outside as she scooped up fresh snow to begin melting for a pot of after-breakfast tea, finding the sky unexpectedly cloudy, a restless wind gusting forlornly through the treetops, and she quickly drew her head back inside, knowing what Einar would want to do if a storm developed, and hoping very much that the clouds would clear out before one could begin. Breakfast eaten and Liz preparing to head out for her snow-block shelter making practice, she began melting yet another pot of snow, intending to help Einar start his foot soaking before leaving the den. He saw her getting out the supply of fresh usnea clumps and the cottonwood bud salve, and stopped her. No, Liz. Let me do it this time. After you go.

Sitting down beside him, she spread the fresh lichen clumps out on a flat rock near the lamp, a granite slab which she had dedicated to that purpose and which she scrubbed with boiling water at least once every day, not enough, she knew, to keep things really sanitary, but she was trying. Arranging everything, she looked at Einar a bit suspiciously. Youre not going to skip it, are you? Or do something youll regret? Huh? No, no its not chopping time yet. And I know better than to skip a soaking. Ill get it done. Just thinking it might be easier ifuheasier for both of us He stopped, unsure how to proceed without implying that he had not appreciated all of her help, which was certainly not the case. If you were alone? Its alright. You can say it. I see what a struggle it is for you every time we do this, how hard you try to keep me from seeing how much it hurts you. I wish you didnt feel like you had to do that. It must be exhausting. He shrugged. Dont know any other way to do it. But yeah. Thats what I was trying to say, or close to it. Of course, then, you can wait. Can I at least boil you up some willow solution before I leave. Assuming the bottle from yesterday is empty.. Sure. Please. Dont know if Ill use it this time, because the stuffs kinda tearing up my stomach, but would be good to have some ready. Were almost out of willow bark, but I think we have enough for this one more batch. If we run out, we can just chop up the branches themselves, the wood, and boil the little pieces. Not nearly as much salicylic acid in the wood as in the inner bark, but theres some. Enough to make it worthwhile, maybe. We need more willows, Einar. As little as this stuff seems to do for you, Id still hate to see you have to go through a dressing change without it. It seems to make a difference of some sort, and you have weeks of healing left on those toes I know. Does help some. Maybe well come across some willows after we leave here. Likely, because well probably end up in some creek beds or even a river valley or two trying to find game. We can replenish the supply then. Theres always the spring, the cattail marsh. Maybe after I finish the snow shelter He caught her eye and held it with a cold stare that left no doubts as to his feelings about her proposal. That place doesnt exist for us anymore. Off limits. Probably for the best, anyway. Been using way too much of that stuff. It gets pretty concentrated when we boil it down like that, and its not just my stomach thats feeling the effects. Been having a hard time catching my breath sometimes lately, sweating a lot, and not just when I wake

up hearing choppersguess I need to back off on the willow for a while before something happens. Think those are probably signs that Im getting too much of it. Good thing were running out, I guess. Einarthat doesnt sound good. I didnt realize the willow was doing that to you. You have been using an awful lot of it. Maybe there are other options. You know, we do still have plenty of yarrow. I know it wont actually reduce the pain any, but it might help you relax a little, make things just a bit easier, and I dont think a pot or two of yarrow tea every day would be enough to have any bad effect on you. Narrowing his eyes, he scooted away from her, got to his one good foot and stood swaying beside the bed, swallowing the caustic remark that had wanted to slip out at her obviously well-intended if misguided suggestion. Nah, Im not especially looking to relax, he growled. Itll be fine, willows or not. I get through it each time. The challenge is probably good for me. Now lets head out while this last batch of willow simmers and Ill show you about making snow blocks for your shelter. Out under the ledge that protected the den entrance, Einar, lying propped on his elbows wrapped in the bear hide and wisely leaving his feet inside the den, demonstrated to Liz how to cut a snow block. We seldom see particularly good conditions here for cutting snow blocks. The snows usually either too powdery, or too wet. But when you get wind slab like this drift here is, or when the suns been out and you have a crust that goes deeper than a few inches, thats when you have the opportunity to cut blocks. These wont be the nice big two foot square blocks that you see on the snow houses up North, so dont expect that, and you wont be quite as disappointed. Lot of times, youre gonna be doing well to get something thats eight to ten inches square out of sun-crust, a little bigger from some of the harder packed wind slab. Thats alright though, because were not looking to build something big enough to comfortably spend the winter or even a couple weeks in, just looking to make it through the night or through a particularly nasty storm. Like with any shelter, the smaller it is, the less space you have to heat. Snow is a great insulator, and this sort of shelter will hold your body heat pretty well, a lot like a snow cave, though of course the walls arent gonna be nearly as thick. So. Choose your spot, and then youre going to test the snow. If its crust youre looking at, a good way to test it is just to walk on it. If itll support your weight without caving in, its likely to make good blocks. Even if you punch through it may be worth a try, because this shelter doesnt necessarily have to be strong enough to bear your weight, the blocks just need to hold together well enough to support the weight of the other blocks, and need to hold their shape as you handle them in the building process. With wind slab, you just have to cut a test block to see if the stuffs packed firmly enough. Youre probably going to find yourself cutting blocks from crust more often than you will wind slab anyway, because a lot of times where theres wind slab, youll be able to find drifts deep enough to burrow into and dig a good sized snow cave, which is often a less time-consuming way to get shelter, and can be easier to conceal, too. But under the right conditions, or the wrong ones, depending on how youre looking at it, one of these shelters will let you get safe and sound and out of the wind when nothing else is available

to you. Hey, Ive even cut blocks a time or two in the early winter before the first really big snowfall, a couple of times. Snow was so shallow that I ended up cutting all the way down to the ground, and the bottoms of my blocks had grass on them. Left a bare spot on the ground. Worked great, though. Kept me warm for a couple nights while the first big blizzard of the winter rolled through. So. Cutting a test block. I just start by punching a hole in the snow with my boot, say right here he indicated a spot just beneath the ledge. If you could just do that part for me, yeah, stomp on it, scrape the snow away with your boot for a good foot-long section, there. Then youll take the snow knife like this and make a cut on one side, then the other, like this, and you see that six inches or so is all we have here, as far as depth, before the snow gets all grainy and less well packed. So these blocks are gonna be about six inches thick. Then you do the back. The place where you stomped and scraped with your boot is going to count as your front cut. Then take the knife and real gentle slide it in along the bottom to free the block andyes! See? It moves. Now you just reach in there and pick it up. Gentle, cause you dont know yet just how sturdy the thing is gonna be, how well itll hold together. Working her mittened hands in on either side of the newly freed block, Liz carefully lifted it out of the drift, setting it on its end in the snow. Yep, thats it! Then you just repeat the process, cutting out block after block until you either get enough or run out of raw material and have to find another block-cutting field! Now, of course were gonna have to be awfully careful where and how we cut the blocks, both today and out on the trail, because the worst thing we could do is to leave a big old peeled spot on the ground that shows up like a big target from the air. If we do that, might as well go ahead and take the blocks in the shape of giant letters, leave those buzzards an appropriate message of some sort, because theyll be reading our presence plain as words, either way! Take your blocks today from under trees, several different trees, probably, and make sure you cant get a clear look up at the sky from anyplace youre thinking of cutting one. Then youre going to start stacking them, and you can use the traditional circular pattern if you want to--it is stronger--but Ive found that when youre just throwing together a quick, simple shelter to get you out of the wind and weather for a night or so, it can be quicker to do a long skinny rectangle-sort of shape. Lets you use less blocks to create a space that you can lie down in, unless you really curl up to sleep, like I do but even still, youre gonna appreciate being able to stretch out in it now and then, especially if the storm youre sheltering from lasts for a couple of days. So, Ill mark out on the snow a rectangle that would let me lie down, then start stacking blocks around its edges. Each row youre going to bring in slightly more towards the center. The right way to do that would technically be to cut the bottoms of the blocks at an angle so they fit together real well and start leaning inwards, but the quick way--and its quite good enough if youre not planning on spending the winter in the thing--is to overlap each successive layer of blocks by just a few inches, so the thing grows inwards in a series of little steps. Then, when your blocks get within a foot or so of each other at the top, youre gonna choose a few nice, firm blocks to bridge that gap with, and youre about done. Oh. And hopefully youve left a little bit of a door to crawl in through, too. Now its time to drag in the spruce branches for your bed, crawl in and cover the door opening as well as you can, and youre ready to go. One more thingthe shelter will be a lot more efficient as far as keeping you warm if you can manage to keep the place youre sleeping a little higher

than the door entrance, which may or may not be possible when working under the conditions that would lead you to do a snow block shelter around here instead of a snow cave, but its worth a try. Youll sleep warmer that way. That was it, all he could think to tell her, and Einar found himself suddenly immensely weary and badly chilled after the lesson, eyelids drooping as he probed his brain for anything else that he might be forgetting. It didnt answer. Well. Thats it, then. Go give it a try. Figure youd be just fine testing it somewhere in that big old patch of black timber over there, just the other side of the gully. Clouds look like theyre here to stay. No sign of snow yet, though. If it snows, you could go check the traps and snares, if you wanted to Sure! I will. If it snows. For now, Ill just stick close here in those trees. Is there anything else you need before I go, some more stew or something? And the way the wind is picking up, Im wondering if I ought to leave the yearling hide here so you have something to cover the door with. Its going to get awfully drafty in there with the door uncovered, and with you having to soak that foot Liz. Ill be fine. He was tired, sagging, didnt want her hanging around to see that he was about to fall asleep right there where he sat. Deer hidell about cover that door. Now you get going, alright? She left, then, leaving Einar to creep--wearily, grudgingly, bone-cold and a bit despondent at having to stay behind--back into the den to deal once more with his rotting, stinking toes, a losing battle, probably, but then arent most of the ones you end up fighting? Story of your life. But like always, youre gonna give it all you got, right? Courage shall grow keener, clearer the will, the heart fiercer, as our force faileth, and all that? Rolling into the den and freeing himself from the bear hides grasp, he retrieved the deer skin from the bed and crawled back over to the door, securing it in place over the opening with several rocks. Yeah. Guess so. Dont know any other way of doing things

Back in the den Einar worked on his foot, heating the water until it was just below body temperature, and easing his toes down into it, waiting for the crusty, stuck dressings to saturate and loosen so he could pull them free. Sitting there with the standard willow stick clamped between his teeth as he waited for the initial shock of the water on his raw toes to subside he stared at the pot full of brownish willow bark infusion, their last, he knew, for a while, wishing to gulp it down in the hopes of dulling the pain some, but knowing that he ought to give his body a break from the stuff, ought to save it, also, well aware that a time might come when his need for it was even greater. Saving it, then. The hurt of the soaking was not substantially worse than it had been the last few times, really, though it seemed that the willow had been making some sort of difference, but without Liz there the meticulous control Einar had been exerting over his responses broke down a bit, leaving him to turn aside halfway through the procedure and vomit. Scraping dirt

over the mess--deal with it later--he gingerly lowered his foot back into the water, relieved somehow, scrubbing the tears from his eyes and leaning back against the side of the bed. Quit this, Einar. Youre whining like sick dog or something, here. Get ahold of yourself. And cover up with that bear hide, too, because youre shaking so hard that its getting so you cant keep your toes from hitting the side of the pot. Dont know if warmth will help much in this case, but its sure worth a try All of which he did with a bit of effort, dragging the bear hide over his torso and upper legs, jamming the willow stick back between his teeth and managing to keep quiet as he carefully freed the old dressings and removed them from between his toes. As soon as he had caught his breath a bit and managed a small sip of water--cant be getting too dehydrated. Thats not gonna help things any--he began studying the contents of the den, his eyes coming to rest on the spruce bark sled of bear fat, and it seemed wise to him that they ought to work to render at least some of it down before leaving, to make it a bit more stable for transport. Or for caching. Will last better in the cache if its been rendered down first, especially if its there into the spring or summer months. Pouring the finished willow solution into one of the water bottles and securing the lid, he set it aside, scooting over and filling the pot with chunks of raw bear fat. Lowering his foot back into the water--aw, whyd you take it out again? Dont do that! Bear fat could have waited--he hung the pot over the lamp to begin heating. Guess Ill pour the fat into some of these aspen outer bark pieces that weve pulled off of the firewood and set aside, when its through liquefying. If I set the bark pieces on the snow, the rendered fat ought to chill down pretty quick so we dont lose more than a drip or two off of the ends. As the fat softened in the pot, small sections of gristle and meat separating it and floating to the surface to be skimmed off, Einar got into the bag of mashed, dried chokecherries, glad once more that Liz had picked so many back during their time at the Bulwarks, and he crushed and dried them. It was good to have some fruit to supplement their diet of meat and fat, during the winter months. Good to have anything to eat at all, actually, but variety like this is great. Which reminds meguess I ought to check on Lizs milkweed sprouts. She didnt say anything about them, but Id think they would start to dry out pretty quick, hung in the roots just above and to the side of the lamp, like this. Pulling down the folded-over strips of aspen inner bark--still damp, thankfully--that held the sprouting seeds, he opened them and sprinkled a bit of water on the seeds, seeing that several of them had actually begun to sprout, the first inklings of tiny green stems starting to curl out from their flat brown cases. Well. Looks like its gonna work! Ive sprouted plenty of alfalfa and broccoli seeds for eating, wheat, lentils, things like that, but sure never tried sprouting milkweed seeds before. Glad she thought to keep them for this purpose. Wonder if theyll need to be cooked before eating? Gonna guess so. Can eat little milkweed shoots and they taste pretty good, but you do have to boil them first. Im guessing that the white sap develops pretty early in these things, so they ought to be boiled or at least roasted or something before eating. Will be interesting to see. Hope were still here in a few days when theyre ready to try Shaking a handful of dried chokecherries--brown and stuck together in rough clumps from the drying process, but smelling fresh and very good--out onto Lizs kitchen rock,

he proceeded to gently pound them into a course powder, skimming off some of the liquefying bear fat with the coal-burned spoon he had made and drizzling it over them, where it quickly began hardening. Adding a number of spoons full until the mixture on the rock consisted of approximately two thirds solidifying fat and one third berries, he mixed it with his hands, making a batch of the ice cream that Liz had grown so fond of since he had first made it for her. Now, if we had a little cattail flour to mix in with this stuff, itd almost be like those commercial lifeboat rations that people carry--fat, sugar and starch. Dont have any left, though. Inspecting the ball of fat and fruit, it occurred to Einar that stuff was almost like pemmican, minus the protein. They were beginning to grow a bit short on protein, as the remaining bear meat was gone and the venison very nearly so, their evening stew enriched now with little shreds and chunks of leftover meat from the deers neck and backbone, the ribs, legs. There was not much left. They needed to get out and check that trapline, get some snares out for rabbits and squirrels if they were to stay in the area. Over the past several days, especially since the meat had started running a bit short, Liz had been making the ice cream frequently, eating good quantities of it herself and giving it to Einar whenever his stomach would allow him to consume such things, and they had both found it a pleasant and filling way to get more calories on board between batches of stew. Dont know that Ill be able to choke any down until after Ive been done with this foot for a while, but shell be hungry when she gets back, Im sure. Better get some stew going, too, after I finish rendering a couple batches of this fat. His foot was finished. Done, for the time, with its soaking, and lifting it out of the water he propped it up to dry on the rolled-up wolverine hide, spreading fresh clumps of usnea with salve and gritting his teeth as he slid them between his toes. Done. Back to work on the bear fat. Looks like this first batch here is ready to pour onto the bark pieces. Ill set the cracklings aside, and maybe Liz will want some with the stew this afternoon. Maybe theyll even have started smelling good to me again, by then

Choosing a spot that appeared well sheltered by an overarching and interlocking canopy of spruces, Liz set about cutting blocks for her shelter, quickly discovering that coming up with anything that resembled the neat, square block Einar had demonstrated for her in the wind-drift was all but impossible there beneath the trees. The snow there was crusty, alright, a brief thaw the afternoon following the last big storm having caused the snow on the branches above to melt and drip a bit, leaving the snow surface crunchy and pitted with thousands of tiny, icy impressions that left her walking on top of the surface in places breaking through the thin, brittle crust in others. Conditions did not seem ideal. Just as Einar would want things for this little test, I suppose Trying the snow, Liz found that she could easily hack out a block whose top surface appeared solid and sturdy, only to have the thing disintegrate in her hands when she carefully freed its bottom side and attempted to pick it up. All right, now what? Setting the crumbled block aside, she tried again, more carefully this time, using the flat blade of the snow knife slid beneath one end of the block for support while carefully

easing her hand and arm under the other side. She lifted then, gently, carefully, grinning but still holding her breath when she finally managed to lift the block, whole and entire, from its bed of snow. Easing the block down along the outline she had sketched in the snow, she began cutting a second and, when successful, a third. In this way she carved out the entire center of the shelter, stacking the blocks cut from its interior around the edges until she had placed a single-layer of snow blocks all the way around the perimeter. It then occurred to Liz that she might as well make the blocks a bit narrower, shaping them more like rectangles that the flattish squares she had been carving out, as they were proving too fragile to stand on their ends for stacking, anyway, instead having to be laid flat and piled one atop the other. This strategy greatly sped up the building process, and before long she had completed a good three feet of wall all the way around her small, rectangular snow structure, and taking a few moments break, she climbed inside through the small opening that she had left in the front of the shelter. The lessening of the winds impact was immediately noticeable, greatly appreciated, as she had been a bit chilly even in the yearling hide. Even without the roof on, I see where this would make a huge difference if you were spending a night out. Id better put the roof on though, because he is sure to ask, and probably wouldnt be very happy if I didnt finish the shelter. Hate to have him decide that he must come out here himself to see that I get it done! Hopefully hes back there in the den sleeping, letting that foot heal Cutting another row of blocks and tapering them in towards the center, she looked for an area of especially crusty snow from which to take the three roof-pieces that she estimated it would take to close in the narrow gap that remained, leaving the shelter open to the sky. Well, to the trees, anyway. I was careful to build this where it cant be seen from the air, and only to cut blocks from under trees where the marks couldnt be seen, either. The roof blocks proved a bit more tricky than the walls had been, the crumbly, grainy texture of the snow leaving them weak and fragile. She broke the first one. Her second try went better, the block eased into place and holding, soon joined by a second. That looks like it, then! Standing back and admiring the structure she could not help but think that though it was ugly and a bit unsymmetrical-looking, for a rectangle, it would certainly do the job, keeping the wind and snow off of her. And I dont think this took me much over an hour to build, either. Einar will be happy. Thinking of Einars happiness, though, reminded her that he was probably even then back at the den soaking his toes and changing dressings, likely without the help even of the willow solution that he had been using since the injury. She shuddered at the thought, could hardly stand to think of him going through several days or even weeks--if we get to stay, it will be weeks--of dressing changes without anything at all to dull the pain, and she was very close to convincing herself to make a quick and surreptitious trip down to the swamp for more willows. Hed find out, eventually. I would have to tell him where I got the willow bark. But maybe after he goes through one or two dressing changes without it, hell be a bit more inclined to accept the fact that I went down there for more, wont be too angry about itbut then again, knowing that I had been down there might give him the notion that we have to leave right away, and once he takes a notion, theres no talking him out of it, most of the time The deciding factor though, when it came down to it, was the fact that from her observations over the past several days, she really did not believe that Einar would be able to eat a sufficient amount if he was constantly dealing with the hurt of those toes,

exacerbated by the twice-daily soakings and dressing changes. He said so himself, yesterday. And if he doesnt eat, doesnt eat a lot every day, hes hardly going to be strong enough to do much traveling, whenever we do end up having to leave. I have to do it. And she would have, too, had she not heard the rumbling, distant, approaching, as she gathered her gear and loaded it into the pack for the trip.

Pouring the pot of liquefied bearfat into three separate lengths of curved aspen outer bark, Einar worked with a split stick and one of the wooden spoons to keep it from overflowing before the cold could begin firming it back up. The oil wanted to run out, to spill all over the floor despite the fact that he had created intended beds of snow for the bark sections to sit on, hoping to chill it quickly and keep it in the vessels. After several minutes of struggling, the stuff finally began to set up, and Einar took a breath, leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes for a brief moment before hauling himself back upright and tending to the lamp wick, which had suffered and dimmed for lack of attention during his efforts to save the fat. All right, back to work. Not good for much if a little battle with some liquid bearfat will wear you out like this, now are you? Got to do better. Now. You told Liz youd try and come up with some way to haul the big bear hide, and it seems youd better get started on that. Got to have shelter when you go, thats got to come first. The storm youll be traveling in will freeze the life right out of you if you arent careful, and how do you really expect to get through the nights, or whenever you stop, without something to cover you and keep you out of contact with the snow? Planning to huddle in the yearling hide with Liz? That thing makes a great cloak for one person, fine sleeping robe for one, also, but not so good for two. So. Drag the thing? Try to carry it on your back? Carry all the food and gear and put it on Lizs back? Ha! Not happening. Be doing well to drag yourself along, let alone any additional weight, and you know it. Divide it up, then? Cut it up, two pieces, three, maybe two pieces with some set aside for boot covers or gaiters for both of us? Then you could cut a hole in one piece and slip it over your head like Liz does with the yearling hide, and she could hopefully carry the other, rolled up and ties on top of her pack? This seemed the most reasonable proposal he had been able to come up with so far, and Einar knew that, though they would surely miss the advantage of having the whole large bear hide to sleep in, a suitable solution could be reached by spreading one half of the cut hide on the ground and covering themselves with the second half, with the yearling hide as additional insulation. They would not be able to stretch out while sleeping that way, but they seldom did, anyway, usually curling up to conserve heat. Sounds like a plan. Dont now if Ill be able to wear my half, realistically, over any distance. Thing is heavy. But Ill sure give it a try, because Im gonna freeze pretty bad without some sort of coat if were out in a storm, and though Ive managed to get away with that many times in the past, my toes are at stake, now. If I let myself get chilled to that degree, my body is gonna be trying its hardest to shut down circulation to my extremities, and though I know I can hold that off for a while, itll eventually happen. Especially if most of my attention ends up having to be focused on taking the next step, planning a route and simply keeping myself on my feet. Need this coat. He spread the

bear hide out on the bed, heavy, stiff and unwilling as it was un-tanned, backed with what had essentially become rawhide as the flesh side dried, and inspected it, measuring with his eyes and then his hands, deciding where to make the cut. Drawing a rough line with a charcoal chunk from the stove he sharpened his knife, making the cut as cleanly as possible and regretting having to mar the hide at all, but knowing that they would have, realistically, probably ended up having to abandon it at some point had they insisted upon leaving it whole. Wed have been able to haul it for ways, Im sure, and might have had time to cut it up later when the need came, but its just as likely that we wouldnt have had time to do that when the need arose, and would have ended up walking away from it altogether. And paying the price every night after that, every time the snow was driven sideways by the wind as we traveled, too. This is best. Cutting a hole in his half of the hide, Einar slipped it over his head and stood, leaning heavily on the crutch. Well. Its warm, for sure. And heavy. Dont know if I can do this, but I can sure try. Now Id better work on a boot for my bad foot with some of the hide from the leg area of the critter, and make it plenty big, too, because Im thinking that Ill have to stuff it with a bunch of cattail fuzz and things if I want half a chance of keeping this foot from freezing, again. Then after that Ill make some gaiters for Liz, to cover the tops of her boots and help keep her legs warm and dry. Ought to be a welcome change. Starting on the large over-boot for his damaged foot, drawing its outline with charcoal and marking where to cut, the idea occurred to him that in addition to the various dried herbs that they kept in their otherwise nearly empty medical kit, it would be wise to include a small bag of charcoal from the fire, as it could be a difficult thing to come up with if one is not for whatever reason able to have frequent fires--there was always the odd lightning-struck tree or the old burn where wildfire had at some point swept through an area, but those were rather unpredictable sources--and he had a number of times in the past found charcoal useful in medicinal preparations. Collecting a handful of black chunks from the stove, he stowed them in the medical kit, stuck it back in his pack--hed taken over the last several days to keeping everything important in either his pack or Lizs, when the item was not actually in use--and returned to his work on the boot.

Realizing that the rumble of rotors was drawing nearer, Liz grabbed her pack and scrambled into the recently completed snow shelter, crouching there with the yearling hide over her and praying that it, and the snow blocks, would be enough to hide her heat signature, or at least distort it to the point that she did not look like a human target. She wondered, briefly, as the sound approached, whether she might be better off hanging the hide over the shelter entrance rather than wearing it, to keep her body heat from oozing out through the door, but, hoping she was right, decided to go on wearing it instead. These blocks are not all a really tight fit, and Im afraid that if I just covered the door with the hide, they might still end up seeing me through the cracks, through the blocks, even. I dont know how much snow it takes to hide the heat from a human body, but do remember Einar telling me a story about how they search for polar bear dens with infrared-equipped aircraft, so they must be able to see through some amount of snow though surely all these trees would do something to shield me, too

Drawing her head in under the hide she huddled there like a turtle in its shell as the chopper neared, hovered, right over her head she thought at first, thundering, echoing, and she felt that they must be able to see her, that no amount of cover could possibly be adequate. After a time, though, she realized with a mix of relief and apprehension that it was not over her head at all, but had come to a standstill directly above the cattail swamp; she could hear it, could picture the beasts position--beast? Listen to me. Im getting nearly as bad as Einar. Its just a machine--by the way its rumbling echoed off of the nearby ridges, and she wondered in that instant what might have brought them back, wondered, with even more concern, how Einar would react to the development. It didnt even hit Liz until several minutes later--why are they staying so long? What are they looking at? It seems they havent moved in ages--that had the helicopter been only fifteen minutes later, she would almost certainly have been caught out in the open near the edge of the forest in the cattail marsh. The way the ridges and trees enclosed the place, she doubted that there would have been much warning; the thing would have popped up over the trees and been upon her, and thenshe started shaking as she thought of the implications, how she would not have been able to return to the den right away for fear of leading them to Einar, if they had spotted her and could follow her tracks, but knowing at the same time that he would almost certainly come after her if she was late returning after the hovering of the chopper. Disaster, even if they did not then see him, even if the two of them somehow managed to reunite and sort out what had happened, come up with a reasonable plan in response to it. That hasty trip through the snow with little preparation would finish off his toes, she had little doubt, refreeze them and then they wouldnt be going anywhere, fast, for a good long time. What was I thinking, heading down there? I could have led them right to us. The rotor-sounds fading into the distance, she finally allowed herself to sit up, poked her head out of the shelter and took a great breath of the sharp cold air outside, sprucescented, wonderful, feeling that she--they--had just been delivered from the hand of their foe, giving thanks. Now, Id better get back up there in a hurry and see if Einar is still in the den. Please, please be there, Einar. I dont want to have to go following a trail of bloody footprints through the snow to find you.

Einar was there, and he was ready. He had just finished work on his overboot, lacing with sinew a series of meticulous, closely spaced holes that he had punched with a deer bone awl, and was turning the finished creation hide-side out for traction, preparing to stuff it with insulating cattail down, when he felt the first inkling that something was not right. Thinking at first that he was merely growing antsy at Lizs extended absence he rose, hopped over to the entrance and crouched down to push aside the deer hide and listen. No mistaking that sound, and he let the door fall back into place, pinning it at ground level with all the rocks that were handy in an attempt to seal in the warmth of the den, keep in from the prying, airborne eyes of the enemy. There was no doubt in Einars mind as he listened as to exactly where that helicopter was hovering, no doubt either that it was doing so for a very long time. He was counting the seconds. Two hundred and

forty three. What have they seen? The rotor noise beginning to fade, he got his new cloak on, stuffed the two fully solidified slabs of bear fat into his pack and struggled it up onto his back, leaning heavily on the side of the bed as he slid his knee into place on the new crutch and bound it to his leg. Last of all came the boot--his foot was still far too swollen to attempt the use of the soft, warm ermine fur slipper Liz had made him, so it remained in the pack--and Einar gritted his teeth against the agony of easing his foot into it, the soft warm cattail fuzz he had filled it with feeling like red hot barbed wire pressing into his damaged flesh. No. Dont pull it back out. You can do this. Have done this sort of thing before. Dont have a choice At which point he very nearly blacked out, slumping down against the bed and resting his forehead on the cold rocks until he could see again and the hissing in his ears quieted a bit. On your feet, and out that door. It was not merely whim that compelled Einar out the door, nor even the simple result of the cold, calculating logic which told him that the area was no longer safe after such a repeat visit--though those things certainly existed--but a visceral, physical need that wordlessly screamed in his head and turned his stomach when he fought to resist it, urging him to move, go, get out of there before that chopper could circle back around and somehow see the heat signature from the den, save himself before they came for him and it was too late and he was taken in the shoulder by another of those hateful darts, brought down and rendered immobile before he had a chance to resist, left to lie helpless in the snow as they came for him, as they took Liz Liz. You cant go, cant do this. Liz is not here to go with you, and you must not leave her. It was true, he knew it, knew he would not abandon her, and he stood there shaking with rage and with the terrible conflict of wanting so badly to move, to act, but being unable. Time passed with no sign of Liz, minutes, only, if that, most likely, but it seemed to him ages as he stood there beneath the sheltering ledge outside of the den. Einar was about to find and follow her tracks, make sure she was alright and get her back to the relative safety of the den, when he heard footsteps in the distance, over in the direction of the gully, hurried, furtive, the light springy step that he had come to know as Lizs, and saw her coming through the trees, pausing to listen, to scan the sky before leaving their shelter for the short two step jaunt across the tiny clearing that stood between the dark timber and the trees that shielded the den--good girl, she has learned--and hurried to his side. While overjoyed to find that Einar had not left the den, she was also surprised and a bit alarmed to see him standing there, crutch strapped on and pack on his back, wearing a bear hide cloak she had never seen before and a large, insulated-looking bear hide overboot on his damaged foot. He appeared ready to leave, but followed her back into the den when she greeted him with a quick squeeze of the shoulder and scurried inside, more than ready to be out of sight should that helicopter return. In the den, Liz hurried out of the yearling hide and hastily hung it back over the door, crouching beside the lamp and warming chilled fingers near its flame. Einar remained standing, all of his traveling garb in place, apparently waiting for her to speak. Which she did, a bit breathlessly, her voice trembling.

I got the snow shelter done but thenit sounded like they were right over me, right over my head, and I was sure they were going to see me but they didnt, because Id just got the shelter finished and I crawled in and got the little bear hide over me but Einar, her mind went back to crouching there as the vulture hammered over her head, hovering, near, the sharp popping of rotors as it finally banked, turned, followed the winding recesses of the canyon and was gone, I see why you hate those things so much. It felt like they could just look right through the snow and trees and see me, didnt think they were ever going to leave Einar flashed her a momentary hint of a wry grin, his eyes remaining dark and serious. Yeah. I hate it when that happens Did the snow above your head turn to glass and the trees melt away so they could get a good clear look at you, too, at the very worst possible time? What? Never mind, he growled, getting back to his feet. Guess its about time to go. Yes. Im afraid it is. But what about the weather? Wont they see our tracks if we go right now? Probably. Cant do it right now, not if we can help it. I dont think they dropped anybody back there. Didnt set down, and with that nice clear open snow I think theyd have set down if they were dropping people. But our times up, here. Theyve seen something, and it meant enough to them that they thought it worth coming back for a second look. Not good. First hint of a snow thats gonna last more than a few minutes, and weve got to clear out. Ive been watching the sky; clouds are getting heavier, moving faster. Looks like somethings coming, but its not here yet. We may have the rest of the day, the night, even, before its safe to get going. Einar eased himself back to the ground, then, gingerly pulling on the boot and accepting Lizs assistance when she offered to help him get it off. The boot, even filled as it was with soft billowy cattail fuzz, had been very nearly more than he could stand as its weight inevitably put pressure on the large, fluid filled blisters that still covered some of his toes and the outside edge of his foot. The down, they discovered once the boot was off, had stuck to the raw, open wounds where he had previously burst a few of the blisters in scrambling thoughtlessly to his feet, and it was clear that another soaking would be required to remove the debris. Einar shook his head at Lizs offer to start some water heating. No. Later. Weve got to talk some about what were doing, how things need to go when this storm gets here, and what Ive got to say is probably gonna make a whole lot more sense if I say it before we start in on the foot. Now he spread a map out on the floor beside the lamp, a large-scale Forest Service map that covered, on its two sides, the entire one hundred and ten thousand acres of the National Forest they were in, not especially

detailed, but better by far than nothing, were right about here. Heres the canyon, the spot where the avalanches were, the Bulwarks From what Ive been hearing of these search choppers, theyre not paying any attention to the area West of the canyon, or at least not very far West, if theyre venturing over there at all. Seems like theyre mostly looking in the area between here and Culver Falls, many, many square miles, but it still leaves us a lot of places to go, if we can get away from here without them ending up on our trail. Now I was thinkingsee this ridge, here, that runs off almost due West after you get up out of the canyon on the other side? Yes. That one. Ive never been over there, but it sure looks like the sort of place, just judging by elevation and the way its oriented, that ought to be heavily timbered with evergreens of one sort or another. A fine escape route, I would think, and it gives us access both to the high plateau above the canyon over on the North, and to this series of little ridges, valleys and basins on its South side. Ive been studying this map, Liz. Seems to me one of those basins ought to offer us a spot to spend the rest of the winter, easy access to the valley floors where therell be more game, lots of ways in and out if we have to move on again She scanned the map, agreeing with him that the area he had chosen looked promising. But it looked far to her, also, very far, and the scale of miles at the bottom of the map confirmed her feeling. Twenty miles, maybe thirty by the time you counted all the ups and downs. It looks like wed have to cross the canyon Yes. But down here at its lower end, that wouldnt be such a problem. Nothing vertical, from what I remember. Some steep stuff for sure, but we can do it. And then, out along the ridge and away! Liz did not particularly like the sound of the proposed journey, stared at Einar as if he was not quite in his right mind for thinking he could do it, but knew that if he said he could, he probably meant it. And theres even some chance that hes right Hours passed, anxious hours in which both of them crept frequently to the door to listen, scanning the grey sky hopefully for any sign of impending storm, but seeing nothing. Finally, as the afternoon spent itself and Einar was satisfied that their departure plans had been hashed out as thoroughly as could be, for the time, he consented to Lizs repeated offers to help him with his toes. Pain, white hot, searing pain as the embedded cattail fuzz, mingled with and matted to the dressings, was soaked free and gently scrubbed loose from his toes, taking with it in places chunks of rotting flesh, especially on his second toe, which for some reason appeared to have received the worst of the damage. Leaning forward, he was pretty sure he could see bone. Darkness was near, and there was as of yet no sign of snow. Looks like well be here for another night, or part of one

Determined to use whatever time they had left in the den to the best advantage and knowing that Einar could hardly travel with his foot simply jammed down into the cattail

down-filled overboot he had made--not if he wanted any chance at saving the toes and avoiding serious infection, anyway--Liz began searching through their gear for anything that might be used as improvised dressings for the foot. Mullein leaves, she knew, ought to work fairly well if they had any fresh one, but the dried leaves they had set aside against potential winter breathing troubles and congestion were very dry and brittle, little more than crumbles. That leaves our clothes, then, or the marten hides, but they would leave the toes all matted with marten hair and not a lot better off than the cattail fuzz left them. Between them, they had four pairs of socks that had not entirely fallen apart with use, and Liz pulled out her clean pair. She had, over the course of their days at the den, taken to doing a bit of laundry on occasion, both hers and Einars, by spreading small articles of clothing out on a flat rock near the den entrance and pouring hot water over them, quickly wringing them out and hanging them over the stove and then, when they stopped using it, the lamp, before they froze. The frozen smears and icy puddles of obviously dirty water in the snow below her laundry rock told Liz that her washing method was at least marginally effective, if not capable of cleaning the clothes to the degree that she was used to when at home, though she had not yet tackled any of their larger garments using the improvised setup. It seemed that something was always either soaked and icy from one snowy excursion or another, or damp and drying over the lamp, and she had not yet quite been able to bring herself to get any of their tops or pants wet deliberately, for the purpose of laundering. Socks and other small items were another matter, though, and had received regular washings. The socks she chose to turn into dressings for Einar were clean, then, but by no means sterile, and as she used her newly sharpened knife to cut them up into strips that could easily be washed, she realized that it would be a very good idea to boil the wool first and carefully dry it over the lamp, before getting it anywhere near the open wounds on Einars toes. Busy carving the last little frozen bits of meat from the deer carcass and dividing them between their two packs, Einar glanced up at the smell of boiling wool, wrinkled his nose and peered curiously into the pot, swatting at the billowing steam to get a clearer look Hey Liz, we may be getting a little low on food, but were sure not this low, yet! Still got a lot of bones to boil for broth, all that bear fat, some meatwhat on earth are you cooking, in here? Cooking? No, Id expect you to cook and eat something like that, maybe, but not me! Im just boiling up a pair of socks to sterilize them. Theyre for wrapping your foot, to keep the cattail down out of contact with it. It thought if we dress the toes the way we have been with salve-coated usnea clumps between each one and then pack some more usnea around them with the sock strips wrapped overtop before you put on that boot, maybe it would add some good warmth, and keep the cattail insulation from sticking so bad to the toes, between soakings. Nodding, he stared at the ground. Shes trying too hard. Youre both trying too hard on this, and you know it. No point in keeping it up Not gonna be any more soaking, once we leave here, and probably not too many more dressing changes. Wont have a way to heat the water, no way to keep the foot warm while it dries, either, like here in the den.

But your idea with the sock stripsthanks. Will make things a lot easier. As the sock strips boiled, Einar showed Liz what he had done with the bear hide, splitting it in half and creating a cloak for himself similar to the one she had made from the yearling hide, the second half available for use either as a second cloak if they needed it, or as a ground cloth for sleeping. It was fully dark outside by the time the socks were done, and Liz hung them to dry over the lamp as she prepared that nights stew, a meal which she ended up having to eat most of, despite Einars best efforts. Waiting to crawl into bed until one of the bandage strips was dry, Liz dressed Einars foot with it, knowing that it would make the night easier and hopefully a bit less painful for him. Shortly after she drifted off to sleep that night Liz woke from a dream somewhat like the ones Einar had been having from time to time, helicopter over her head and nowhere to go, sure shed been spotted, the terror magnified by the knowledge that she had led them there to the den, to Einar, had put in motion by her carelessness a series of events that would almost surely end in his death, and soon, and she woke trembling, tossing off the bear hide, a barely-suppressed scream torn out of her before she realized that the dream had been only that, and was over. Over, and she was still alive. As was Einar; she could hear his breathing, and it seemed he was quite wide awake, too. He had been awake when her dream started, in fact, the bitter cold of the night having crept too deeply into his bones--wish Id have been able to eat more of that stew she made tonight--and his mind too full of the details of their departure for sleep to come. She reached out and felt him there beside her, heard only the quiet of the den, and she clung to him, sobbing, inconsolable as he did everything within his clumsy, awkward ability to comfort her, talking her back to reality as she had done more than once for him in the past and holding her until she stopped shaking. Im so sorry Einar, sorry if I woke you. Is thiswhat its been like for you? All those times youve woken up grabbing for your knife or something and running to the door? She felt him nod. Probably. Guess so, yeah. At that she began sobbing again, not so much for herself as for Einar, finally having a bit of context in which to understand the burden he had been quietly carrying for so long, but after a time, strangely, inexplicably, she found herself laughing and then so was he, and they laughed and laughed, at each other and at themselves, at an existence in which life and death were separated at times by a hairs breadth if that, laughing just because they still could, clinging to each other until finally the laughter gave way to weary silence, tears were dried on sleeves and they lay catching their breath, each a bit self-conscious but in some way also relieved, closer than they had been before. Were quite a pair, arent we? Einar asked, chuckling softly and pulling the disheveled bear hide back up to their necks. Yes. And quite a mess, too. Now lets go back to sleep if we can, and I promise to try and keep quiet so I dont break your other eardrum, and leave the blankets where they

belong, if youll stay in the bed and not make any dashes for the door, Ok? Sounds like a deal. They did not sleep right away, though, Liz feeling that Einar was quite cold and seeking to warm him, rubbing his back, arms, tracing his spine and ribs and embracing him, kissing his neck, shoulders, and he stopped her, gently grabbing her wrists and quickly rolling away, very nearly falling off the bed in the process. Whatare you doing? Well, we are married, arent we? Yes, but And it is a cold night, so I thought maybe to help stay warm Liznow you see, Ive never Me either. An uncomfortable silence, Einar searching for words and not finding the right ones, but speaking, anyway. But what aboutyou know? Children? Children? Well I guess wed better talk about that sometime, hadnt we? But no worries right now. The way Ive been eating, its been three months since Does that really make it a sure thing, though? I thought Nothing is a sure thing, out here. Sometimes Im not even sure if were going to wake up in the morning, make it through the month, the winter He rolled back from the edge of the bed, found her. Sometime in the night the snow began softly falling. Einar saw it in his dreams, woke and crept to the door, pulled back the yearling hide to feel flakes against his face, soft, wind-swirled, the world muffled and silent as it is only during a heavy snowfall. The storm had arrived. Time to go. Time to pack up, and go.

Very little packing remained to be done, as Einar had been doing his best to keep their packs ready at all times, and as the newly lit lamp-flame grew and spread to encompass the entire eight inch row of wick material, casting its flickering light about the den, he scrambled to round up the remaining items and distribute them between the two bags. Liz was up by then and took over as lamp-tender--her last day at the job, she supposed,

and already she missed the ready light and heat of the creation--setting a pot of snow to melt and placing their water bottles, filled the night before, on a flat rock not too far from the flame to melt away the rime of ice that had developed over the waters surface in the night, even tucked under their blankets. Drink, she urged Einar as the ice thawed, and Ill refill it. The walk will go better if we get plenty to drink, this morning. And he did, grateful to her for the reminder at a time when he had very nearly been too focused on other things to think of tending to so simple a need. Finally he got the bearfat packed up to his satisfaction, some of it rendered but most not, several pounds of it in his pack and a good deal more in Lizs, as they had previously discussed, and though it irked him terribly to have to divide things up that way, he knew it was their only option. As it was, his own pack weighed a bit over twenty pounds by his estimation, the split bear hide that he would be wearing for warmth easily adding another fifteen pounds to the total, plus the weight of his crutch and snowshoe, and realistically, he was a bit dubious about his ability to carry even so modest a load--which amounted, he guessed, to somewhat over a third of his current body weight, more than reasonable under normal circumstances--over any significant distance. Got to try it, though. The trip down to the cache will be a test. If Im falling over on my face by the time we get there, Ill know Ive got to stash some of this, along with the bearfat and stuff were already leaving down there. With that decision made, Einar emptied his pack, carefully arranging everything on the shelf of rock that lined one side of the den and had been so helpful in keeping the place neat and orderly--this was a good place, very good place--replacing it with an equally-weighted amount of bearfat. As uncomfortable as he was about walking away and leaving everything there in the den for the trip down the to the cache--Liz would be doing the same--he knew there was no way they could reasonably be expected to haul any significant weight of items to cache, on top of their already-heavy traveling loads. Just have to do it, and pray that nothing prevents us from coming back to the den to pick these things up. The storm, whose winds were gaining in intensity there outside the den, was reassuring. Few living creatures, man or beast, were likely to be out in such a gale, and it effectively eliminated the possibility of aircraft showing up. This will work. And wed better get busy with it. If youll empty your pack, Liz, like Ive done, we can get the first load ready and head down to the cache. Cache itself will need a little work before its ready to seal up, well have to stack a couple more rows of rocks and then find a few big slabs to finish off the top, but I figure between the two of us, the job shouldnt take too long. Wont be many critters out in this weather, so even if we dont get it sealed up after the first trip, its probably not going to be a disaster. Although the side of his mouth twisted down wryly as he remembered the big cats theft of the bear meat he had believed safe, best not to risk it, I guess. We better stay down there this first time and finish the thing, seal it up and then just pull a few of the top slabs off to lower the rest of the fat and stuff in. Might prove too tempting a target for any four legged critter that did happen to be out in this, and Id hate to come back and find it half-devoured, with an angry, spitting wolverine down there in the cache just daring us to come and claim the rest

That would not be good! Ill help you finish the cache. I remember seeing a bunch of granite slabs in under those trees, and theyll be frozen to the ground and starting to get covered with drift in this wind I guess, but maybe well be able to free enough of them Should we do your toes now, or when we get back? Ive got this pot of water almost ready, if you want to go ahead and No. Not this morning. Gonna skip it this morning. Got an awful lot to do, and I need to be thinking clearly for it. Doggone foots hurting enough as it is. Dont want it demanding any more of my attention. And I need to be able to eat this morning, or its going to be a real struggle to get myself more than a few steps past the door. Can feel it. At least let me wrap the a couple more of these wool strips around your foot, then? Just to keep it from freezing Without waiting for an answer, she retrieved the strips from where they still hung above the lamp, quite dry and now warmed by its flame, too, easing off the overboot that had protected his foot overnight and, seeing that the wounds had oozed significantly overnight and wishing he would allow her to tend to the toes properly but knowing the matter was settled, gently wrapping two more of the strips around his toe area for warmth. She helped him back on with the overboot, then, into the crutch, and they sat on the bed sharing a rich hot stew of bearfat, chokecherries and venison shreds before heading out the door. Twenty pounds. That was the weight Einar had aimed for in loading his pack with bearfat to be cached, but between it and the heavy bear hide cloak that was doing an admirable job of protecting him--his top half, at least--from the weather, it was all he could do to remain standing as he limped, stiff and jolting on his wooden leg-crutch, down through the snow towards the cache. Liz could see his struggle, wanted to help, to take some of the weight out of his pack and add it to her own, but she left him alone, knowing that the short trip was a test, and that he must be left to his own devices to complete it. Much as she did not want to see him fail in his test, knowing that such failure would be hard for him to take, on top of the difficulties he was already being forced to endure, Liz hoped that perhaps if he found himself unable to carry even so small a burden for any length of time, he might reconsider his determination to leave the den immediately. The return of the helicopter had spooked her, too, had make her, as it hovered over her head, wish to be anywhere but there, but as the immediacy of that situation, and of her dream that past evening, had worn off a bit and she had considered its implications, Liz had become increasingly convinced that the chopper posed no immediate threat to them. Theyre watching, and maybe theyve even seen something that caught their interest down there at the swamp--the pattern of my cattailcutting, some old, snow-filled tracks, something that made a second pass seem worthwhile to them, but if they really believed we were down here, I dont think they would have waited this long to show up. Theyre interested, but they dont know anything. It seems. But now that Einar has this idea stuck in his head, there will be no talking him out of it. Ill try, though, one last time, if the walk down to the cache isnt enough to convince him to reconsider. Nearly half an hour later--a painfully slow pace, and Einar knew it--they reached the cache, Einar leaning nearly doubled over on the cold, snow-dusted rock of its wall, greyfaced and struggling for breath. Liz lifted the pack from his back, helped him to sit

down. Einar rested then, but not for long, the press of time and of a storm whose potential length neither of them could guess with much accuracy soon prodding him back to his feet to help Liz as she retrieved and stacked granite slabs on the cache. The work went fairly quickly, each of them choosing a slab and working to free it, and when Liz managed to get hers carried and stacked just as Einar finished freeing his, balancing precariously on the crutch and kicking at it forcefully with his good foot and using the spear for balance until the bonds of ice and frozen mud were broken, Liz offered to carry it for him. He said nothing, simply nodding and going on to loosen the next slab. As soon as the cache had been build up high enough that they believed it would accommodate all they intended to leave, and a little more, they stowed in it the wrapped bundles of bear fat, placing several large, heavy slabs of rock over the top to keep hungry creatures from prying their way in, and then, at Einars insistence, added several rock chunks atop those, the heaviest of which required both of them to lift and place. Done. Time to head back for the second load. Einar drove himself up the slope a single-minded intensity that almost allowed Liz to dare hope that he was doing better, had found his pace and was getting back into the swing of things, and when he paused for rest with his forehead against a tree, almost within sight of the den, Liz put a hand on his shoulder and asked him how he was doing. Still here. It was all he could find breath to say. The snow was falling more heavily than ever by the time they reached the den, and each helped the other to beat the accumulated snow from their bear hide garments before crawling in through the entrance, more a matter of habit than anything, as there was hardly a reason to consider the state of the floors and carpets, when youre about to leave a place for good. Inside, Einar flopped down on the floor beside the lamp, meaning only to remove the crutch for a minute to give his knee a rest, but instead finding himself slumped over on the ground on his side, head on the rock beneath him, too weary to rise. It was alright. He had a good bit of planning to do yet before they left, and would use the opportunity to get it done, to make the decision whether to leave behind a surprise for anyone who might come and discover the den, would like to do it, but I dont have much of that explosive left, need to keep it for a time when the need may be more immediate, and dont want to take the time to build a mechanical trap, need to get going, think Ill just conceal it as well as possible and leave it as it isneed to remind Liz that weve got to divide up the herbs and stuff, mullein, yarrow, the salve, in case we get separated, think shes got it all right now, and He slept. Liz could see that the walk had exhausted him, badly wanted to allow him to sleep, but knew he wouldnt like it, not just then, and shook him by the shoulder until he opened his eyes.

Jumping when Liz woke him, Einar scrambled to his knees and grabbed for his pack, thinking that he might have been asleep for a good while and a bit frantic to make up for

lost time. Dizzy, he caught himself on the side of the bed to prevent a fall. How long was I sleeping? Weve got to get that second load down there and then climb back up here and head out so we can cover some ground before it gets so dark that we cant see what were doing, especially here near the den where its gonna be critical where we do and dont leave sign, especially if this storm doesnt go on for as long as Im hoping Why didnt you wake me? Einar. Hey. Settle down. I did wake you. You were asleep for about ten seconds, thats all. Huh. Sorry. Kinda lost track of what I was doing there for a minute. Not good. You can just kick me next time. Was thinkingwe need to divide up the mullein and yarrow and everything, the usnea that weve got stashed away, in case we end up in different places for any reason. Believe its all in the medical kit right now, and thats with your things. Sorting through the heap of gear that she had emptied from her pack, Liz found the kit, pulled out the bags of dried herbs and set to work separating each into two piles, Einar finding bags and wrappings for his portions of everything. The yarrow and mullein ended up in the same bag, as containers were something they certainly had no surplus of. He could, he supposed, sort it all out later. The second batch of snow Liz had started melting before leaving had finished liquefying in their absence, the lingering heat of the lamp finishing the job, and Liz topped off the water bottles, gulping down a good bit of the excess and giving Einar the rest. He drank it, not feeling much like having anything in his stomach, but knowing that he could not afford to allow himself to become dehydrated, on top of everything else. Finishing, he dried the pot on his sleeve. Here. You take this one, and Ill carry the other, so we each have something to melt snow in. Now. I figure weve probably got at least one more load of this fat to carry down there, then the rest goes with us. Wed better get started. Without delay he began heaping chunks of fat into his pack, Liz following suit as quickly as she could in the hopes of taking at least some of his intended portion and lightening his load. Einar saw what she was trying to do, gave her a quick hint of a sad smile and pulled several chunks of the fat back out of her pack, adding them to his own and closing it before she could object. Strapping the crutch back into place and setting his pack up on the edge of the bed, he shrugged into it, struggled to his feet. I can carry this. Got to be able to do it. I know you can. Im sorry. They left, the second trip going no better for Einar for the first, but he managed to stay on his feet, helping Liz remove the heavy granite slabs that secured the cache, loading it and preparing to leave. Wanting to do something to break up the outline of the cache, which

blended in reasonably well but, he thought, might well be recognizable to a passer-by as man-made, Einar chose several nearby fallen branches and pried them loose of the snows grip. He leaned the branches here and there against the cache, random angles and a liberal sprinkling of spruce needles that he dug out from under a tree adding to their camouflaging effect. It was only after completing the tasks he had set that Einar finally allowed himself to lean heavily on the trunk of a spruce for a bit of rest, his breaths coming fast and somehow not seeming quite sufficient, eyes closed against a spreading dizziness. After a moment he shook his head, scrubbed a handful of snow across his face. Enough. Got ground to cover. But he could not immediately get to his feet, accepted Lizs hand when she offered it to him and stood, grinning in an attempt to suppress a rather strong desire to snarl at her when his foot slammed into the tree. Despite his scrupulous efforts at insulating the toes, the cold had progressively seeped in as he traveled, the less damaged skin above the blisters sweating copiously in a skewed response and sending stinging rivulets seeping down onto the raw flesh of his toes. This is not working so well. Glancing at Liz, he picked up his empty pack and slung it over his shoulder. Thanks. Perfect weather for this, isnt it? Couldnt ask for better. Remind me when we get back up there to get out the map one last time before leaving, alright? An appropriate final use for the lamp. I know weve gone over our route more than once together, but I want you to show it to me one more time. Want to see that its stuck in your brain. She nodded, watched him as he took off up the hill, concentrating on his steps--stomp, swing, plant the snowshoe, repeatdoggone bear hide. Id go ahead and roll it up and stick it in this cache, too, if I wasnt pretty sure Id freeze without it. Well. May eventually come to a place where Ive either got to freeze, or sit down and go no further because I cant lift the bear hide, but Im not there yet, and for now Id better try and keep it with me. So, up the hill--wishing once again that there might be something she could say to convince him to stay. Just for a week or two, until the toes start healing, until youve been able to eat more. Though I know as long as were here, youre not going to let us get out and run traplines and hunt as we would need to if were to hope for enough to eat. Youll be too concerned about tracks, and we will slowly starve. Moving on is for the best, I suppose. Not that either option is looking especially good right now. And she caught up to him, the two of them walking together back up to the den. The lamp lit and some of the crusted-on snow beaten from their clothes they loaded the packs, checked to make sure they had everything they intended to take, Einar working on the map-slab with a piece of sandstone until it was rubbed clean, blank, nothing left for their adversaries to analyze, should they happen upon the place. He had wanted to devise a clever ruse, alter the map so as to lead their foe into a trap or off of a cliff or at the very least leave them stumped when they reached a dead end, but much to his regret he seemed not to have an ounce of cleverness in him at the moment, his mind blank when he tried to think of something. Better just obliterate it, then By the light of the lamp, its final lighting, they both expected, Liz traced out for Einar on

the National Forest map the route he had shown her, through the dark timber to the canyon, down one wall and up the opposite, out across another long ridge that ran to the west, following it for miles, it appeared, until they reached a point where they would be able to access either a vast, high wilderness plateau on one side of the ridge, the high side, or drop down off of it into a nearly endless series of ridges, valleys and high basins that ought surely to offer them refuge and access to enough game to feed them for the winter. Einar was satisfied. She had been paying attention, knew the plan. If we get separated for any reason he caught her eye, held it, I will come back to this spot where the ridge meets the plateau, here where it flattens off on one side and merges with the high ground--Ill come back there as often as I can to check for you. Leave me some sign. Well find each other again. She took his hand. Yes, we will. This has been a good place, Einar. This den, our home for a while, our first home. I am glad to have been here with you. I thought maybe before we go Out of a pocket of her pack she took Susans Bible, which she kept stashed carefully in a plastic bag for protection from the elements, paged through for a moment and began reading: I will lift up my eyes to the hillsFrom whence comes my help? My help comes from the LORD, Who made heaven and earth. The LORD shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The LORD shall preserve your going out and your coming in From this time forth, and even forevermore. (Psalm 121:1-2, 7-8) There was nothing more to say, nothing remaining to do after Einar took a stick and s lowly, almost with an air of ceremony, pushed the lamp wick down into the melted fat until it sputtered, gave its last light and died. Nothing left but to head out into the storm. Distance to cover.

Einar had hoped to complete the steep descent of the canyon wall and climb up out the other side before darkness fell, but many of the daylight hours had been used in making the cache runs and wrapping things up there at the den, and as they traveled, the deep snow and the weight on his back reduced Einar to a slow, awkward limp with long and all too frequent periods of time spent disentangling himself from hidden deadfall just beneath the surface of the snow, it became obvious to both of them that they were not going to make that goal. It was beginning to appear, in fact, as dusk fell, that they might not reach the canyon rim at all that day. Einar had estimated the distance at not over two miles, and he picked up his pace, shuffling doggedly along as he told himself that you must be able to make more than two miles in a day. Must, or this whole effort will have been for nothing, because youll end up so close to the den when this storm finally lifts that you might as well have stayed. Driving himself hard after that, taking occasional pauses only to glance at the compass and make sure they were basically on course in a storm whose blowing snow served very

effectively to keep visibility limited at times to a small area which could be measured by extending both arms out to the side, Einar was pleased to see the ground changing beneath him, sloping downwards and becoming increasingly rocky in a pattern that told him they must be approaching the canyon. It had not appeared, in looking at the map, that the canyon would present them anything close to a vertical descent, but he was still quite anxious to get a good look at it by daylight, before starting down. Not that there was much to see, the way the snow was falling and blowing. There near the rim, traveling was a bit easier for Einar, as the snow had in places been scoured and wind-packed until he was hardly sinking in at all, and within a space of minutes he had reached a spot where the ground dropped sharply away, senses somewhat beyond hearing and sight speaking to him of the vast open spaces beneath his feet. He couldnt see a thing. Heavy and swirling, coming in waves that could be seen as a blowing wall of white against the generalized grey of the storm, snow filled the canyon, obscuring not only the far wall which they would need to ascend, but the slope? Dropoff? Hard to say that lay immediately beneath them, as well. Einar knew that without a better sense of the terrain below them, it would be easy to begin their descent only to end up cliffed out on a little plateau a third of the way down, with nothing to do but climb back up the steep, slick slope above them and start down in a different spot. Picturing the Forest Service map in his mind, he knew it would be of no help whatsoever in this particular dilemma. The detail was not nearly fine enough. He wished for a larger-scale topo map, wished for a brief break in the storm, even a momentary calming of the winds and lessening of the snow that would allow him to catch a glimpse of their route and avoid a costly and potentially disastrous mistake, but he knew that the map was, of course, not an option and knew also that while there was always a possibility that the storm might ease if he waited long enough, such did not appear likely in the near future. And we dont have time to wait. Got to take advantage of every moment of this storm if we can, use its cover to put some miles between us and the spot that choppers been focusing on, because if were not a good ways out by the time the snow stops, were just gonna have to hole up again to avoid making tracks. Really need to be far enough out that tracks arent much of an issue, because weve got to start setting snares, running traplines again pretty soon here, if were going to make it. Dont like heading down into the canyon blind, but its a risk were going to have to take. He turned back to Liz, who had taken shelter under one of the scraggly, wind-twisted limber pines that marked the canyon rim, and was shaking a bottle of water, mixing something, apparently. Seeing him turn back, she went to him. Here. Drink this. What is it? Oregon grape root. Berberine. Just like youve been drinking every day back at the den to try and keep your toes from getting infected. I made this stuff yesterday and stashed it away for the trip. He grabbed the bottle, took a big swallow, shuddering a bit at the yellow liquids biting

bitterness. Thanks. Thats good. Now. Its getting dim out, and I dont think just because of the snow. Evenings coming, Im pretty sure, and I want to see how far down into the canyon we can get before its too dark to travel. Too dark to climb, anyway. Im hoping the climbings not gonna be anything too serious, just a series of steep slides and scree fields between little ledges and outcroppings, and if Ive judged our position anything close to correctly, thats exactly what it should be. Never climbed the walls here, but Ive hiked the canyon floor a time or two, and dont think were going to be seeing any hundred foot rock faces here, or anything even close to that. Good chance that well encounter a spot or two where we run into steep stuff and have to go around, though, so go carefully, test each foot placement and never take for granted whats down below you, if you cant actually see it. Ready? Tightening the waist belt of her pack, she nodded. She was ready, and could only hope and pray Einar really was. Despite his confident speech and the air of hopefulness he was somehow managing to maintain, Liz could see that he was exhausted, hurting, his words seeming to come a bit too quickly and his eyes bright, glazed, strange looking, unwilling to meet hers for very long. She worried that the berberine might well be too little, too late to prevent infection in the damaged toes, worried that the toes might be freezing again, or might already have done so, at which point no amount of berberine and salve and fresh dressings would likely be enough to save them. He was already starting down into the canyon, having removed his snowshoe and lashed it to his pack, and was picking his way down over the rocks of the rim with the spear in one hand for balance. Einar. Wait. Howis it going for you? How are you? Glancing back at her through the swirling snow, an immense weariness showing momentarily in his haggard face, his sagging limbs and bent posture, he straightened his back and grinned at her. Still here. The words were shouted over his shoulder as he turned to go, Liz following down into the unknown, into the abyss of slanting snow and empty, yawning space that one could feel but not quite see. Liz did alright in those first few minutes of the descent, moving slowly and carefully feeling each step with her boot before committing her weight to it, made it down a good fifteen feet of the steep, jumbled rock--mixed limestone and granite that had fallen down from above--without incident. Einar had no such luck. The wooden crutch tip gave him no traction whatsoever on the snow-slick rock that he was attempting to navigate, the crutch more than once slipping out from beneath him at the worst time, a hasty grab at some nearby chokecherry shrubs the only thing that prevented him from taking a nasty fall that would have sent him tumbling who knew how far down the canyon steepness. After the second such slip Liz climbed back up to him, finding him clinging to a clump of snow-crusted gooseberry scrub, both arms wrapped around it as he gasped for air and waited to find the energy to get his feet back under him and start down again. She helped him, finding a secure spot for him to place the crutch and working to disentangle his sleeves and hair from the thorns of his chosen anchor. One bear hide mitten had been lost in the struggle and Liz found it lying on a snowy limestone spur below, retrieved it, marveling that Einar had been able to maintain his grip on the spear through the entire

ordeal. He would not relinquish it even then, tucking it between his elbow and body when the use of both hands became necessary, descending, soon joining her on the spur. Do you want to go back? We could look for another way Back? No. No going back. Lets justtry and get down off this before its dark. Hard enough to see with the snow slanting sideways like this. You doing alright with that pack? Weight messing with your balance? Its fine. Several dozen feet lower, and Einar was moving more slowly than ever, the crutch showing a increasing tendency to glance off of the icy rocks that lay beneath the snow cover, until he finally lost all confidence in his foot staying where he placed it. It didnt matter much; he was beyond caring too greatly about the details, just wanted to get down, and probably would have kept going just as he was, slipping, sliding, taking the occasional short tumble as darkness began sweeping up the canyon and closing in around him, had it not been for the tree. It was a limber pine, he was pretty sure, a gnarly, twisty-trunked thing that had clearly seen many years of hard living there on the windswept canyon wall, and though it had a few tufts of still-living needles, standing out snow-clumped and icy near four foot high top, the tree was mostly dead. As Einar discovered when he slammed into it after one of his many slips, grabbing hold of a branch to halt his fall, only to have it come off in his hand. Liz, some five feet below, saw the entire sequence of events, heard the crack as the branch let go and hurriedly threw herself into a position where she could attempt to interrupt his slide as he came by. Her pack was too heavy, unsteadied her.

Sliding, tumbling once, Einars fall was abruptly arrested by the narrow ledge that Liz had been balancing on, and he rolled over and sat up, the soft deep snow of the ledge cushioning his landing and preventing injury, aside from a rather painful jarring of his blistered toes and still-healing leg. Spitting out a mouthful of snow and scrubbing his eyes free of the stuff, he looked for Liz, did not see her, blinked into the near-darkness and felt around in the snow near him, thinking perhaps he had landed on her without realizing it. Nothing. He tried to call for her, found his throat too dry and let some snow melt and trickle down to moisten it, called out again. There was no answer. Beginning to feel a bit frantic he forced himself to hold still, to think. Tracks. Look for tracks. Maybe she was farther down than you thought. Searching, he found her trail, the trench, to be more accurate, that had been left when she went over the edge, rolled down off of the ledge, andthat was it, was all he could see, the rest of the world being composed of a silent, swirling whiteness that carefully guarded its secrets. She was gone, fallen, and he had done it. Again Einar called for her, shouting into the dimming void below, his voice finally working but his words snatched away by the wind and dashed against the rocks before

they could carry any useful distance. Still he shouted, went on until he was hoarse, waiting each time for a response, straining his ears for anything, any of where she was, but hearing only the wind. Doesnt matter. You know where she is. Only one place she can be, and thats down. Go look for her. He went, slithering down over the ledge and feeling for any foothold that might exist beneath, finding one, letting his weight rest on it and lowering himself. No more tracks, no marks in the clean white snow billow that graced the outcropping on which he stood, and looking back up, he knew what that meant. Again he shouted her name, but neither expected nor received any response. Help me. I got to find her, must pull her back up if shes stuck somewhere, rescue her, but Im barely mobile, myself, in this terrain. Got to have Your help, here Which was when he decided to remove the crutch. The idea came into his mind suddenly, and as soon as he encountered it, he knew that it was the only way. The crutch, while successful at keeping his weight off of his damaged toes and healing leg, left him terribly awkward when it came to negotiating the steep snowy rock of the slope. Broken legs strong enough to support a good bit of weight now, and the footwell, Ill try to stay off the toes, but I need it right now. Got to be able to use it. Strapping the crutch to his pack and praying that it would remain attached--sure gonna need it later--he started down again, finding it much easier to keep his footing, though the right leg, very weak from disuse, frequently threatened to collapse under him and required special consideration. Some distance lower and with darkness gathering, Einar finally came upon more signs of Lizs presence, not the tracks he had hoped for but a place where she had contacted the ground, at least, in passing. He stopped, winded, squinting into the gloom below and hoping to see her there. Nothing. Again he called for her, thought he heard something and shouted again, waiting for the wind to die down just a bit. There! Its got to be her. Down and to the right, sounding to be coming from a good distance away he heard something that did not quite fit the pattern of the storm-noises, faint, and he waited for a lull in the wind but the sound did not come a third time. No matter. He knew the direction, knew it must be her, continued his descent, stopping every so often to shout and listen. A good fifteen minutes passed before he heard Lizs voice again, coming strong and much nearer as he leaned against a spur of limestone, fighting for breath and beginning to question his judgment, wondering if he had somehow gone off course and needed to climb back up. There was no mistaking her position, this time. She was just below him, and he could hear her loud and clear. Liz was stuck but was not, as far as she could tell, injured, a strap of her backpack having hung up quite firmly on the jaggedly broken remains of a pine stump as she tumbled and slid down the rocky steepness of the slope, and since becoming trapped she had been fighting hard for footing secure enough to allow her to safely free the pack, but had been so far unsuccessful in finding any. Einar inched down until he could get a look at her, wedged himself in firmly behind an outcropping just above the spot where the pack was caught, grabbing onto a strap with one hand and finding her hand with the other, the two of them struggling until she made it up there onto the outcropping with him. It was very nearly dark, and Einar, trembling and out breath with the exertion of the decent and rescue, hurried to inspect Liz for injuries.

Youfell all that way? Hurt anything? Hit your head anywhere? No, nothings hurt. I did more fast sliding than I did falling and bouncing, really. Im fine. A little cold, I guess. I was just trying to keep you from going over that ledge didnt want you to hit me and go rolling right on over it. I wasnt trying to go over the edge myself, but thats how it happened. Just wanted to leave you room for a good safe landing in that soft snow. Well I landed on the ledge and stayed there, alright. You should have just kept yourself safe and let me go Im sorry Liz. Wed have been better off if we did like you mentioned and holed up for the night when it started getting dark. I got too focused on taking advantage of every moment of this storm. We covered a good bit of distance just now with all these slides and falls, for that matter. Better call this good, for the night. Lets find a good stout tree or a little ledge or something, and wait for daylight. Liz saw that he was breathing awfully hard, shaking worse as he cooled down from the effort of pulling her up onto the outcropping, could tell that he was in pretty desperate need of some rest and was glad that he seemed to have come to his senses about the absurdity of plunging blindly down the canyon wall in the dark and storm. I think I saw a place. When I was hanging there, I noticed a little overhand just on the other side of that little scree field. See? Right over there where you can just make out a vertical strip of white where the snows covered the scree, and then a dark shadow with a few evergreens on top of it. It doesnt look like much right now, but a few minutes ago when it was lighter and the snow had slowed down a little Do you think you can make it over there? I made it down here, didnt I? He spoke wearily but with an almost cheerful buoyancy that spoke of his relief at having found Liz alive and safe, scrambled to his feet and helped her back into the pack. Einar! She grabbed his arm as if to steady him. You lost your crutch! I can follow your tracks back up, try and find Nah. Its here. Couldnt climb with it anymore, Kept slipping, had to take it off and lash it to the pack. Worked better without it, on this steep stuff. But your foot He shrugged, limped off in the direction of Lizs scree field and the shelter that its far side promised. Liz had been correct in her hasty observation of the area beyond the scree slide, a four foot ledge jutting out from an inward-leaning wall of limestone and leaving a small, snow-free area, slant-floored and rocky, a bit damp, not perhaps the ideal choice of camping locations if one had choices, but it looked nothing short of wonderful to the two snow-encrusted and bedraggled travelers that evening as they climbed up into its shelter, beating the snow from outer garments and gladly freeing themselves of heavily-loaded

packs. With the storm continuing in full force Einar decided that a small fire was a reasonable risk, Liz hurrying out in search of dry wood while he prepared a spot for the welcome blaze. Scratching a shallow depression into the rocky, frozen ground he piled up a number of small slabs on its outside edge to act as a reflector and throw heat back into the rocky cove, where it would in turn reflect off of the back wall and keep them reasonably warm. Liz was back by the time he finished the reflector--doggone rocks sure are heavy tonight, getting kinda hard to lift them--breaking up some of the larger dry branches she had been able to collect and splitting them with her knife before arranging them in his fire pit. Liz, seeing how cold he had become sitting there, was all in favor of using one of the fire pellets to get the thing started in a hurry, but Einar took a minute to split one of the dry spruce sticks she had found into toothpick-fine shards, arranging them above a wad of cattail down and striking sparks, sitting back as the flames climbed and crackled up through the tiny pyramid, Liz adding larger sticks as they went. The fire was soon throwing off a good bit of heat, which, combined with the absence of the wind, left Liz before long warm enough to take off the bear hide, spreading it to dry on a series of rocks beside the fire and starting snow melting for a pot of stew. Einar might have parted with his bear hide also at that point, had he not been curled up in it beside the fire pit, fast asleep. Liz let him rest while she cooked, not relishing the prospect of having to wake him but knowing that he must eat, needed dry clothes, knowing that his foot would certainly be needing attention, too. She need not have worried. The foot woke him, soon enough, the nagging pain of his damaged toes taken to a new level by the abuse they had seen in his crutchless descent and search for her, his leg aching, also, after the unaccustomed use. Halfway through Lizs stew-making he sat up a bit groggily, leaned back against the rocks and pulled out the map, studying it intently for a minute, lost in its contours as he attempted to pick out in more detail their best course of action after making it up and out the other side of the canyon. Tomorrow. Its got to be tomorrow. I have to pick up the pace somehow, because we must at least make the other side of the canyon before this snow ends. The contour-lines would not hold still, though, their dancing and jumping leaving him a bit nauseated, and he found himself able to make little sense of the map. Liz startled him by sitting down and asking if she could tend to his foot, and he tried to refuse but she insisted that it had been too long since they had changed the dressings, far too long, and he knew she was correct, knew that things must be getting pretty serious when not even the heavy over-boot and layers of lichen and wool insulation were sufficient to mask the stink of his foot anymore, the sweet-sick stench of decay, and he finally assented, lying back against the rocks as she did what little she could for the foot. Supper that night was a shared pot of stew, bear fat and venison shreds with a few chokecherries thrown in for sugar, a fine meal and filling after the long cold afternoon spent out in the storm, and while Liz thoroughly enjoyed it, Einar could hardly stay awake long enough to begin taking the edge off his hunger. Morning came, a pale, slow, soft-footed creature that snuck in between the swirling gusts of a storm that had not let up at all during the night, and Einar was sick. He knew the feeling, the pressing heaviness in his head that muddled his thoughts and made it hard to

get his eyes all the way open, heart beating too fast, limbs that felt like jelly and did not respond promptly or at all well when asked to perform a task. At first that morning when awakened before dawn by a strong sense that something was not right, he had eaten snow, great handfulls of snow, in an attempt to combat the heavy hotness in his head, trying to drive back the confusion and the weakness that it brought, but it was no use. He didnt even need to wait for Liz to feel his forehead and tell him to know that he had a fever, but when she did, she gently pulled him back down onto the bear hide and covered him up--hed insisting on standing, trying to move about the shelter--built up the fire and offered him a sip of water. He drank, looked up at her with eyes bright and strange and a bit wild. I need that yarrow now, Liz. All of it. And all of the usnea you have with you, and the extra sock strips. Got to head out there for a while, got something to take care of. Ill be back. Liz handed Einar the herb packets and dressings, her face suddenly white at the realization of what he appeared ready to do. Fishing around in her pack, she took out the small flask that she had taken from Petes body, whiskey, she was pretty sure, and no more than a swallow of it, but perhaps valuable to him, nonetheless. She handed him the flask. Einar, stay. Let me do it. My hands are steadier right now, with that fever youve got. It will be better this way. He shook his head, managed a bit of a sad smile, knew she was right but knew just as surely that he could not let her do what she was asking, for a number of reasons. No. This ismine to do. Wait here. Keep the fire going. Ill be back. He rose, using the spear for support and hopping in an attempt to keep his right foot out of contact with the ground. Liz stood, wanting to go with him, to help, wanting to be there at least, to help prevent him from bleeding to death if anything went wrong, if he happened to pass out in the snow halfway through the operation, not liking the idea of him wandering off on his own at all in his feverish and half-lucid state, let alone performing surgery on his own foot. She stayed, though, watching him limp off and knowing that, despite his fevered state and the obvious pain he was in, he meant what he said and expected her to honor it. Not far above the ledge that had sheltered them for the night, Einar found a second protected area, not as large as the first but well-shielded from the wind by a large evergreen, and he crawled into it, resting for a minute with his head on his knee before spreading out the contents of his pack. Shaking the bottle of berberine solution he took a good swallow, wished he had some willow to go with it but knew he wouldnt have been able to use it even available, as it would have increased his chances of serious bleeding. Easing off his boot and finding himself momentarily sickened at the smell, he looked critically at the foot, seeing that the last three toes seemed to be the source of most of the trouble. The big toe and second one looked pretty bad, but the blisters had gone down

some, and it appeared that they might still have some chance of healing. He hoped. Knew his balance would certainly be better if it was possible to save those two toes. The knife needed sharpening and he did it, cleaning the blade with a handful of snow afterwards and debating briefly whether he would be better off using the ounce or two of alcohol in the bottle to disinfect the implement, or simply gulping it down, settling on using a bit of it to prepare the blade for the operation. That done, he dabbed some of the remainder on the un-blistered and whole skin of his foot just above the damaged toes, gritting his teeth and pouring a bit move over the entire area, down over the black, decaying flesh of the toes. Mistake! He gasped for breath, lowered his head against the searing pain. Guess its disinfected now! Need that willow stick to clamp between my teeth though, or Im gonna start losing them, too He found the stick, got it situated and once more turned his attention--what remained of it--to the little pile of supplies spread out on the rock in front of him: yarrow to slow the bleeding, soft, absorbent clumps of usnea--previously boiled and dried by Liz--to pack the wound, the half bottle of berberine solution that he knew must be stretched to act as both antiseptic wash for the wounds he was about to create, as well as an ingested antibiotic to hopefully help his body fight off the remnants of the infection that was making him so sick that morning. Moving slowly--that seeming to be the only way he was capable of moving, at the moment--he set a number of usnea clumps on a flat rock beside him, spreading out the dried yarrow beside them. That combination, he knew, along with a good bit of pressure, ought to be enough to stop whatever bleeding would result from the operation, and if notwell, if not I guess I keep pressure on it as well as I can, hurry back to Lizs fire, take my knife and start heating metal and cauterizing things. And it seems I could reduce the chance of serious bleeding in the first place by using snow to chill things down, too. Sure dont want to apply it directly to the toe area, unless it becomes a matter of stopping life-threatening bleeding, because itll only do more harm to the areas that are already cold-damaged, but I bet if I press some snow against my ankle area--he filled a sock with snow, curved it around into a half circle and wrapped it around his ankle from the back-it should help control the bleeding without doing too much damage. Deciding that he was as ready as he was ever going to be, Einar clamped the stick firmly in his mouth, planted his foot on a rock whose surface he had washed with a bit more of the alcohol from the flask, and went to work on what was left of his little toe, black and rotting but, as he was to discover, apparently still containing some live nerves. He finished the task, finally, pressing with the knife and rocking it back and forth on what he guessed to be the second joint, a slow and agonizing process that left him wishing, between suppressed groans, for a pair of snips or bolt cutters or some such tool to speed the process along. An axe, even, would work a good bit better than this. Staring at the remaining toes as he pressed a clump of usnea to the barely oozing wound left by his mangled removal of the first, he wondered about his options, first placing the knife pointdown on the next toe and preparing to slam it with as sizeable a rock as he could lift in one hand. It seemed that such an attempt, though, might well lead the knife tip to glance off a bone, leaving the job unfinished and his foot further mangled. He placed the knife blade-down, then, across the next toe--better not try both at once, here--took as deep a breath as he was able and gave the blade a good sharp whack with a rock. Success.

More or less. He was left with a bit of unfinished business, saw to it with another sharp smack of the rock, slowed the bleeding, which did not appear particularly serious, and went on to the next. All three toes gone, Einar knew his job was just beginning. He had to debride all of the black, infected flesh from the remainder of his foot, had to expose healthy, pink tissue, he supposed, if he wanted a reasonable chance of keeping the rot from spreading on up his foot. Dizzy and half blind with pain, he found himself suddenly wishing Liz was there to help him with the next bit, doubting, in a moment of weakness, his ability to carry through with it. Get ahold of yourself. Got to be done. Do it. And he did. The tastes and smells were to be the things that stood out most vividly in his memory, later, more distinctly even than the sharp wet crunching sound as he cut through sinew and bone to excise the dead toes, or a hurt so strong that it nearly robbed him of sight and hearing and crushed the air out of his lungs as he trimmed away the black, useless tissue that remained until he reached red, bleeding, living flesh, then went a bit further just to be sure he was leaving none of the rot behind, pulling and stretching the skin over the wound and pressing dried yarrow against it, wrapping the whole area with a sock strip and nearly passing out when he jammed his foot back into the overboot. Those memories would be there, certainly, would be with him for a good while, but it was to be the sharp bitterness of the willow stick clamped between his teeth, the salty tang of his own tears as they ran down into his mouth, and the bile that rose in the back of his throat at the smell-decay, death, and the death is going to be yours, and soon, if you dont finish this, and then the pungent iron scent of fresh blood--that would come to mind first and often unbidden whenever he thought of that day. Done. Done as much as I can, for now. He shoved everything into the pack, rose, walking, grim and straight-backed down to the fire, and Liz. Got a descent to finish, canyon to climb. Believing that his bleeding was under control and not a source of immediate danger, Einar wanted to leave right away in order to take advantage of the continuing storm, and told Liz so as soon as he had limped his way back to the fire. She would not hear of it, took one look at his terribly drawn features and stilted gait and led him over to the bear hide bed, which she had left intact and even kept warm with rocks from the fire. Hurrying him in between the layers of fur with his foot propped up on a stack of rocks before he could do much to resist her efforts, she brought him water, held it up so he could drink. He sat up, pushed her hand away. No. Cant do this right now. Got to move. Einar knew that if he allowed himself to lie down just then, if he gave the crushing pain and the exhaustion left behind by his fever and illness and exacerbated by his efforts with the toes half a chance to catch up with him, he might not be moving for a great while. He could feel a terrible weakness waiting for him out there just beyond the limits of sight, near, its presence real, waiting to spring and pin him down at the first sign of vulnerability, to render him a useless, curled-up heap of whimpering, trembling human gelatin that lacked the strength to rise or the wits to know it needed to do so--lovely thought, huh? Lets avoid that! And I cant afford it,

anyway. Weve got to move. Cant be here so close to where we started, when this storm lifts. He rolled over, struggled to his knees with a grunt. We will move, Einar. Soon. But pleasegive yourself some time first. Let me look at your foot and see what I can do for it. And I havent seen you drink more than a sip of water all morning. Between that fever and whatever blood you lost just now, youre going to end up seriously dehydrated if you keep pushing like this, and then just how fast do you think youll be moving? Lets stay here for an hour or two at least so you can rest and get some water down. She handed him a bottle, having refilled all of them with snowmelt water while he was away. Einar took the water, narrowed his eyes and stared at her with an odd mix of appreciation and defiance on his face, and proceeded to down the entire bottle, not so much as stopping for breath until he had drained the last drop. There, he shuddered, the sudden infusion of liquid not setting at all well in his stomach.. You happy now? Wellthat is a good start. But I certainly didnt mean you had to Good. Then lets go. Seeing that there was no talking him out of it, Liz helped him into the crutch, quickly feeling the bear hide overboot as she did so to make sure it was not becoming saturated with blood, which it was not. Though if hes got that whole boot stuffed with usnea, it could absorb an awful lot of blood before any would start leaking out. I guess Ill just have to hope that if hes bleeding, hell pass out before losing enough to be lifethreatening, so I can drag him under a tree and patch him up. Because it sure doesnt look like hes going to let me see it, as long as hes awake It did not take long to wrap things up there at the camp, Liz putting out the fire and hiding signs of its presence with a few quick kicks at the adjacent snow bank, knowing the storm would soon complete the job and leave the spot well-concealed until it melted out in the spring. When she looked up from a final inspection of the campsite, it was to see Einar standing out on the edge of the rather sudden dropoff beneath it, leaning forward and staring down intently through snow that was still falling, but perhaps not quite as thickly as it had been, a few minutes before. He turned as if to rejoin her, seemed to think twice about wasting the steps and remained where he was. I see our path, Liz. Made it closer to the bottom last night than Id thought. No more vertical stuff, just a couple of scree fields, then an oak-brush slope, and well hit the bottom. He was relieved, had been dreading the series of slips, slides and bone-jarring falls that he knew would have awaited him if their path entailed similar terrain to what they had encountered the evening before. The remaining three or four hundred feet of descent would still be a difficulty, he knew, a major challenge crutch-bound as he was, and then the climb up the opposite sideHe closed his eyes, shoulders sagging a bit. No, dont go there. Not yet. Just get yourself down to the bottom for now, let that come

later. Little pieces. You can do little pieces, and its all made up of little pieces, really Liz had joined him, and they started down. Aside from a few wrong turns in the nearwhiteout conditions that largely prevailed, leaving them more than once, above steep ground and needing to retrace their steps until they found a better way down, the descent went as smoothly as Einar had hoped it might. The terrain offered them little resistance, a very fortunate thing indeed, as Einars body offered plenty of its own, the fever coming in waves but never leaving him completely--will take a while, I guess, must have plenty of that poison in my system, still--and on its downward side leaving him freezing and unable to warm up, if a bit more clear-headed than at its peaks. He just set his jaw and kept pushing ahead, doing his best to shove the difficulties into the background, where they could be dealt with later. Along with the remains of his foot. There it was, the bottom, an interminable-seeming slope of gnarly, twisted oak brush that grabbed and tore at them as they wormed through its fastness giving way at last to the more open ground of the canyon floor, frozen creek running beneath its thick shield of snow and ice, giving off an occasional gurgle that was loud enough to be audible through the frozen layers. Willows. Einar smelled them before he saw them, sweet, sweet willows, no better smell on earth, thank You for willowsand they were soon walking among them, looking for passages through the tangled density of the red-stemmed scrub that inhabited the damp area around the creek, and Einar, lagging behind, stepped up his pace for the space of several yards, caught up to Liz and grabbed a dangling strap of her pack. He had to stop. Liz did not need words to sense his intent, which was a good thing, as he had no breath to spare on words. She turned back and helped him to sit down on the snow bank that bordered the elk trail which, winding and narrow, drifted over in places by the new snow, was providing them a path through the thicket. When she offered him water, he drank, following it with a swallow of berberine, finally finding his voice. Should cut some willow bark. Just shave the bark, coil it up. I cant use it now bleedingbut should have it for later. Taking out his knife--handle still crusted in places with his blood, need to do a better job cleaning it up--he began shaving long strips of bark from the willow stems that stood within his reach, adding coil after coil to his pockets and then to his pack. Liz set to work near him, and he turned to her. Theyll see this if they end up down here. Folks without much experience might just think the elk had been at the willows for a little forage, but a lot of people would know. Willing to take the risk though. Wont show from the air, and if they dont see anything from the air, why would they be down here in this particular spot, in the first place? Just dont go cutting a bunch of stems. Too heavy to carry anyway, on top of everything else. Packs bulging with the addition of a good bit of willow bark, they started on their way again, Einar resisting a rather strong urge to curl up in the snow with a mouthful of the strong, bitter stuff and let come what may. Forget that. Come on. Get your mind back

on something useful. We ought to pass through another band of oak as we start the climb, Liz. Should get some oak bark to dry and save, too. For the tannin. Its a pretty good disinfectant, helps stop diarrhea, can reduce swelling and help with some burns. I used it last fall when I got caught in the wildfire and scorched my upper back a little, and I think it really helped. Is that what those scars are from? I was wondering, but didnt know if I should ask Yeah. Burns werent too bad I guess, healed up Ok, but it sure was rough trying to carry a pack and keep it from rubbing on that area. And then it started raining, I couldnt keep anything dry, or cleanhuh. Guess I dont have it all that bad right now, everything considered. He shook his head, took off up the slope, laughing strangely. Hey. Here are those oaks. Lets get our tannin-bark set aside, then on up and out of this canyon! Only about fifteen hundred or so feet of climbing left! Shouldnt take long at all, right? Unsure whether Einars sudden enthusiasm was genuine, or a result of the fever returning in full force, Liz joined him and began chipping at the outer layer of bark on the twisted trunk of a scrub oak, knowing that he would not be likely to rest until they had finished the task and were well on their way to being up out of the canyon. Fifteen hundred feet is a long way to climb when one only has the use of one foot and is struggling with blood loss and a persistent fever, a fact which Einar was reminded of more than once on the climb up out of the canyon. He would have been faced with a harder time still had Liz not noticed a steep, treed gully that appeared, what she could see of it, to split the canyon face, steering Einar into it more to get him out of the bitter, gusting wind than anything else. Climbing up through the tangle of oak brush and box elders that choked the lower reaches of the gully, they came to a spot where a large boulder loomed up out of the storm, blocking their path and requiring them to traverse around it. The rock was of limestone, and as big as a truck. Out of its top grew a spreading, many-trunked box elder tree, leaving the boulder to look very much like a head with a very frizzy, snow-covered head of hair on top. Einar laughed, pointed it out to Liz. Pausing for a brief rest in the relative shelter offered by the soaring buttresses of rock that guarded the gulley down there near the canyon floor, leaning on the hair-tree boulder, he peered upwards through the storm, squinting, bobbing his head one way and another and finally looking back at Liz with a weary, lopsided smile, appearing satisfied. Good choice, this gully. Gives us at least some chance of making the top without running into cliffs and having to do a few pitches of 5.11 or 5.12 climbing on icy, snowy limestonefun for you, maybe, but Im missing a few pieces now, remember, so you got to give me some time to get used to it, day or two before Ill be able try that kind of stuff again She shook her head, sat down beside him. Poor guy. Hes seeming a good bit goofier than usual, at the moment. Looks like hes in a lot of pain, but Im not sure hes even aware of it, half the time. Maybe its better that way Einar, Ive never been able to climb 5.11 on my best day, so I guess this gullys a good thing for both of us, huh? Id

like to learn though, so maybe in a month or two when youre all healed up and were settled in somewhere with plenty to eat and dont have to think about running all the time, you can teach me! Month or two? Huh. Wont need any month or two. Be climbing again in a week. Plenty of people climb with two toes, three toes, no toes, though the big toe does help with balance, but I still got my big toe and Im gonna keep it, too. Did you know that they found an Egyptian mummy with a wooden big toe? Yep. And on the right foot, too, though she had all of her other toes. But if I end up losing mine, Ill just carve a new one out of spruce or antler or something and strap it on--none of this is gonna stop me, just got to stuff my boot with moss or wool or leaves and off Ill go, better than ever, wont need to worry about freezing those toes anymore either which is a big advantage, see, so you coming, or not? Climbing, that is YesEinar, of course Im coming. Id love to come climbing with you. But first, lets just concentrate on climbing up out of this canyon, Ok? Now before we start up again, youd better let me take a look at your foot. I want to make sure youre not bleeding too much. Here. You work on this bottle of water while I look. He sat there clutching the water bottle as Liz gently slid the overboot off and moved some of the usnea aside, seeing that the sock strip with which he had originally bound the foot was soaked in places with blood and beginning to ooze. A fairly significant loss for someone in his condition, but it seemed to be under control. Seeing that Einar had wrapped the wounds tightly and quite well, she was hesitant to remove the sock strip, not wanting to give the bleeding a chance to start up again more seriously, opting instead to add another strip on top. She felt Einar tense up as she wrapped the second strip, glanced up at him and was suddenly a bit sorry for having decided to look at the foot, at all. She could see in his eyes that the half-lucid state in which he had spent the last while contentedly carrying on about his future adventures in toeless climbing had been shattered, her handling of the foot having brought him fully and rather sharply back to reality. He had begun shivering again, too, and looked awfully cold. It was to be a long climb for him. The water bottle, seemingly forgotten in his white-knuckled hand, was in immediate danger of being crushed and its water lost, and she took it from him, held it up and offered him a sip. Here. Now let me help you get the boot back on. Youre still bleeding a little, but it doesnt look too bad. Sorry I had to hurt you like this, but I needed to make sure you werent losing too much blood. Its Ok. Needed to bechecked, and I think I got a little weird for a while back there. Getting better now. Thanks. So much better, in fact, that he found himself suddenly having to turn aside and vomit in the snow as the hurt of the missing toes rose up to nearly overwhelm him. He wiped his face, stood, leaning heavily on the hair-tree-topped boulder. Better get moving. The drainage they were following got steep very quickly, and at first they worked their

way up the left side, following game trails. There were no tracks fresher than the newfallen snow to tell them in whose footsteps they might be walking, but Einar knew the paths likely belonged to the elk they had been following down among the willows. With the steep walls closing in on both sides, he kept expecting that they would reach a spot where the grade became too steep for them to easily--ha! Easily? Nothing about this is easy--continue climbing, but he saw that the elk trail continued, and knew that if the elk had found a way, then so could they. Elk, unlike bighorn sheep and mountain goats, could not navigate sheer cliffs, skipping and jumping from one precariously narrow rim of rock to another with reckless abandon; their abilities on steep ground were well matched to those of even a half-crippled human such as himself. The game trails eventually ended, though, or perhaps the two climbers simply lost them somewhere and could not pick them up again in all of that snow, and they found themselves pushing upwards through an incredibly dense mat of chokecherry and other bushes. As they ascended, there was more and more snow on the ground and on the bushes, weighing them down until in places they lay parallel with the ground, and it became impossible for Einar and Liz to see when they were standing on the ground, and when they stood atop a mass of bent-over branches and stems. Navigating the steep tangle, while exhausting even for Liz, was proving very nearly impossible for Einar, the crutch becoming hopelessly and frequently entangled in the grabbing, clinging brush beneath his feet and requiring him to stop and lie on his side on the snow as he struggled to free it. Liz, seeing that Einar stood no chance of keeping up with her, matched her pace to his own, walking beside or at times even behind him to assist in freeing the crutch and hauling him back to his feet after each encounter with the brush. Her own pack, weighing well in excess of fifty pounds, was creating major problems for her, as well, making it incredibly difficult to rise again on the unsteady footing of that slope each time she crouched down to help Einar, and once, while walking on what appeared to be deep, secure snow, the packs weight caused her to punch through and fall up to her armpits down into the matted tangle of brush that lay beneath the snow. She was stuck, tried to find footing so she could raise herself, lift herself and get to her knees on the snow above in the hopes of being able to crawl off without punching through again, but the wiry, flexible chokecherry branches gave her nothing to brace against, and she just kept sinking deeper, until finally she freed herself from the pack and dropped to the ground. Several minutes struggle followed, in which she worked her way up through the tangled branches and emerged again on the surface, where she found Einar lying on his stomach in the snow, one hand wrapped through the shoulder strap of her pack, pulling with all his might to bring it back up again. She lay down with him and together they managed to retrieve it, hauling it up onto the surface and carefully scooting back away from the hole lest one of them end up in it again, and the struggle begin anew. Lying there until they caught their breath they continued, too worn out for words, their pants soaked with snow from all the crawling, walking on the tops of the bent-over brush, pulling themselves up the impossibly tangled and steep slope. After continuing thus for quite some time, long enough, in fact, that even Einar began to wonder if there was ever to be an end to the torment of that slope, they finally reached a place where the ground became too steep to support the thick growth of vegetation, and they were climbing on

dirt and rock, snow-slick and in places icy, climbing up between soaring, vertical cliffs whose tops were lost in the swirl of blowing snow. Many times after that, scrambling for a hold in the steep chute, they expected to run head-on into an impassible cliff, but they managed to keep going, working their way between limestone crags. Einar, fearing an unrecoverable fall, finally parted with the crutch, asking Liz to strap it to his back and continuing at a crawl. As they neared the top, aspens began to appear, and the going became slightly less steep, side channels opening up out of the main drainage. Most of these alternate routes appeared far too steep to offer them passage but one, boulderchoked and overgrown with snow-covered gooseberry and other shrubs, appeared navigable, and they started up into it, a row of stark, leafless aspens at its mouth just barely visible through the storm and offering them hope that the climb was nearing its end, and Einar strapped himself back into the crutch, standing, climbing once more on his feet. Well over half an hour later--Einar was terribly slow, and Liz refused to leave his side--they stepped together up over the last rugged rim of snowy, wind-scoured limestone, and out onto the gently sloping ground above the canyon rim. Before them, on the far side of a small open meadow, lay a dense stand of evergreens which they both knew would offer shelter for the night, while below their feet yawned the storm-hidden vastness of the canyon, conquered, but not by their strength alone, and they both knew it. Liz put a hand on Einars shoulder and he turned to her, grinning, a fierce light in his sunken eyes, took her hand. The stormy days pale brightness was just beginning to fade. They had done it. Einar and Liz wasted no time, after a last look back behind them into the eveningdimming depths of the canyon, in heading for the trees. The wind was hitting them with its full fury once again now that they no longer had the canyon walls or the closer, more confining ones of the drainage to shield them, and it felt as though neither one of them was wearing so much as a stitch of dry clothing, after that climb. Tops and bottoms alike were caked with snow and ice, the bearskins, loosely worn as they had been, not providing the best protection during all of the floundering and crawling that the terrain had necessitated. No matter. The storm raged on; they could have a fire. And had better have one, too, and soon. Einar was freezing, his temperature beginning to drop dangerously as he cooled down from the effort of the climb, and Liz, worn out and walking around in wet clothes, was not too far behind him. The trees, as it turned out, were clustered around a large depression in the ground, the start of a draw, it seemed, surrounding and filling it, and Liz urged Einar to wait under the shelter of one of the trees at its edge while she searched for the best spot to shelter for the night. Suddenly remembering very clearly what had happened the last time he had waited while she searched for shelter, though, he vehemently insisted on going along, limping through the timber behind her as they hunted for the best spot. The snow was quite deep in places there in the trees, having been piled and packed by the winds that swept the canyon rim, and they slogged through it, pushing through the drifts until they came to a place where the gusts had been largely blocked by the deepening of the depression, finding the going a good bit easier. The forest was quite dense down there, the closeness of the trees and the presence of aspens and even a few small, stunted cottonwoods giving an appearance of perpetual dampness, as if a small creek must run

through the draw, in the summertime. It was quite damp at the moment, too, and perhaps a bit dismal-looking in the fading light, moss on tree trunks and great clumps and strands of usnea hanging from evergreen branches, but to Einar, who would have been asleep on his feet if not for the pain of his missing toes, it was most welcome, a refuge. He chose a large spruce whose branches, along with a fallen evergreen that lay directly behind it, served to create a virtually snow-free area beneath around it, clearing, with Lizs help, the rest of the snow until the reached the layer of mostly dry duff beneath. Good enough. He fumbled himself free of the crutch, sank to his knees for a moment, forehead on the ground and arms pressed tightly against his sides for warmth, done, beat, very nearly too tired to breathe, before rising--not done yet. Back to work, you lazy, shivering pile of bones, before you lie here and sleepand freeze, and die. Youre not far from it--and hopping about the camp, breaking off small, dry branches for a fire. Liz returned minutes later with a big armload of firewood, arranging Einars pile of small, barkless branches into a rough teepee in the spot where he had scraped the duff away to reveal the frozen dirt beneath, placing a piece of evergreen bark to keep the ground from steaming as it thawed and putting out the young flames. Before long they had a good crackling blaze going, Einar crawling around and prying a number of rocks loose from the frozen duff to stack on one side of the fire as a reflector. As he worked, Liz beat as much of the accumulated ice and snow as she could from her bear hide poncho and hung it from branches in the tree to act as a further windbreak and heat reflector, doing the same with Einars, which he had cast aside as too heavy. Bringing the hides together at the top and tying them with bits of cordage, Liz had soon created a rough shelter which worked wonders in keeping the wind out and the fires warmth in, smoke rising gently along the trees trunk and escaping through the gap she had left between hides. Spreading the deer hide hair-side up on the duff, she unrolled the yearling hide, which had been kept dry in her pack during the climb. Hanging a pot over the little fire, she started some water heating, throwing in a handful of new snow to add to its volume. Her clothes were soaked, and she removed them, wringing them out and hurrying into the dry set in her pack, hanging the wet ones to dry from a branch some distance from the fire. Hey, Einar! She called out into the rapidly growing darkness, that reflector youve built looks great. Youve gathered plenty of rocks now, I think. Come on in here and start getting warm. No answer. Where are you? Dont tell me youve wandered off in this storm to freeze your other foot She shouted again, parted the hides and looked out, a sudden crashing of falling rocks telling her that he was out on the other side of the shelter. Quickly joining him, she saw that he had gathered up quite a pile of rocks and was methodically arranging them on the edges of the bear hides that trailed on the ground, holding them down against the prying of the wind to create an even more secure shelter. Helping him finish, she herded him into the warm, still air of the little half-tent. The water was beginning to bubble, and before long Einar was in his dry clothes, also, the two of them huddled together in the yearling hide as they passed a pot of spruce needle and bearfat tea back and forth. There were things he wanted to say to Liz, things they needed to discuss about the coming day, but his head was too thick with exhaustion to trust his own words, so he kept quiet. The foot had to have attention though, dressings

needed changing and he knew he had better wash the wounds with berberine solution if he wanted any chance of avoiding a secondary infection that would lead to worse trouble than he had been in to begin with. As soon as his shivering had subsided a bit and he could begin to feel his fingers again, he pulled off the boot and began removing the blood-soaked dressings, Liz feeding the fire as he worked and holding him to keep the warming process going. Not frozen. Dressings arent frozen. Thats good. Surprising, but good. Sure would like to keep those last two toes He was asleep then, head nodding forward and hands falling open before he could even finish pulling aside the dressings to get a look at the foot. Liz gently slipped out from behind him and eased him to the ground, working carefully on the foot in the hopes of allowing him to go on sleeping, but not at all surprised when he startled awake as soon as she pulled away the last layer of blood-soaked usnea and began unwrapping the sock strip. Uhhey, I was gonna do that, he mumbled thickly, hauling himself upright and leaning back against the tree trunk. Guess I fell asleep. Told you to just go ahead and kick me when I fall asleep. Well, I was just about to kick you--can still do it, if you want--but thought maybe I should take care of the foot, first. How about letting me do it, this time? Easier for me to reach, and easier for me to see, too. He nodded, letting his head rest on the tree trunk. Not a very pretty sight, Im afraid. Kinda tore things up. Im no surgeon, thats for sure. But I guess maybe it worked, because Im pretty sure the fevers gone, or going, anyway. Or maybe Im just too tired to tell that its still hereguess well know I didnt get all the infected parts, if my foot starts turning black. Otherwise it ought to heal up, eventually. Liz unwrapped the dressing, steeling herself against a powerful urge to avert her eyes from Einars mangled foot, to flee the shelter and be sick or to burst into tears at the sight of what he had done to himself, but she took a deep breath and did neither, managing to speak steadily when she addressed him. No, your foot isnt turning black. Its a little swollen and theres a good bit of dried blood that needs to be cleaned off, but at least thatthat smell is gone. Gangrene. Pretty sure thats what the smell was. Toes were rotting off, starting to poison me. Probably wouldnt havemade it another day or two if Id left them, the way I was feeling this morning. That, or would have been too sick to do anything about it. May have a chance now. Dont talk like that, youre going to be just fine, she wanted to tell him. What happened to the guy who was all ready to take me climbing, a few hours ago, saying that losing a few toes was not going to stop him? She kept quiet, though, knowing that he was by no means out of danger and supposing it was good that he realized it, hoping that the lessening of his delirium might indicate that the illness brought on by the infection was beginning to leave him. Though if he doesnt get some sleep soon, hes surely going to be

right back where he was this morning, between the exhaustion and the pain, ranting about how one can climb perfectly well with three toes or no toes and likely as not wanting to move on and leave this good warm shelter before half the night has gone by. Id better try and get things wrapped up here pretty quick and see if we can both get to sleep before that happens. Im going to wash your foot in some of this berberine thats left, and boil up some more real quick so you have a full bottle for tomorrow. Shouldnt the wounds be sewn up, or something? There are some sutures in the medical kit Leaning forward, he inspected the foot. Yeah, it would heal quicker if we could do that, but I dont really trust that weve been able to clean it out very well, and the last thing I would want to do is to sew up a bunch of bacteria and assorted gunk in there. Be better off just leaving it open for now, I think. Doesnt look like Im losing much blood at the moment, and if I can keep it wrapped tightly enough with those sock strips, Im hoping that the flaps of skin I left can heal over the wounds, eventually. Hard to say, moving around like this. Didnt matter how careful I was back there on that climb, I couldnt help but whack the foot into things from time to time, get it hung up on brush. Thats likely to make things move around a little, even with all this wrapping and padding. Well see. Im just glad to have the toes gone. Could feel that I was starting to go downhill fast this morning, with that fever and all, and I dont know for sure that Im through with all of that, yet. I really need to be drinking as much of that berberine stuff as I can manage, so if I end up getting real sick again and start forgetting, maybe you can remind me, Ok? Just pour it down my throat if you have to. You got my permission, this time. Iuhknow I got pretty weird this morning. Einaryoure always pretty weird! But yes, Ill make sure you keep drinking the stuff. Im going to boil some more of it right now. Should I just bandage up the foot, then, like you had it? Yes. I can do it, though. Pretty ugly, and Im the one that made the mess... Dont be ridiculous. I would have done that part for you, too, if youd have let me. Now. Ill get this washed and wrapped back up, and change the dressing on the two toes you have left, just like we were doing before with the others. Can you have some willow bark to chew, or is it too soon still? Dont know. Dont want to start bleeding tonight, or when were walking tomorrow. Better wait a day on the willow. Just do it. He clamped the well-worn willow stick in his mouth and lowered his head, concentrating on his breathing as she worked. The foot tended to and Lizs new batch of Oregon grape solution boiled up and bottled for the coming day, she heated up a quick stew by dropping a packet of pemmican into some boiling water and stirring for a minute. Instant soup, mountain man style, she told Einar, and he managed a bit of a smile, though having a very difficult time staying awake and not altogether certain what she had said. The pain of his foot was still there,

certainly, sharp and tearing at times, leaving him to sit bolt upright, grabbing for the foot, or his knife alternately, but his exhaustion was rapidly becoming the stronger force. He ate a bit at her urging, dozing between bites and sinking quite willingly to the ground when she told him supper was over and it was time to sleep. They curled up together under the yearling hide, then, a few heated rocks adding to the warmth of their bed. Liz stayed awake for a while, listening to Einar breathe and pushing sticks into the fire as the storm raged on outside their shelter, gusts sweeping forcefully up across the canyon rim and erasing all trace of their passage, and eventually she slept, also. Einars shivering woke him from a dark and unpleasant dream--vague, shadowy, its meaning slipping from his mind but an indefinable and therefore undisputable sense of dread remaining--sometime in the early hours of the night, bone cold and aching fiercely where his hip rested on a rock or root or some such that lay concealed beneath the deer hide. He shifted slightly to relieve the pressure, shoved numbed hands into his armpits and tucked his chin down against his chest. The fire had gone out, the night air creeping in under the inadequate cover of the yearling hide, and he knew he ought to get up and do something about it, but exhaustion weighed too heavily on him, and he kept still. Something was tearing at his foot, powerful teeth grinding the flesh, crushing the bones, and he lay there holding himself rigid against the bitter chill and the pain, trying not to cry out or to leap on the creature with his knife and stop its savaging of his foot. Liz had heard the change in his breathing, pressed herself closer--he had somehow edged away from her in the night and ended up half off of the deer hide--and wrapped her arms around him. She felt that he was freezing and added a few chunks of wood to the barely glowing coals, bringing the fire back to life and seeking to rub the chill from his limbs. It did not seem to be helping. Want me to make some more tea? She whispered, rearranging the yearling hide so that it better covered him. No. BeOk. You warm enough? Well I was until I found you again just now! What have you been doing? Lying out there in the snow for the last few hours? You feel like ice. He mumbled something unintelligible, curled up and was asleep again almost instantly, leaving Liz to wonder just how he had managed such nights, while on his own. I guess he just slept, and froze, and somehow managed to wake up in the morning, anyway. I sure dont understand it Pulling several newly heated rocks from the fire she snuggled them up against him, adding another few sticks to the flames and attempting to get back to sleep, herself, managing it only after Einar had warmed a bit. Sometime in the night the winds calmed, temperatures stopped falling and the snow, soft, powdery, curled down heavy and silent outside, the two weary travelers sleeping soundly. Dreaming again, Einar wandered through basins high and far and green, the brilliant, impossible green of the alpine spring, the thicket of little aspens that stood arrayed around his meadow very nearly fluorescing as the morning sun shone through their

newly-unfurled leaves, tiny, delicate, vibrant, their sound like falling water in the soft breeze, singing. A cow elk, thin and a bit scraggly-looking with the ruff of darker hair around her neck appearing unusually thick in contrast to her poor coat, stepped warily out into the open to feast on the greenness after a long winter of hunger and foraging in the snow, calf following eagerly if a bit clumsily behind her. Einar smiled in his sleep, took a deep breath of the sharp, spruce-scented air that swept down from the still-snowy peaks just above his little basin, turned and retreated into the timber, content to let mother and calf go about their eating. There are other elk. We will eat tonight. Spear in one hand-he relied on it still for balance and a bit of support--and atlatl in the other, he stalked down through the spruces, heading for a lower basin where he had earlier seen three or four elk bedded down along the edge of a meadow. Reaching an area just above the lower meadow and wanting to get a look at it before proceeding he paused, the sun warm on his back as it fell in golden patches through the trees, contrasting with the chill air of the high timber. He reached out a hand to part the branches of a low, stocky fir that obscured his view, and his hand contacted snow. Einar startled awake at the icy wetness on his hand, turned and saw Liz there behind him, still fast asleep. Reaching out again he parted the tied-together bear hide halves that had sheltered them that past night, seeing that the snow had drifted in great piles around them, several feet deep in spots and sealing the bear hides against the ground. It was still snowing. No wonder it stopped getting colder about the middle of the night. We got buried three feet deep in snowy insulation! He sighed, shivered, pulling the yearling hide close around him again and pressing his back against Lizs ribs. He knew they needed to go, move, put some distance between themselves and the canyon rim while the snow was still falling, but Einar wanted nothing quite so much right then as to curl up and go on resting there in the relative warmth of the shelter, his pain held temporarily at bay by a still-heavy haze of weariness that urged him almost irresistibly to further sleep. No. Youve slept. This is no time to get all comfortable and settle in for a long rest while the storm blows over out there. Who knows when it may storm next, and youre not far enough away from the air search, yet. He sat up creakily, took a gulp of water in the hopes of combating the sudden dizziness that washed over him, stretched, rubbed some feeling back into his legs and flexed his ankles in preparation for rising and getting the crutch strapped back into place. Now go ahead andah, yeah. No chance at all of getting too comfortable now, is there, even if you wanted to? Doggone foot. Guess I may try some willow later, if it still doesnt seem inclined to bleed a lot. Better go ahead and start packing up. Its a good while past daylight, looks like. Though much of the ice had been melted out of the bear hides by the warmth of the fire, they were still wet, and so of course quite frozen, around the edges. Need to beat these against a tree, or well just be carrying all that extra weight along with us. Got enough to carry as it is, and Im hoping we can cover a good ten or twelve miles today, at least. Time to go looking for that little green basin full of elk Liz was stirring, drawing her head in deeper under the yearling hide and reaching for him, trying to pull him back into its meager warmth. He scooted out of her reach, leaned over and whispered in her ear. Get up. Its time to go. Spring is coming, Ive seen it!

She sat up, took one look at his bright eyes and the pained grimace that he was attempting to pass off as a grin, and felt his forehead, fearing that the fever had returned. Which it seemed not to have. Spring, is it? It seems spring must be a good ways off still. Did you get any sleep? Are you alright? He laughed a bit, finding himself not quite sure how to answer a question like that. Well, Im still here. And so are you. But of course thats half the problem at the moment, because we need to be somewhere else. Need to be hurrying along up this ridge and away from the canyon. Still snowing right now, but who knows for how long? Slightly exasperated at his hurry--she had been hoping for a good long day of stillness during which Einar would rest, sleep and keep off of his foot, while she gathered usnea, kept the fire going and cooked up several pots of stew for them to eat--Liz squirmed out of the bed and stirred the nearly dead coals of the fire. Can we take time to have breakfast and boil up some of the new usnea I gathered last night, at least, give it a chance to dry out? And we really need to change the dressings on your foot It was best, her idea, and he knew it, assented reluctantly after several minutes spent glaring at the ground, doing so only because he could see that Liz looked nearly as cold and hungry as he felt, figured a hot breakfast would do her some good. He was, after all, asking her to carry the larger pack, and that was a lot to ask of a person, especially in snow as deep as what they would be facing on the ridge that day. And he supposed he really did want to keep his remaining toes if possible, too, and avoid debilitating and potentially deadly infection at the amputation sites--a very unlikely outcome, if he did not take meticulous care of the foot until it healed. Hoping to speed things up, he took down the bear hides, kicked away the snow that had build up against them and did his best to beat out the accumulated ice in preparation for their journey, his high hopes of a twelve mile day fading the first time he attempted to stand. The dizziness was nearly overwhelming, left him grabbing for the nearest spruce branch to steady himself and help him rediscover where the ground was; his spear had just been leaning with him, doing little to prevent the inevitable fall. The earth finally ceased its pitching and rolling and the trees stood still, leaving Einar hanging there from the branch, badly nauseated and a bit hesitant to let go lest the motion start up again, and Liz see him fall. His head was pounding so that it hurt to keep his eyes open, to look at the snow, even with the heavy overcast, and he supposed he must need more water, and a lot of it, tried to take an experimental step back towards the shelter and wound up face down in a powdery snowdrift. How did this happen? Guess I need that water before I try and stand againhey. Here. Swallow this mouthful of snow you ended up with, itll be a start. He swallowed the snow, waiting for it to begin melting and choking down the slush before attempting to crawl the five or six feet back to the partially dismantled shelter. The crawl out to the tree had gone fine--hed seen a good sized clump of usnea growing on one of its branches and had wanted to retrieve it for future use--but even creeping along on all fours seemed a bit of a challenge at the moment, though he quickly learned

that the dizziness could be minimized by keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead and making a serious effort not to turn his head at all. Which was good, because he had quickly tired of ending up on his face in the snow, and certainly did not wish Liz to find him thus, knowing that she might try to use the circumstance to argue that they ought to stay put for a few hours, hours that he knew they could not afford. Nor would they need. Hed be fine, as soon as he got about a gallon of water down. That had to be it. By the time he made it back to the deer hide, though, his vision was going dark and he ended up lying down without really trying to, knees on the hide and forehead in the snow. After a while he heard Liz coming, soft footsteps in the deep snow, and he managed to sit up and lean back against the tree trunk, his breath coming fast and not seeming like quite enough. She looked somewhat alarmed at the sight of him, and he wondered a bit absently if perhaps the dizziness showed in his eyes. Felt like it surely must, the way everything was spinning. Liz did not, or course, see Einars dizziness. What she did see was that his face was crusted with snow and ice, clods of snow in his beard and hair and eyebrows from where they had rested on the ground for a number of minutes just then, his forehead, nose and lips varying from bright red to a rather unhealthy-looking purple. Sitting down beside him, she began working the snow out of his hair, warming his face with her hands. What have you been doing, Einar? I thought you were just going to beat some of the ice out of the bear hides. Well I was doing just that but then uhsaw some usnea over there on that tree andgot kinda dizzy I guess, when I tried to stand up to reach it. Think I must have ended up awful low on water somehow, after yesterday. Oh, I cant imagine how, she mused silently, between all the blood you lost, that long climb and how fast you were breathing all night. You really, really need a few days of rest, Einar Giving him a drink, she took his pulse, looked at him a bit worriedly and tried to get him to lie down, which he refused to do, knowing how difficult it had been to get up the first time and not wanting to repeat the process in her presence. Im concerned that you may still have an infection of some sort, Einar. Something left over from the toes you took off, or even one of the ones thats left Nah, dont have a fever anymore. Im getting over that stuff. Fever doesnt always come with infection. Sometimes a low temperature can be a sign, toowill you let me take your temperature? He grinned at her, laughed. No point. Temperatures always low these days, and Im thinking you dont need one more thing to worry about. Lets skip it. Need water, thats all. Lot of it, and then Ill be able to do this. Some nettles orlambs quarter might help too, it feels like, but we dont have any. Nettles? For the iron?

Yeah. Still bleeding some and I guess I lost a good bit yesterday. Feel like I cant quiteget enough air or something. Well, Im going to make you some stew real quick before we go, and maybe if its iron you need, it would make sense to add some of that dried bears blood to it. Its here in my pack, I saw it just this morning. Nodding, Einar took another long swallow from the bottle of water, followed it with a gulp of the berberine solution that Liz offered him, grabbing her arm and looking at her with grateful eyes. The bear blood stews a great idea, and one I wouldnt have thought of right now. Seems your mind is a good bit sharper than mine today, Liz. Glad one of us is thinking And hey, thanks for helping like this, with ideas and all, instead of just trying to insist that we stay put for the day. I know you were thinking it, and Im really not sure Ive got the energy today to fight you on that, or much else, if youd have decided to force the matter, but Id sure have tried, and it might not have turned out well for either of us So, thanks. Liz had taken his hand and was looking at him with concern and a bit of consternation, but she did not respond and it took Einar a minute to realize that he had not been speaking out loud. He released his grip on her arm, gave her a lopsided smile and leaned his head back on the tree, fought the sleep that was trying to close his eyes. Well. Probably best she didnt hear any of that. Who knows? Might change her mind and try to make me stay When he woke the stew was bubbling, its rich scent reaching him where he sat slouched against the rough bark of the spruce, Liz having draped the yearling hide over him when she realized that he had actually gone to sleep. He pulled himself up straighter, took another swallow of water and glanced hastily around, vexed with himself for falling asleep but supposing he couldnt have been out for more than a few minutes, based on the fact that he still had some feeling left in his hands, which sat at his sides, half-covered by the yearling hide. Its still snowing. Good. Better eat, and get out of here. Things should get easier, once Im on my feet and moving. Pulling the folded map from his pocket, he studied it, fixing their route in his mind. Seeing him awake, Liz pulled the stew from the fire, thick and rich with venison shreds and bear fat and nearly black from the dried bear blood she had crumbled in as it cooked, and they shared a meal. Einar was not sure at first whether he would be able to stomach the stew, the constant hurt radiating up from the missing section of his foot leaving his insides in a bit of a turmoil, but no sooner had he taken the first cautious sip than the queasiness eased a bit, allowing him to eat. He felt greatly revived after eating, much steadier, the iron and salts in the blood being just the things his body had lacked, and again he thanked Liz for the idea, managing to rise and more or less hold his own against the dizziness as he took as few experimental steps. How long the effects of the meal would last was anyones guess, but Einar was determined to make the most of his renewed strength, for however long he might be able to enjoy its effects. The stew was eaten, water bottles filled one final time and Einars dressings changed, and it was time to go. He stood, pack on his back and spear in hand, leaning on a tree and appearing deep in thought as Liz rolled up the yearling hide and stashed it down in her

pack, knowing that they needed to keep it dry at all costs, if they wanted a good chance of making it through the following night. It was one thing to walk all day in damp and snow-encrusted clothing--as she supposed theirs soon would be, the way it was storming--but another entirely to attempt sleeping that way, even with a fire and adequate shelter from the wind. Uncomfortable under any circumstances, she feared such a night might well prove more than Einar could endure, in his present state. Im sure not going to mention anything like that to him though, because hed probably insist on sleeping in his wet clothes tonight, just to prove me wrong. And hed probably somehow manage to survive the night, too, out of sheer stubbornness, the ornery old mule Fortunately, it appeared that no such test would be necessary, as their second sets of clothes had dried overnight over the fire, and she rolled them up and carefully packed them away with the bear hide, for use that coming evening. She squinted up at the sky, thinking that the hours that separated them from the next coming of dusk would almost certainly be very long ones, praying that she would have the strength do all that they required of her, and maybe a little bit extra to share with him, if Youre willing, because it sure looks like he may need it Einar was already moving up the ridge, his trail close-footed and weaving a bit at first but his steps evening out as he went, steady, the image of the map fresh in his mind; twelve miles. He had found his pace and was, for the moment, maintaining it. As they climbed up away from the canyon, Einars steps slowed a bit, faltered and again settled into a steady pace that he fought to maintain, sensing that if he let it lag, he might not be able to pick it up again. Liz, walking ahead to break trail, stopped him every so often to offer water, to insist on it, when he brushed her aside with a quick assertion that he was not thirsty, that he did not have time to stop, quickly discovering that the only way to convince him to drink was to stand directly in his path with the water bottle, physically preventing his passage until he had taken a sip. He seemed irritated at first by her persistence but she kept at it, and after the first several stops, he seemed to accept the intrusion, or to become too tired to fight it. She couldnt tell which, and decided it did not really matter. He had to drink. It was sometime around midday, best as Liz could tell, and pausing to look down through the timber that stretched out behind them on the gentle slope of the ridge, she was sure that she would still be able to see the dark rift of the canyon, had it not been for the trees and the ongoing storm. They were traveling terribly slowly and had not come far, but at least they were moving, which seemed to be pleasing Einar. She supposed. He had not said a word to her since they had left camp that morning. Pushing on step after step through the snow, Einar was back on his trapline, a familiar thing, remembered, and he must have done well that day, as heavy as his pack felt. Must have done awfully well, in fact, because that doggone pack was just about crushing him into the ground, and he wondered what hed done, forgotten to skin out a couple of the beavers? Or maybe hed fallen and got all his gear soaked, and was having to carry everything wet, all that extra weight, that must be it, because my clothes are awful heavy too, and this coats all crusted up with ice and now that I think about it, Im kinda

freezing, feet are aching something awful like I must have just about froze them, but at least I can feel them now, so must be headed in the right directionwell. Should probably stop and make a fire, thaw out some and dry my clothes, but I think its just another few miles back to the cabin, and I sure would like to cover that before dark. Feeling awful tired, kinda dragging, but Im not even having to break trail so thats helping a lot, just walking in my old tracks from yesterday. Its weird about these tracks thoughboot treads sure dont look like mine, but theyve got to be, cause no one else traps this area, and its sure not tourist country or anything. Must just be tired, eyes are a little blurry and I guess thats how come the tracks look a little off. Itll be alright. Things like this have happened before--falling in the water or whatever Ive done, cant really remember for sure--and I always made it back, just keep walking and youll make it back and you can warm up when you get back to the cabin, can sleep His eyes sank closed and he tripped on the crusty top of a snowdrift, almost indistinguishable in the flat light of the storm from the surrounding terrain, even if one is looking, fell hard and couldnt seem to push himself back upright as he had already done innumerable times that morning. The pack. It was crushing him, keeping his lungs from expanding all the way, it felt like, and it had to come off. He fumbled with the waist belt, finally freed himself and rolled over, struggling for breath as he stared up at the trees and at the snowy, indistinct figure of another person who stood bent over him, saying something, and he thought he recognized the voice but supposed he must be mistaken, must, for that matter, be imagining her altogether. Never did take any woman along on a trapline, so whats she doing here? She was definitely not a figment of his imagination though, was apparently quite real because she was pulling him up into a sitting position, giving him water, good, fresh water and he drank eagerly, the liquid feeling like life itself as it ran down his parched throat, but he found himself a bit distressed when he could not seem to keep some of the water from dribbling back out at the corners of his mouth and running down onto his already icy coat, and then to make matters worse the woman took his pack and strapped it onto the top of her own, which already looked too heavy for someone of her stature to be lugging through the deep snow like that, and she refused to give it back to him, jabbing at him with a stick when he tried to force the matter, and saying something about how they had to stop now, how they had come far enough and had to rest. He told her about the cabin then, explained that they were very close and said she was welcome to come in and get warm when they reached it if that was what she wanted, have something to eat, and then he could take her into town or wherever she came from, because she was obviously lost and looked kind of hungry, too, but first she would have to give his pack back and would certainly have to stop jabbing him in the ribs with that doggone stick every time he reached for it, because he was dead tired from a long day on the trail and certainly did not appreciate having to fight her just to get his own gear back. He held the spear up and shook it in her direction for emphasis, growling that Im trying to be nice, lady, since youre obviously lost and all, but if you dont quit with that rib-jabbing and give my stuff back, I may just have to start pushing back pretty soon here. Liz took a step back and looked at him in dismay, frightened not so much by his rambling speech and the vague threats he was directing at her as by what appeared to be a complete

inability to reconnect with reality when presented with it. At a loss as to how to handle him and not wanting either of them to end hurting the other, she finally emptied some of the heavier items out of his pack and tossed it over to him, saying that shed be glad to follow him to his cabin. Snatching the pack up out of the snow and putting it on before the girl could change her mind and cause him more trouble, Einar lurched to his feet and headed out along the ridge again. Packs lighter. Little thief mustve snagged a few of my pelts, and the wet ones, too, by the feel of things. Huh. Well, if she wants to carry them, let her carry them. Ill get them back once were up to the cabin. The cabin did not come. He kept on and on through the snow, slogging along with a weariness like he could seldom remember feeling dragging at his limbs, the slight weight of the pack straps on his shoulders seeming to keep him from ever quite getting a full breath, step after step, hour after hour, he was pretty sure, but it did not come. Something was wrong, the world was all wrong, the familiar contours of the land betraying him, leaving him befuddled and freezing in the storm, but he kept on, following the set of tracks that had mysteriously appeared ahead of him once again despite the fact that the snow ought long ago to have filled then in, knowing that the cabin was there, that he would eventually reach it. The helicopter intervened, though, before he could do so. There werent supposed to be helicopters out on the trapline, certainly never had been, before, except perhaps the occasional rumble far off in the distance many miles away where a logging operation was going on, just enough to provide him the occasional reminder that the outside world existed and to keep him perpetually grateful that he was no longer a part of it. Not very often, anyhow. His first reaction, then, upon hearing the close and rapidly approaching pounding of rotors over the adjacent ridge was one of rage. What were they thinking? The place was his! His sanctuary, his refuge, the vast, welcoming fastness of black timber and uncharted creeks and valleys that had swallowed him up and given him the solace and silence he had been entirely unable to find down in the world below, and now theyre bringing a piece of it up here to me, are they? Following me here? No, not gonna have it. Cant have it And he stepped out into the clearing, atlatl at the ready, standing his ground and railing at the empty, snowy-speckled sky, ready to show the intruders in no uncertain terms just whose space they were violating. Which--considering the situation--would have been a serious problem, had the weather been such that helicopters could get off the ground, much less hover over the wind-blasted, snow-encrusted ranks of timber that shielded the two wayfarers that afternoon, which of course it was not. Liz waited until his rage spent itself, watching as he stomped out into the middle of the clearing and shook his fist at the sky, shouting words that were--mercifully--carried away by the wind before she could hear them and scattered into the silent, watching trees. He wore himself out pretty quickly, fell and floundered about in the deep snow for a minute, trapped, unable to rise as the beast hovered just over his head. Liz caught up to him just as he dragged himself beneath the nearest fir, and when she finally talked him into unwrapping himself from around its trunk and getting his knife put away--nobodys here, nobody is coming, there was no chopper, not in this stormlook at the trees whipping around in that wind, theres no way. Its me, Einar, just me--she could see from his eyes that he was himself again. And beyond exhausted, unable to catch his breath. Staring out

into the storm as if hoping to pierce through its whiteness and get a good look at the surrounding terrain, he slammed a numb hand against his leg to restore function, pulled out the map and shook his head. Anyidea where we are, Liz? Still on this long ridge I know, but my ability to estimate distance right now Its hard for me to say, too. More than a mile, but Here. Let me see the map. We passed a big rock outcropping a little while back. I saw it when the snow slowed down for a few minutes, and it seemed like the ridge dropped off real sharply below it, almost vertically. Look. I only see one place along the ridge where it drops away like that. Right here. Einars hands were shaking too badly to use his fingers in measuring distance on the map so Liz did it. Three miles. It looks like weve come just over three miles since this morning. She was amazed that they had come so far, smiled at him and hoped he would be willing to stop for the day, but Einars face fell, a momentary look that bordered on despair showing in his eyes before they hardened once again and he looked up at her. Three miles. Awful close to the canyon, still, if the air search starts back up. We need to make twelve, before we stop for the day. You Ok? You ready to cover some more distance? Einar, reallydont you think this is far enough? Why twelve? Twelve. Because the next time I stopbelieve I may be there for a while, and I sure dont want it to be anywhere near that doggone canyon. Now. You ready? She was ready, more or less, but Einar was not, the dizziness that came over him on standing enough to leave him clinging a bit desperately to the tree and wondering how he was to get moving again, willingly accepting Lizs hand when she offered it and sinking heavily back to the ground. Just a minute. Huh. Wasgoing alright until now, butjust give me a minute. Going alright? Where does he get that idea? Its fairly open up here on the ridge, Einar. Not very steep. If we put together a sled, you know, a travois-type thing, it would be pretty easy for me to pull you for a ways, you and the pack, both. Less work than carrying the pack, probably. Will you let me try it? Lizs suggestion got Einar up in a hurry, the idea of being tied to an improvised sled and dragged through the snow like a dead deer sending him scrambling to his feet, where he stood balancing precariously on his crutch, eyes fixed on the ground as he fought back a flood of vertigo, managing somehow to remain upright. Dead deer? No, not like a dead deer. You could think of it more as an evacuation, a rescue. You need to get out of the area, youre flat out of energy, not to mention out of breath, and shes offering to help

make it happen. Now whats wrong with that? Sounds real sensible, actually. And, bone-tired as he was, the hot, twisting pain of his missing digits gnawing at his foot like a hungry animal and leaving his brain feeling terrible slow and heavy, Einar nearly accepted, the thought of an end to the continuous struggle of the day--any end, by any means--very appealing, just then. Too appealing. Youre gonna die if you lay down right now, not gonna have the energy or the will to get up again and youll lay there and freeze and die, and then so is she likely as not, because shell wear herself to a frazzle trying to drag you through these snowdrifts to somewhere safe, wont quit, you know she wont, and itll be the end of you both He opened his eyes, looked up at her and firmly shook his head. No sled. No, I may not be good for much right now, but I can sure haul my own sorry carcass up a gentle little ridge like this, and the day I cant is probably the day you need to roll me in a hole somewhere and cover me up, Liz. Just cover me up, because Ill be finished. Now are you ready to he was out of breath, had to stop and find it again, resting his forehead against the tree trunk, the skin around his eyes and lips looking a bit blue with the effort of it. You ready to head out? She shook her head, threw up her hands in exasperation. Im ready. But surely you dont mean that, do you, about rolling you in a hole and covering you up if youre ever unable to get yourself up a ridge? Because I seem to recall you being in that sort of situation a time or two before, and you made it through, youre still here, as you always say Right. He glanced up, a hint of humor briefly lighting his flat, exhausted eyes. Maybe Ididnt mean for you to take that quite so literally. You can kick me first a time or two to see if you can get me up and moving, before going to the trouble of covering me up. That sound better? Silence, Liz glaring at him as she snapped the waist belt of her pack, recruiting the aid of a nearby fir branch to help haul herself back to her feet. She was weary from the sparse sleep of the previous night and from breaking trail all morning through snow that was at times thigh-deep, sore, worried sick about Einars condition, and did not see how he was managing to find any humor at all in the situation. He could tell that she was angry, took a step towards her and accepted the water she was holding out to him, drank. Hey. Sledits a real good idea, but for one thing, itd take too long to build right now, and would sink pretty bad in this deep powder. Awful hard work to pull. Now I know you could do it, and would, butId probably end up freezing, getting in real trouble just lying there like that, lose some more toes, at best. Really dont want to lose any more toes. Got to keep moving, keep on my feet. Looks like Im gonna be real slow butfew more miles and we stop. Alright? He was holding out his hand, needing her to help him up and Liz took it, pulled him to his feet. Alright. Well do it. Here. Take another drink first, and do you think you can eat something? Try a couple bites of this pemmican. Ill have some too. This deep snow is

hard work. Eating, Einar reached up and un-strapped his pack, which Liz had lashed to the top of her own after their last stop, and insisted that he must carry it. Its only a few pounds and Ive had to walk off and leave all my gear way too many times not to have learned this lesson. Have to keep things split up, each carry at least our own essentials, in case we get separated. No exceptions to that one. She helped him into the pack, worried lines creasing her forehead when she saw how he sagged under its meager weight, but knowing that he was right about keeping their things split up. There was too much uncertainty in their world to count on things remaining as they were for any length of time, no matter how determined they might be to keep them that way. They had been separated before by circumstance, and she knew that, unlikely as such a happening seemed that day--no way Im leaving you right now--a night spent by Einar alone and without at least minimal gear in his current condition would almost certainly be a fatal one. Einar was on his feet and ready as he was likely to ever be, and they started up the ridge again, Liz out front breaking trail along the course that Einar had pointed out for her. Nine miles. I dont think were going to do nine miles, but Ill keep going as long as he is able to, since he doesnt seem likely to stop before hes satisfied with our progress. And Im sure if I refused to go on hed just go without me, trying to break trail, himself. The cough started less than half an hour into their walk, Einar having an increasingly difficult time catching his breath and spending nearly as much time bent forward almost doubled over trying to clear his lungs so he could get enough air as he did walking. He tried chewing spruce needles for the cough, their acid tang seeming to help at first as did the water that Liz kept reminding him to drink, but neither seemed quite able to stave off a growing wetness in his lungs. Need to go down I guess, get lower where theres more air to start with. Dont like the way my lungs are going. Not that high here but I dont seem to be doing too well with it right nowguess thats whats going on. It is all I can think of. Well. Nothing to do about it right now. Just have to hope things dont get worse in a hurry, stay kinda stable, and Ill be able to muddle along alright until we get to the end of the ridge and can drop down into one of those basins. And muddle he did, steps slow and halting but continuous, one after another, and he finally settled into a rhythm of sorts, three steps, stop, cough, take a few breaths, do it all over again. The pattern was familiar to him from some of the climbs he had done, step, step, breathe, step, step, breathe, on and on, but he was not used to having to resort to it until ascending far, far higher than their current course took them. Even so, the patterns familiarity kept him going, left him without much need to deliberate about his next step, and he moved as if in a dream, following the trail that Liz was breaking for him and accepting the water she held up to his lips with increasing frequency, concerned as she was, and rightly, that the cough and difficult breathing would be leaving him in constant danger of dehydration. Wanting to make sure they would have enough water to complete the trip, she was continually adding snow to the bottles as their level went down, storing two of them inside her clothes to keep the melting process going and getting by, herself, on the occasional sip in order to leave most of it for Einar. She could certainly feel the effects of her low water intake, knew it was putting her at greater danger of becoming hypothermic as her blood thickened, but supposed that she seemed to be getting along alright, at least

for the time. At least Einars pace was slow, very slow, which made her heavy load, the effort of breaking trail and the water shortage far easier to live with. The day finally began dimming and Einar, much to Lizs amazement--and probably even his own, had he possessed the capacity for amazement just then--was still on his feet, still moving. In the final hour of pale daylight they emerged finally from the trees at a high point near the ridges terminus, Liz standing and waiting for Einar to catch up a point where the ground dropped away somewhat steeply below, a broken landscape of rock and scraggly, wind-blasted trees sweeping down some seven hundred feet to meet a series of small basins that lay below. She could see them, if fuzzily; the storm was waning. Einar soon joined her, the changed terrain jarring him out of the glazed-eyed haze in which he had been traveling since their last rest stop some hours before. Leaning heavily on his spear, he scanned the vista that opened up below them, increasingly clear as the snow slacked off, staring out at a vast world of basins and valleys, and thinking that they were much as he had seen in his dream, only snow-filled at the moment, rather than green and grassy. Overhead the clouds were beginning to part and slowly dissolve, thousands of tiny, brilliant pinpricks of light showing through the ragged tears in a storm that had lasted just long enough. Staring up at the stars and taking as deep a breath as he was able--not very--Einar saw Orion, the hunter, just emerging from a departing storm-wall. Think Imready to stop now, Liz. Ready as Einar really was to stop, he knew after the first five minutes of stillness there on the high spot at the end of the ridge that he needed to get down lower before attempting to sleep, or do much of anything else, either. His breathing troubles only seemed to be worsening, even though he had stopped walking and was sitting motionless on a fallen aspen from a portion of whose trunk Liz had cleared the snow. His breaths were coming hard, the ongoing cough bringing up occasional batches of viscous gunk that was thick and sometimes blood-tinged, and he could plainly feel the wet gurgling sensation that each labored breath brought. Though too tired to show it, Einar was frustrated and a bit angry to find that his body was betraying him thus--not that I havent given it good reason, I guess, but stillnever had this sort of trouble before, and now sure isnt the time for it to start. Maybe Im not reading this right. Maybe whatever was causing that fever yesterday--nasty stuff from the toes, I guess--managed to settle in my lungs. If thats even possible. Sure does feel like the fevers coming back and the way Ive been sweating this last hour or so, wouldnt be surprised if thats the source of the trouble. In which casemight as well just stay here where I am, rest, drink as much of that berberine stuff as I can get down, maybe have some mullein tea and breathe the steam, and hope its enough to get the infection turned around, if thats what Im dealing with. At which he began coughing again, couldnt quit and ended up sitting there with his chest on his knees, gasping and wheezing for breath and fighting the dark spots that welled up before his eyes as more and more time passed without him managing to get a full breath. Liz had begun gathering firewood and looking for a good spot to settle in for the night as he sat there, and hurried to his side when she realized just how much trouble he was having, gave him a little water and pulled him up out of the slouch he had settled into, helped him sit up a bit straighter. The change in posture brought a bit of immediate relief, just enough

to allow him to stop coughing, and he sat there trying to slow his breathing and clear his vision. Huh. Who are you kidding? Stay right here for the night and drink a bunch of barberine water? Not if you want to wake up in the morning. This is getting worse, and quick. No matter the cause, youre gonna benefit from getting down a little lower. In the not-quite-darkness of the evening, he began studying the ground below them as he sat, trying to force himself to think strategically--ha!--logically, even, as any such level of deliberation seemed considerably beyond his grasp, need oxygen to deliberatebrain runs a lot better on the stuff andwhat was I trying to figure out, now? Yeah. Place to spend the night, needs to be down off this ridge crest, off this little bluff here the way it sticks up like a sore thumbor a sore toe, huh, thats more like it, wonder why no one uses that expression, sticks out like a sore toe, mustve never had frostbit feet I guess, or thats exactly what theyd say, but back to where to spend the night, Ok? Cant seem to stay on the same idea for more than ten seconds right now, can you? That is not useful. Now. Trees. Its got to have trees and lots of them, got to give access to a big enough swath of trees that we could use them as an escape route if we get a few sunny days and for whatever reason the air search ends up over here and we have to leave in a hurry andaw, gosh, I sure hope that doesnt happen this time, please dont let that happen this timebut it might, sotrees. Cover. Escape routes. He saw trees, and plenty of them, the greatest concentration that appeared low enough to potentially help with his breathing problems, yet close enough that he might be capable of actually reaching it existed on the right hand sweep of the big, gentle cirque that lay just below them, and he pointed, nodding at Liz and hoping shed get the idea. What, those trees? Do you see something down there? She stared down into the growing gloom, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Need to get down there. Tonight. Breathing gettingworse and worse and I dont understand it but He rose, leaning on the spear and starting down, pausing for just a moment at the edge of the slope to wait for Liz to get her pack back on. The descent was slow, Liz several times having to remind Einar that he has wanted to reach the heavier timber on the side of the cirque, that it was not a good idea at all to sink down and sleep in the snow as he was seeming increasingly inclined to do. Each time he thanked her, got back up and continued, the two of them traveling largely by the memory of what they had seen from up on the ridge, as darkness was nearly complete by that point. Working their way from one tiny clump of stunted firs to another there on the rocky, fairly open ground of the slope, they reached at last the dark smear of timber that bulked black and welcoming there on the side of the cirque, looking up at the stars through the swaying, dancing network of boughs that soon enveloped them. Einar was through, sat down heavily beside a boulder whose solidness, unseen in the shadowy dark of the forest, had brought him up short when he ran headlong into it. That was to be it, then, their camp for the night, and Liz began feeling her way around, searching for a spot that would reduce a bit further the force of the wind that swept down the cirque wall and over them, bitterly cold and promising to become more so as the cloudless night progressed, the stars standing stark and white and unblinking in the clear, storm-scrubbed

sky. Finding what she sought in a good-sized protected area where one large, leaning boulder had come to rest against another, creating a space that was not quite a cave but which provided a fine windbreak and some overhead cover, at least, she dropped her pack and hurried to get the deer hide unrolled and spread out on the ground. Very little snow seemed to have found its way into the little alcove, even in the wind of the recently-ended storm, and Liz, exploring the place by feel alone in the pitchblackness, found the ground covered with what felt like spruce needles and fragments from spruce cones, as well, piles and piles of them, as she had seen before beneath tree branches or stumps where squirrels had sat and taken apart cone after cone for the tiny fragments of food provided by their seeds. Crawling a bit farther back into the crevice, she discovered more whole cones, some the soft, sticky cylinders that she knew were from blue spruce but others feeling more like ponderosa or some other pine, hard and unyielding, and she pushed these aside to make room for their bed. Setting aside several of the dry, pitchy spruce cones for use in getting a fire going, she took one of the larger she had found and set it on a rock slab that she had encountered jutting up out of the ground litter in the shelter, retrieving some milkweed down from the bag around her neck and pressing it into the oozing pitch that covered the outside of the cone, slightly sticky even in the cold that pervaded the place. Taking her fire steel, she struck sparks into the down, disappointed at first when it flashed, flared up and burnt away without appearing to have any effect on the cone, but looking again she saw a slight glow in the darkness. Adding a bit more milkweed down, pressing it lightly to the orange spot, she blew gently until the thing flamed once again, the pitch in the cone catching, this time. By the light of the flaming pine cone on the rock slab, she further inspected the shelter. The place had, apparently, served as a cache for a squirrel or two that past summer and fall, many of the cones torn apart for their seeds, their remnants lying in soft, dry heaps all over the floor, with others still awaiting the attention of their owner against one wall. Not a place to have a fire, she quickly decided, lest the entire floor go up in flames if so much as one ember jumped and landed in that dry tinder. Scraping the stuff aside--hey, maybe the squirrels will be back for their pinecones, and we can trap them!--in an area near the front of the shelter, but still far enough under the rock slab to keep the snow off, she moved the rock slab, rolled the still-flaming spruce cone onto the ground and stood the slab up behind it, to block any wind that might gust in through the rather large opening left by the leaning boulder. All right! Time for a fire. Einar had joined her in the shelter and had set his pack over near hers in the corner before sinking to the ground and sitting with his back against the large, mossy boulder that served as a prop for their shelter-roof, and he was barely responsive when Liz spoke to him. His clothes were wet--both of theirs were, their bear-hide cloaks icy from the recently ended storm and Einars inner layer soaked with sweat and starting to freeze in places--and Liz got a hasty, rather smoky fire going with a pile of spruce cones and some branches she had gathered from outside, hurrying into her dry clothes and helping Einar, over feeble protests that he was fine and really needed to sleep first, into his. The yearling hide had once again remained almost entirely dry there in her pack, and Liz unrolled it and got it over the two of them, feeding the fire and giving Einar, and herself some time to begin warming up before going out into the night for more firewood. While

Liz was out feeling her way around in search of more dry branches to burn, Einar took the pot out of his pack and scooped up some snow from outside, setting it on a rock near the flames to begin melting. He did not feel thirsty, did not feel much, at the moment, aside from the ceaseless agony of his foot and the ache in his chest every time he drew in a lungful of air, but knew they would both be in need of a good bit of water after the days journey, and aware that, as often as Liz had stopped him and insisted he drink, he must have used up most of their supply, leaving little for her. Staring into the flames as the snow began melting, he thought of making stew, rehearsed in his mind the necessary steps, finding the prospect somewhat daunting at the moment, but wanting to get at least that much done for Liz. Somehow the stew never did get past the thinking stage, though, and then Liz was back, dropping an armload of wood near the fire and stirring the pot rapidly of melting snow, adding more and starting a second pot for their supper. Neither of them spoke much as the stew heated and cooked, Liz keeping a close eye on Einar, sitting with him and making sure he continued to warm, which he did, if slowly. She could still hear a series of frightening crackling, wheezing sounds whenever she pressed an ear to his chest to listen, but he seemed to be breathing a bit easier than before, the stillness, unlike during their last stop, providing him some relief. It seemed that he had been correct about needing to lose some elevation. By the time their supper was ready, Einars breathing had normalized to the point that it no longer consumed his thoughts or required his constant attention. He was, at least, going to be able to lie down to sleep, in seemed. A theory he was already testing out, as Liz discovered when she glanced up from the stew-pot to let him know that supper was ready. Liz ate supper alone that night huddled over the small fire, having tried numerous times to rouse Einar, and without success. His breathing still sounded a bit bad to her, wheezy and tight, but it seemed that he must be getting enough air to lie down at least somewhat comfortably. That, or not enough to allow him to stay awake She propped his head and shoulders up on a pile of dry spruce needles, exchanging the fire-warmed rocks she had left with him as she cooked for fresh ones. His color was slightly better than it had been at their last stop, she thought, the purple tinge under his eyes and around his mouth less pronounced, and she could only hope that the breathing situation would go on improving, through the night. Tucking the heat-radiating rocks in close to him--one near the small of his back, others around his torso and one at the ankles, hoping to keep the blood flowing to his injured foot--she returned to the fire and ate, knowing that she would be needing the strength, both for herself and for him. Hungry, she quickly finished her portion of the stew, adding another stick to the fire and crawling back over to Einar. He had not moved, and she took his hand, cold, frighteningly lifeless-feeling, his pulse weak and fast when she found it, and once again she spoke insistently in an attempt to wake him. No response. He needed to eat, had to eat, she was afraid for him, going into what promised to be a rather cold night as exhausted as he was and with an empty stomach, afraid that the lack of energy and warmth that would come with the hunger, on top of everything else, might prove to be too much for him. Lifting him gently, she held the stew pot, still-steaming and not yet quite half empty, under his nose, hoping the food aroma might prod him to wakefulness where her voice had been unable to. He stirred briefly as the steam rose and enveloped his face, shivered, opened his eyes for a fraction

of a second and smiled at her before going limp again with sleep, head rolling to the side. Hey, come on, I know youre in there. You can sleep soon, you need the sleep so badly, I know, but it will go a lot better if you can get some food down, first. Believe me. Just a few bites. His only response was to roll away from her and curl up with his forehead pressed to his knees, and she wished she could be sure that he was doing it out of stubbornness rather than some unconscious reflex that might mean he was in more serious trouble than she knew, but nothing about the situation provided her with any such assurance. Liz decided to tend to his foot, then, knowing that she needed to do what she could to monitor the amount of blood he was losing and thinking also that he had a much better chance of keeping the remaining toes if he didnt go to sleep with dressings soaked in blood, pulling heat out of him and possibly even freezing in the night. And if this doesnt wake you, nothings going to, is it? Theres still some stew left, so maybe youll be able to take a few bites after I get done. Please dont hurt me now, if you wake up all of a sudden. Im just trying to help you keep the rest of your toes Einar groaned in his sleep and made feeble efforts to twist away from her as she eased the old, blood-crusted usnea clumps off of the wounds, carefully washed the area with berberine water and pressed new dressings into place, wrapping them firmly against the spot where his toes had been and holding them in place with one of the boiled sock strips, but he never did return to full awareness so he could partake of the stew-meal. Liz set the leftovers aside, burying the pot in spruce needles and placing several heavy rocks over the top, hoping both to keep the stew from freezing too solid overnight, and to prevent any intruding scavengers from feasting on what she hoped would be Einars breakfast. Wishing to keep the icy, iron fingers of the wind from prying too insistently at them in their sleep, she sought a way to hang the split pieces of the bear hide from the leaning slab to create a door, while still letting the smoke of the fire rise and escape. Experimenting, the idea finally occurred to her that she use the leaning dead trunk of a small aspen that lay propped against a larger tree not far from the front of the shelter, clearly visible in the circle of light from the fire. Prying the tree loose from the snow, she set it horizontally across the opening to the shelter, jamming one end between the leaning rock and a spruce whose trunk was so close that it had been scarred by the slabs falling, propping the other on a protrusion in the boulder that the slab leaned on. Over this horizontal support she draped one of the bear hide halves, watching from outside to see what course the smoke was going to take. It rose, much to her relief, unimpeded and exited through the gap left between the upright and the leaning rock slab. The door was going to work. The warmth of the fire might, she hoped, even begin the drying process overnight, allowing some of the accumulated ice of the journey to melt and evaporate out of the bears heavy coat. It was going to be a cold night, she knew, with nothing but the small yearling hide to cover them, and the sooner the larger pieces were again usable, the sooner they would be likely to have good sleep. And I must get them dry as soon as possible, also, in case we have to move on from here anytime soon. Einar said something about expecting that he wouldnt be moving for a while once he stopped this time, but who knows just what he meant by that? We have to be ready. Einar was clearly not doing any moving that night, though, and while his apparent inability to wake worried her a good deal, she was glad that he

would, at least, be getting some rest. They slept then, both of them, Liz waking frequently during the night to listen to Einars breathing and to pull him back beneath the yearling hide when she found that his tossing and turning had left arms or legs sticking out from beneath its cover. The night grew bitterly cold, the stars standing sharp and still and looking close enough to touch whenever she got a glimpse of them, trees cracking and popping weirdly outside, and Liz kept the fire going for several hours, waking periodically to hands and feet aching fiercely from the cold, warming them as she built the fire back up and returning to the bed each time to find Einar shivering and badly chilled, piling heaps of dry spruce needles over him before warming him with her body and with rocks from the fire. She finally let the little blaze die down when she noticed the sky beginning to show the first hints of morning grey. Einar, she was pretty sure, would not appreciate waking to find that she had kept the fire going after daylight, especially as her search for wood in the pitch blackness the night before had resulted in a good many pieces that were damp, smoky, far from the brittle-dry bark free branches that she had normally seen him use for daytime fires. She hoped that they might have finally come far enough from the area that was still being searched that they could reasonably relax their caution about fire just a bit and, if such was the case, that Einar might be willing to let them have one on something resembling a regular basis. Watching him in the pale light of the coming dawn, Liz realized that the decision about the fire, for that day at least, might be left to her. Einar showed no more sign of waking than he had the night before when she had tried so hard to get him to eat the stew, lying there with his hands wrapped around one of the rocks she had used to help warm him in the night--well, he was aware enough to get hold of a weapon, at leastmaybe thats a good sign--breathing fast and shallow, his clenched teeth and the deep creases between his eyebrows betraying pain that not even his semiconscious state appeared able to ease. She wished she could give him some willow, but the amount of blood that had been in the dressings she changed the previous evening was enough to convince her that he certainly did not need to be taking anything that might increase the bleeding, as the blood-thinning willow could potentially do. Too bad. If the altitude last night was even partly to blame for his breathing troubles, the willow might have really helped, the way it can thin the blood. Well. At least he seems to be breathing pretty normally today, no more wheezing. Hes just worn out, hopefully, and will be waking up soon. Tucking the yearling hide in around him and setting rocks around its edges to help hold it down against his random movements, she left the shelter to explore their surroundings and go in search of some drier firewood. Einar woke shortly after Lizs departure to a splitting headache and the feeling that he had been run over by a truck or perhaps caught in a rockslide, sent tumbling down a mountainside and buried beneath the rubble, a dreadful heaviness holding him down and trying to push him back down into the sleep from which he was struggling so hard to emerge. He was awfully cold, couldnt seem to feel his feet and supposed they must have been crushed, looked up and could see that, though he was clearly buried, there was a good sized clear space above his head, plenty large enough to allow him to sit up and assess the damage, maybe start to look for a way out, if only he could free himself from whatever had him pinned. Struggling, he got his hands up onto his chest and shoved at

the weight that held him down, managing with an immense effort to push it aside and sit up with a clatter as the rocks that had held the bear hide tumbled onto the shelter floor. Einar sat there blinking slowly at the bear hide, the coals in Lizs firepit, at their packs neatly placed against the back wall, leaned forward and closed his eyes, momentarily confused and out of breath after the exertion of rising, dizzy. Whew. How long have you been asleep, Einar? The last clear memory he had was of standing on the ridge top as darkness fell and staring up at Orion, wanting to stop for the night but knowing that he must first get down lower, which we mustve done, because Im still breathing, breathing a good bit better than I was last night, as I recall, though it still kinda feels like I got half a ton of rock sitting on my chest keeping me from getting a full breath. Well. Itll get better. Right now I just need to get warm, could really use some waterwonder where Liz went? Wonder about this fire, too. Doesnt look like its been out for real longhope it hasnt been making a column of smoke for people to see. Rolling to his stomach, he tried to get onto his knees so he could crawl over and check the coals, nearly blacked out and resorted to inching forward on his stomach, relieved to discover that the coals were quite cold. Not many minutes after Einar hauled himself, finally, slowly and laboriously out through the hanging bear hide that had kept most of the wind out of their bed that past night, Liz returned to find him sitting in a patch of slanting morning sunlight on a fallen tree just outside the jumbled rocks that had sheltered them, arms pressed tightly to his sides, visibly cold and shaking furiously. Fearing that he had been wandering again in his delirium and might have further hurt himself, she was about to rush to him and help him back inside, but when he looked up and saw her standing there with her war club in one hand, other arm loaded with firewood and a recently killed rabbit slung over her shoulder, he gave her a wide grin that left little doubt but that he was wide awake and very much himself again, after the troubles of that past night. He had the map in his hand, nearly crumpling it in his numb-fingered grasp. Made ourtwelve miles, Liz! Did it. Did we? Yes, I guess we did! She dropped her load of firewood in the sheltered, snowless spot just outside the door, sat down beside him and took the map, tried to rub some warmth back into his icy hands. Hey, I sure missed you! Glad youre back. Now lets get inside and warm up, Ok? This is one cold morning! Was Igone? Guess maybe.misplaced myself for a bit. Last part of that walk pretty hazy. You picked a real good spot here. Rising too quickly in his eagerness to join Liz in the shelter and maybe get ahold of part of that rabbit--he was beginning to feel terribly hungry--he was knocked full length in the snow by a wave of vertigo, spitting the dry, gritty Styrofoam whiteness out of his mouth and accepting Lizs help when she grabbed him beneath the shoulders and dragged him back inside. In the shelter, Einar lay on his back on the deer hide where Liz had deposited him, making his best effort to sit up but held back by a growing shortness of breath and a leaden heaviness that seemed to be turning his limbs to jelly. He resisted it furiously, the inertia that was once again striving to grab hold of him, further losing his breath in the effort but finally managing to haul

himself somewhat upright, after which he was seized by a coughing spell that ended when he spit out mucus tinged with a good bit of blood. Quickly covering the stuff with spruce needles he shoved it aside, not wanting Liz to see and have one more thing to worry about. Liz saw, though, had seen his struggle when she looked up from digging out the buried stew pot, and there was no mistaking the smear of frothy blood in his beard at the corner of his mouth, left by the clumsy swipe with which he had cleaned his face. She didnt say anything about it, covered him with the yearling hide, brushed the snow off of her clothes--it had been far too cold that morning for anything to stick or begin to melt into clothing, one distinct benefit of sub-zero temperatures--and crawled under the hide, bringing the stew pot and holding Einar close for warmth. His breathing was fast once again, labored, the skin under his fingernails a frightening shade of blue-grey when she checked. He wanted to get away from her, to get up, felt an urgent need to rise and move around that verged on panic, but she held him firmly, and he finally gave in and quit struggling, getting angry and afraid of hurting her if he kept it up. Dont fight it so hard, Einar. You need the rest. If you feel like sleeping, sleep. Ill keep an eye on things. How about some breakfast first, though? Here. I saved you some stew, and covered it in pine needles to keep the cold from getting to it too much The leftover stew had, despite Lizs efforts at insulating it, frozen nearly solid in the night, and she chopped at the icy stuff with her knife, stirring it and shivering as she tasted a bit of the resulting slush. It tasted all right, nothing wrong with venison and bear fat ice cream, I guess, but she hardly wanted to feed Einar something that would chill him so badly. He appeared to have no such concern, however, reaching past her and retrieving a finger full of the nourishing sludge. The coughing spell and its aftermath had replaced his hunger with a pervasive nausea that made it difficult to look forward to eating, but he knew he must try, doubting his energy level would improve much until he got a decent meal or two. The stew-ice stayed where he put it, and he tried another scoop. I found some drier woodcould we do a little fire do you think, just to heat this up and melt some more snow for our water, today? He looked up at the sky, crystal blue and storm-washed, tree tops still swaying in the wind but less violently than they had been at dawn. Better not. Need to wait and see what the search is doing today. Id hate for all that walking to have been for nothing, which it would be if they happened to spot our smoke today. Can do one tonight if we havent heard anything, but as far as during daylightlets give it a couple days. Besides, I kinda like this ice cream youve made, here. We can use some of those big pitch tablets you made, if we need to melt snow later. Too bad I wasnt able to lug the qulliq alongsorry. Dont be sorry. It was great but also heavy, and we dont have a dogsled and team to haul our possessions, like the Inuit hunters did. Well make another, whenever we get where were going. Leaving him the pot of stew to work on, she took her leave of the blanket and skinned the rabbit, slicing up the still warm heart and liver and bringing them to Einar on a flat rock. The meat, she decided, could be saved for that evenings stew. She knew Einar had little problem with eating such things raw--a habit developed

through necessity--and had done it herself when there were no other options, but it still seemed wise to cook at least some of their meat, when given the choice. They shared a breakfast of slushy stew and fresh rabbit liver, then, Einars stomach quieting a bit as he ate and allowing him to consume a useful amount. The food went a long way towards driving out the icy chill that had settled in his bones--perhaps not as far as a good brisk walk up the timbered slope might have done, but that was not happening, at the moment-but left him terribly drowsy at the same time. Dont do it. You just woke up. Got things to do, things to figure out. You go to sleep again now, who knows how long it may last? Wouldnt be surprised if you lost the whole day, that way. Pulling the map from his pocket he studied its contours, again wishing for something a bit more detailed but, when he thought about it, awfully grateful to have any map at all. He had not, for most of the first year. And it did not really matter, their precise location--the vast land of high basins and ridges that he had seen in his dream and in the distance from the bluff at the end of the ridge was theirs. They had reached it, or nearly so, had hopefully left the search behind, and somewhere in its timbered fastness he hoped to finally be able to settle in and begin carving out something more than the meager existence they had been leading so far that winter. Though were still here, so youve got to admit this is working, more or less, but I dont really see how Liz can be happy with itdont understand why shes here at all, actually, and probably never will butsure would like to give her something more to look forward to than running and freezing and starving for the rest of her life. Guess those things will always be a part of it from time to time--she knew that, I made sure she knew that--but there can be good times, too How would you like a little cabin, Liz? Four walls and a roof and some thin-stretched greased deer stomach panels for windows to let the light in, stove in one corner and maybe a table an a shelf or two to keep things on. I figure maybe he had to stop and get his breath, gulp water to suppress the cough that wanted to come, maybe once we get over into those little basins and settle on one that looks like a good spot to stay for awhilewell, ought to build something a little more permanent. If we dont find a good cave or mine or something to hole up in, that is. Her eyes lit up at the suggestion, both because she really did like the idea and because it told her that Einar was looking to the future, that he planned--or hoped, at least--to have one. As rough as things had been for him lately, she expected that such a plan might go a long way towards keeping him afloat, give him some reason other than sheer stubbornness to keep resisting the forces sough to end his life--though stubbornness seems to be working pretty well for him, so far--and she nodded enthusiastically. I would like that very much! Well build it together, and once spring comes and were sure the search is over, Ill even have a little garden out behind it, cultivate some spring beauty and things and see if we can get an even better harvest that way than we can through foraging, and then when the children start coming, well be all set up to teach them about living out here Einar had been leaning back drowsily against the rock, smiling, near sleep as she spoke and seeing in a half-wakeful dream the little basin with its cabin nestled securely beneath a heavy stand of timber, the good, warm smells of cooking supper drifting out the door as

he returned home, but he sat up straight at her last words, shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Whats this aboutchildren? What did you say? I like them! Thats not exactlyuhyes, I suppose I do too, inquisitive little critters, thats for sure, but you realize that I cant go down to town. Ever. Cant be around other people. So if anything happened, to you, toto a childour child, he shook his head. You see, I cant do it, Liz. Id gladly risk or even trade my own life for my freedom any day, but I cannot asksomeone else to do the same. Well, you didnt ask me, I volunteered. And as far as the risksif you were a pioneer, a mountain man or trapper, would you refuse to take a wife or have a family because of the dangers? Im not a pioneer, Liz, not a mountain man or a prospector or trapperwell, not the way youre meaning it, anyhow. Im a wanted man, a criminal, in the eyes of the state, in case youve forgotten, and I got a huge price on my head and a couple hundred federal agents who wont be satisfied until they have my sorry, scarred-up hide hanging on the wall above their desks. Man like that probably doesntwell, I dont know that he has a right to bring children into the world. Returning to the bear hide she sat down beside him. Einar--I disagree. Their discussion was cut short by a rumbling that was detected first by Einar, faint, far away, felt rather than heard. The look of intense concentration and distance in his eyes was mistaken at first by Liz as anger at her bringing up the topic and then pressing the matter, but she soon heard it too, sat there with him staring intently at the little strip if sky that was visible through the smoke gap above the door. In silence they listened as the distant vibrations took on the distinctive deep growl of a large helicopter, Einar praying that their tracks had been wiped out by the storm, and Liz just as fervently that he would not take the choppers presence as a definitive sign that they must move on without delay, continuing to push his exhausted body until he finally fell on his face in the snow, dead. Both were to see their prayers answered that morning; the craft never did come close enough to be seen, even, circling and turning back in a spot that Einar estimated to be somewhere over on the far side of the canyon, scouring the slopes around their former shelter in the den and departing, the skies again quiet. Relaxing his concentration, he slumped back against the rock, eyes momentarily closed, letting his breath out in a great sigh before grinning up at Liz. Made it out from under I guess, at least for now. All that distance is paying off. Looks like we can stay here a day or so, if youre not too anxious to get going. Me? No, Im definitely not too anxious to get going! We have a pretty good spot here,

and you could really use the rest--we both could. Lets stay if we can, have a good rabbit stew for dinner, hopefully get some better sleep and then decide what comes next, in the morning. Now, I know youre tired and you probably dont want to talk about this, but you seemed a little angry when I mentioned about children He twisted a clump of hair on the yearling hide, idly rubbed at a smear of charcoal on his knuckles, finally spoke. Not angry. Just very much aware of what our life is, what its likely to continue being, and wondering if youve really thought about what it would mean to bring a child into this. Wondering if that can possibly be what you want Einar, this is where we are, what we are, what weve been given. I know that practically speaking, were as far from civilization, from other people and from any sort of help as if we were on an island somewhere, but I dont see that as any reason for life not to go on. Do you? We live our lives, accept new life as the gift that it is if it comeslife goes on, for as long as the Lords willing. As hard as youve fought to stay alive, Id think you would understand the value of that. And I know we may be nomads, from time to time, may be moving or even running, but it certainly wouldnt be the first time a small nomadic tribe raised children, nor the first time a couple had to leave everything behind and flee into the wilderness with a young child, either. Were just doing things in a slightly different order, is all. If were not able to stay at a fixed locationwell, you can make me a Ute-style cradleboard with a basketlike woven willow head protector to keep branches and sticks and things out of the babys eyes as we hike through the dark timber, and Ill pad it with usnea and dried mossor if the baby comes in the winter, we can make a buckskin Amautik coat like the Inuit use, with a pouch for the baby on the back to help keep him warm, and insulate the pouch with ermine or fox fur, and hell just come right along with us wherever we go Huh. He looked at her a bit incredulously, shook his head. Youve really thought about all of this, havent you? Yes. Well, I know youve said you accept this life for yourself, and youve certainly shown that you mean it, but Im pretty sure this cant have been what you pictured if you ever looked forward to having a family. Youd be doing it without ever being a part ofall you left behind down there, society, I guess they call it, and knowing that our child wouldnt be a part of it, either. A solitary existence comes pretty naturally to me, but I doubt it does quite so much to you, and well always be on the outside, always hunted, I expect Youd really be willing to raise a family up here, under those circumstances? With an ugly old ornery loner of a wild critter like me? She took his hands, ran her fingers over the white raised scars that would forever remain to remind him of his captivity, escape and subsequent days spent trapped in the handcuffs, kissed his wrists. Yes, I would. I accepted it--all of it, even the parts that I didnt know about and

probably still dont--before I ever decided to come out here with you, to stay with you--I accepted it way back last spring when I was living with Bill and Susan after you escaped in that explosion, wondering if you were still alive, hoping, but pretty sure there was no way. I knew then that I would be willing to give up everything elsefor this. And as far as the child, he will be content with whatever he grows up with, hopefully. Itll be all he knows, and hell be happy, as long as we can provide for his basic needs, which arent all that different from our own. And remember, hell be your child, so a solitary existence may suit him just fine, if any of what makes you so very much yourself is genetic! Genetic, huh, Einar growled, narrowing his eyes at her, and why he? You keep saying he. Or she. But I keep seeing a little boy whenever I think about thisa wild, scrawny little blue eyed boy running around in buckskins and a cap of felted mountain goat wool and probably getting into every bit as much trouble as his father must have at that age, climbing on things and starting fires and who knows what else I can already see that Im going to have a hard time keeping up with him. He was quiet for a minute, wondering whether or not to continue with the conversation, not sure whether it was wise to be encouraging her or even considering the things they seemed to be considering, but finally working up the courage to go ahead with it. Ive seen him, too. In a dream. Back in the summer before we met in the canyon that day when you were picking berries, before I got stabbedhad a little camp set up in a basin above our meeting place, and I was digging avalanche lily roots to dry them. Fell asleep one time sitting in the sun on a log while I was working, saw you, guess I was dreaming, because you were wearing a white buckskin dress and a hat woven of cattail leaves, he stopped, smiled at the memory, and you were out there at the edge of this little grassy meadow digging roots, with a little one sitting there in the dirt beside you, just as content as could be, barefoot, playing with a digging stick She looked at him in disbelief. You really dreamed that, way back then? But you worked so hard to get rid of me, in those days and weeks after the stabbing--leaving me at the road, sending me down to the canoe rental placeI didnt think you wanted me with you at all He gave her a sad smile. Ah, Liz, a man can seldom have what he wants, especially one in my situation. Dreamed all kinds of things, you know, but always just told myself they were off limits, not part of my world, never would be. Lots of things are off limits when youre living this life, and you got to keep them that way, got to keep them real firmly in their place Anyhow I believed it, about all of that beingforbidden, and now Im finding that its mighty hard to un-convince yourself of something like that. So this little one who was helping me dig roots, was it a girl, or a boy? He looked puzzled. Well, dont know exactly. Had a mop of real blond hair, thats for sure, sticking out in all directions from under that cattail leaf hat, but other than that I

didnt get a real good look. You know how dreams can be, all hazy and indistinct. The good ones, anyway For a long space Einar remained silent, then, having worn himself out talking and once more feeling in full the effects of his blood loss, infection and the long, oxygen-deprived miles he had walked the day before, and he tried very hard to continue the conversation, to think of what to say next, but he seemed suddenly to have been deprived of the ability to speak, to remain sitting, even, and he slumped back against the rock. Liz finally looked over at him--she had slowly over the past weeks grown accustomed to keeping her gaze largely focused on something besides his face as they talked, as their conversations always seemed to last longer that way for some reason--and saw that he had begun shivering badly, eyes distant and cloudy and his breathing not sounding quite as good as it had, earlier. The dreaming time was over, for the moment. Life was making its demands. Past time to change that foot dressing, and then it looks like he really needs to sleep, whether he likes it or not

Brought rather suddenly back to awareness when Liz began easing his overboot off, Einar sat up and scrubbed his hand across his face. Kinda fell asleep there for a minute. Sorry. Dont know whats wrong with me today. Here, Ill do the foot. Its my turn. With Einar pushing her away, Liz released her hold on the boot and let him finish the job, but his hands were shaking badly, and it was clear that he was causing himself unnecessary pain in attempting to unwind the sock strip that held the dressings in place. She helped him get them off, pouring bits of berberine water here and there where the dressings had stuck and dried in place. The stumps where Einars toes had been did not appear to have begun healing, yet, the skin flaps that he had tried so hard to leave showing no inclination to grow over the wounds left by the absent toes. Despite the lack of healing nothing appeared infected, either, somewhat to Lizs amazement, the sickly sweet smell of decay making no return to warn that further and most unwelcome action would soon be necessary to preserve Einars life, let alone his foot. She was very glad, supposed the berberine must be having some effect. What she could not see, but Einar could definitely feel, was that on one or two of the toes his hasty job of severing the joints had left splinters or jagged edges of bone that were now pressing against the skin flaps, causing continual discomfort and probably further delaying healing. He felt like tearing the whole thing open and taking a file or--far more readily available--a rough piece of sandstone to the offending bone stumps, but weighing the discomfort against the greatly increased chance of secondary infection that any such procedure would leave him exposed to, he decided to leave well enough alone and give things a chance to heal up as they were. Could be that Im wrong about the bones, anyway. Whole areas still pretty swollen up and hurts like heck most of the time, so theres really no way to say whats going on in there just yet. Best leave it alone. Go messing around in there and I may start bleeding again, and somehow sanding and scraping on bone with a grimy old chunk of sandstone off the shelter floor just doesnt sound like any part of a recipe for a long life. Gonna skip it for now, hope things heal up alright.

He changed the dressing between his two remaining toes himself, wanting to spare her the unpleasantness and not entirely trusting himself not to react badly if she handled it. The foot was giving him a good bit of trouble that day. The two remaining toes, though they still looked bad and felt worse, appeared not to be developing any signs of dangerous infection, and this, at least, was a comfort to him. May be able to keep them, yet. If I can avoid freezing them again. He let his breath out--had been holding it without realizing, not got much focus today, have you? You know this works a lot better if you keep breathing, through it--and began wrapping the foot, smearing a good bit of salve on the area, first, and padding everything well with usnea. After the foot was finished he sat there for a minute staring out at the slowly spinning arc of trees that was visible above the door flap and trying to gather himself to get up and go do something, but when Liz suggested he lie down, the idea sounded like a fine one, and he did it. Had been too dizzy to be of much use, anyway. Getting Einar positioned as comfortably as possible and covering him up with the yearling hide and several arms full of dry pine and spruce needles, Liz left the shelter, hoping to be able to come up with something more for their supper. She thought about using some of the remaining rabbit innards to bait a deadfall or two, almost rejected the idea on the likelihood that they would be moving on before the trap had a chance to produce anything, but decided to give it a try, anyhow. As difficult as Einar seemed to be finding it to stay awake and alert for more than minutes at a time that morning, she had a feeling that they might be there for another day or two, at least. Retrieving two of the figure four trigger setups that she had packed along, she wrapped some rabbit gut up in the hide, and started up the slope behind their little shelter of rock beneath the trees. With her she took the bola that Einar had started on several days before they left the den. He had never finished it, the frostbitten toes intervening to consume most of his attention, and only one of the three smooth stones he had chosen was enclosed in its casing of rawhide. The other two he had simply tied onto their cords, wanting to keep track of them for later, when he could finish work on the weapon. Liz supposed she could use it as-is with at least some chance of success; if on of the stones came loose and got lost, she would find another. Between the bola, her rabbit stick and the trap triggers, she thought there was at least some chance of securing more food, over the next day or two while they were at the shelter. That would be a very good thing. We have a lot of the bear fat left but not much meat, and I would sure like to be able to save most what we do have for a reserve, especially since its already dried and in a good form for packing and traveling. The more meat I can come up with, the more we get to save. And Einar could really use the fresh stuff I think, the organ meat and the blood. Not too far up the slope Liz came across the small, distinctive five-toes tracks of a weasel of some sort, too large to be ermine, so she supposed they must be marten, and quite fresh. Must be from last night. How would you like some rabbit guts, little marten? We really need you, need your meat and your soft warm hide Looking over the area for a few minutes, she decided on a location for the trap, placing it at the base of a blue spruce and breaking a few small branches from the tree to build a three walled cubby as Einar had taught her, placing the bait at the

back and setting up the trigger so the animal would have to trip it to reach the bait, a leaning slab of granite carefully lowered onto the top stick of the trigger to crush and trap whatever might venture in. The second trap she set within sight of the first, hoping and praying that she might come in the morning and find at least one of them occupied. From there, Liz took a circuitous route that she expected would lead her in a wide half-circle back down to the shelter, searching along her way for usnea and good dry leaning aspens that might be small enough to haul back and break up for firewood, stopping frequently to pull the grey-green lichen clumps from spruce branches. About halfway back down to the shelter, by her estimation, Liz heard a rustling in the willow and gooseberry underbrush just down the hill from where she stood--willows! The first Ive seen, lately! Have to get a bunch of the bark and save it for Einar--and she froze, staring intently into the thicket. Nothing moved, nothing she could see, anyway, but a series of muted clucking sounds told her she had walked up on a feeding ptarmigan or grouse. Grouse, she expected, because she had never actually heard a ptarmigan make any such sound, and the rustling seemed as thought it ought to be coming from a larger creature, anyway. Glancing around, she noticed a pile of droppings beneath a nearby spruce, brown and cylindrical with bits of white at the ends and reminding her strangely of some sort of oversized bran cereal pellets--hunger can begin to twist the mind, thats for sure--and she knew she was looking at the roosting tree of a grouse. Choosing the rabbit stick, which she had more experience with, she carefully stalked closer to the thicket, wondering whether she ought, once she got out of the evergreens and into the clear, attempt to flush the bird out so she could get it while on the wing, or simply get as close as she could undetected, and pounce with the stick. She knew there was no way she was going to be able to continue moving silently, once she hit the dense willows and had to start parting them to get through. The choice was taken out of her hands when she accidentally stepped on a thin, brittle branch that was hidden just beneath the snow, breaking it and scaring up the grouse, who took flight with a great beating of wings that she knew would have reminded Einar of a nearby helicopter, had he suddenly heard it somewhere near him. The clear, willow-filled area was small, and Liz, knowing she did not have much time before the grouse reached the evergreens again, threw the stick, missing in her haste and hurriedly pulling the bola from her pocket, running after the departing fool hen. The bird, its powers of flight only slightly better than a domestic chicken, came to rest high in the boughs of one of the first spruces the forest offered it, where it sat calm as could be, apparently believing that it was out of danger. Liz had other ideas, sanding there and picturing the grouse roasting over their fire that night, grease dripping and sizzling in the flames as its skin turned a wonderful crunchy brown, and she pressed her growling stomach to ease the hungry cramping that developed at the thought. Swinging the bola around and around from the point where the three cords were tied together as Einar had described its use to her--she had never actually seen one used, but believed she understood the concept--she let fly at the bird, surprised and pleased when the weapon flew more or less true, entangling the surprised bird, which began putting up a terrible racket. Oh! Certainly wouldnt want to do this if we thought anyone was on our trail and might be nearby! This would alert them, for sure! The bird had, it appeared, been

caught by one foot out there on the fairly narrow branch on which it had been roosting, could not move but was certainly not about to fall to the ground for her to harvest, either, and Liz dropped her pack--well, Einars pack, as she had brought the small one, not wanting to haul fifty pounds along on her hunting expedition--and beginning to shimmy up the tree. The branches were fairly close together as is common with spruces, and though the thickness of the boughs slowed her some and scratched her up pretty good as she passed, she made good progress up towards the squawking, struggling bird. Until, at least, the branches began growing smaller the higher she climbed, the trees flexible trunk swaying a bit alarmingly with her weight. There it was, she had reached it, and she wrapped her left arm around the trees trunk for stability as she reached out with the other hand in an attempt to untangle the birds foot, the grouse beating her in the face with its wings the whole time. Closer, need to be just a little closer and she released her hold on the trunk, grabbing instead the branch that held the trapped bird, balancing precariously with her right foot on a branch beneath her as her left dangled out into space. She almost had it, just one more wrap to go, from what she could feel, when her foot unexpectedly went out from under her and the branch that held the bird, suddenly burdened with her entire weight, broke. Lying there barely awake in the shelter, half-heartedly fighting the sleep that wanted to take him and trying to decide what he should do first, whenever he did finally manage to shake off its tentacles and sit up again, Einar heard the angry squawking of the grouse some distance up the slope, knew it as the call of a trapped bird and smiled at the thought that Liz had just netted their dinner. That knowledge somehow seemed to make sleep seem a bit more acceptable, reducing the immediacy of one of the pressures that had been urging him up and to action, and he drew his knees to his chest, huddling against the cold as he drifted off. The bird noises did not stop, though, instead growing louder and more frantic, and he was suddenly wide awake and sitting up, wondering just what could be going on. Eventually the clamor quieted and Einar relaxed a bit and leaned back on the shelter-rock, pictures drifting through his mind of Liz chasing a grouse on foot, diving at it, grabbing and hanging on as it dragged her all over the slope above the shelter. Comical images, for sure, but he doubted the likelihood of her using any such hunting method. She had the rabbit stick, knew how to use it and had successfully done so in the past and--checking in the pack and finding it absent--she seemed to have taken the halffinished bola, as well. So, plenty of options. The excitement, whatever its explanation, seemed to be over, and Einar lay down again, freezing and suddenly very dizzy, supposing that he would be getting the full story soon enough when Liz came back and related it to him. He could only hope that the tale ended in her getting her hands on that bird. He slept then, or lost consciousness--upon waking he suspected the latter, as surely he would have taken a moment to pull the yearling hide up over his shoulders if he had merely been falling asleep--waking a good while later to a thick confusion in his head and the relentless, iron hands of the bitterly cold day squeezing him around the middle, trying their best to shake the life out of him. Rolling himself into a ball--as close as he could get, anyway, with the previous injuries to his knee and hip--in a reflexive attempt to combat the cold, he very nearly went back to sleep, lulled by the voice of his own weakness as it whispered to him in words barely

audible over the rattling of his teeth yet somehow tremendously soothing that youll be fine, you just need sleep, warmth will come with sleep He knew that voice, fought it with all he had and finally managed to haul himself upright, realizing only then that he had left the yearling hide in a heap beside his bed of spruce needles, rather than wrapping up in it as he ought to have done, no wonder youre frozen, struggled the hide up around his shoulders and pressed his arms tightly to his sides. Einar sat there trembling for the next several minutes, rocking back and forth as the burning, prickling pain of returning circulation set his arms and hands on fire, welcoming it even as he set his jaw to keep from crying out. Could have been worse. Awful lot worse. At least the feeling is coming back, and pretty easily. Cant be doing this. You want your right hand to match your foot, or what? Stay awake, you fool, or at least make sure to cover up next time before you sleep. The pain eventually faded and his hands started working again, but he was still terribly cold and seemed to lack the strength to warm himself, was tiring quickly. The hide was warm, but Einar knew that no blanket or hide, no matter how insulating, is going to be sufficient if inadequate heat is not being generated, in the first place. He needed food, fumbled with the pack and finally managed to secure a chunk of bear fat-sugar would have been better, but none was available--sitting there and waiting for the stuff to begin melting in his mouth so he could swallow it. Not working. Not enough. Need heat. Clear sky though, sono fire. Remembering the fuel pellets Liz had created of cattail fuzz and spruce pitch, he checked in the outer pocket of her pack where he thought he remembered her storing several, found them and sat there staring and contemplating for a while, growing colder and colder as he tried to weigh the risks posed by the curls of black smoke that might escape from the shelter if he used one to warm himself. Door flap ought to keep most of the smoke in. Doesnt even make all that much. And the trees are thick here, ought to disperse anything that does get out Still he hesitated, the memory of that mornings rumbling pass by the distant helicopter so fresh that he could almost hear it, feel the vibrations in the ground, and he tried to warm himself by swinging his arms, beating them against his sides, but found them to be barely responsive to his demands, their feeble motions hardly enough to generate a useful amount of heat. What are you waiting for Einar? Sleep? Death? Waiting to see if Liz comes back somewhere between the two and thaws you out at the last minute? Who knowsshe might very well decide it just isnt worth the effort. Now light the thing, before you lose your hands again and arent able. Maybe set it on a rock first so you dont set all these pine cones and things on fire and roast yourself to death. Seemed reasonable enough and he did it, or tried to, finding that he had to bite the fuel tablet open to expose some of its cattail down, his fingers lacking the strength and dexterity to pull it open as was intended, and as he jerkily got it positioned on a flat rock between his knees, he could only hope that he had not so badly dampened the down as to prevent it taking a spark. Striking the spark brought its own set of challenges, his hands working reasonably well, fingers able to grip the striker and fire steel, but shaking so badly that it took him several frustrating minutes of trying--during which he once very nearly forgot what he was doing and came close to lying back down--before he was able to send a lackluster little shower of sparks down into the tinder. Nothing. Of course. Seldom happens the first time when

you really need it, and he tried again and again, finally hearing the telltale pop and sizzle of burning pitch as a tuft of exposed cattail fuzz caught and took off. Sitting with his legs on either side of the flaming pitch glob, yearling hide over his shoulders and spread down to either side so as to create a small, heat-trapping tent he huddled over the warmth of the fuel tab, slowly warming. By the time the pitch and cattail fuzz lump had burnt itself out over the following ten minutes, Einar, though still badly chilled, was confident that he would be able to hold his own until evening came and he could, situation permitting, have a fire. Ha! Yeah, as long as you can stay awake, which is not looking especially likely There had still been no sign of Liz, and he was really beginning to wonder what could be taking her so long, was beginning to grow a bit concerned. Liz lay where she had fallen, upper back and shoulders on the snowy ground and legs apparently caught somehow on the last branch she had bounced off of on her way down. Her breath had been knocked out by a large bough that caught her across the stomach as she fell, and as she struggled to regain it she flexed her knees, hoping to free her legs and roll to the ground. It wasnt working, for some reason, and when she went in search of her hands, it was to discover that the left one was still firmly wrapped around the grouses foot. The bird wasnt moving, its neck twisted at an odd angle beneath it, and she supposed that some part of the fall must have broken it. Her own arms and face were a mass of scratches, bruises and ugly, blood-oozing patches of tree rash where they had been dragged over the spruces rough bark and through masses of small, brittle side branches close to the trunk on the way down, but that same plethora of branches also seemed to have prevented her from gaining a dangerous amount of speed as she tumbled the thirty-plus feet that had separated her from the earth. Well, looks like my neck isnt broken, everythings still attached and seems to be working, more or less, and I didnt even lose our dinner! She laughed a little, spit out a mouthful of spruce needles and gritty bark fragments, and promptly started shaking as the realization hit her of how close she had come to serious, debilitating injury. Struggling again to free herself and finding her left leg firmly stuck between two branches that were out of view in the greenery overhead and starting to hurt as the shock of her fall wore off, she felt like crying, didnt, instead disentangling her hand from the bola strings that held the dead grouse and grabbing the stump of a branch that jutted out just above her head, having apparently been broken in the fall. Unable to quite see her trapped leg no matter how she craned her neck, she lifted herself slightly to take a bit of the weight off of and tried experimentally kicking at it with her right foot, hoping to jar the leg loose from wherever it was trapped. This brought an immediate stab of pain in her calf that discouraged her from trying again, at least until she got a better look at what was going on. After resting for a minute she tried again--help me, please, I cant just stay stuck here!--managing finally to get her top half raised up high enough that she could hook her right elbow over a branch and reach up with her left hand to feel whatever was keeping her leg from coming free. Liz did not like what she found, fought back the sense of panic that she could feel creeping over her, tried to think. The branch that held Lizs leg firmly in place was a small one, dead, brittle, sharply

fractured several inches out from the trunk, jutting out at an upward angle. Raising herself and craning her neck she could just see where it disappeared into the neatly torn cloth of her pants leg. Now she knew why it had hurt so much when shed attempted to kick the leg free. Aside from that ill-advised exercise, though, there was very little pain in the leg and only minimal blood visible in the cloth around the puncture hold, though come to think of it she could begin to feel a warm, slippery trace of blood coming down her leg, well, up it, if she had not been hanging there upside-down, and she presently felt it reach the knee, run around her kneecap to the outside and continue on its course. Liz was angry. She couldnt be seriously hurt, incapacitated, unable to walk, just couldnt. I have to carry the pack, have to carry everything, I cant go back down there and tell Einar Im hurt, or hell try to do more than hes ready for, and hell kill himself. Hell walk himself to death trying to lug a heavier pack, and I am not letting that happen. Not letting it happen! Notlettingit! She had begun speaking aloud, repeating the words as much to keep her focused and prevent her dissolving into panic as anything, and as she spoke she maneuvered her left hand over and retrieved her knife, knowing that she must somehow free herself from that branch so she could get to the ground. The thing was far too deeply embedded--it seemed to have gone right through the muscle of her calf, not simply pierced the skin--to consider trying to tear herself free, and all she could think of was to hack away at the branch until it snapped, freeing her from the tree and probably leaving the branch fragment behind in her leg to be dealt with later. The branch was dense and tough, the angle at which she was working a difficult one, and it took Liz a good while to finally hack away enough of the wood from its underside that it finally creaked, moaned and snapped, dropping her unceremoniously to the snow beneath. She lay there for a second or two catching her breath and wiping the sweat from her face before sitting up and pulling up her pants leg to get a better look at the injury. There wasnt much to see, not a particularly large amount of bleeding as of yet, the thin trace of darkening red that went down her leg being the only blood that was visible. The whole thing would have looked pretty normal, actually, if peoples legs were capable of sprouting branches, because thats what it looked like to her, the two inches of spruce that stuck up out of her calf just above the top of her low-cut boot, but legs were definitely not supposed to sprout branches, and the sight made her feel faint and more than a little sick, not to mention the fact that it was really starting to hurt now that she had moved it. Taking a deep breath and pressing a small handful of snow to the site in the hopes of easing the growing, throbbing pain it was putting off, she managed to keep her composure, tried to slow her racing thoughts and make a decision. The thing needed to come out, that was clear, but she feared that doing so might result in a good deal of bleeding, and all the yarrow had been left back down at the shelter with Einar. She had hoped, while still hanging in the tree, to deal with whatever injury she had sustained before returning, and not mention it to Einar unless such became absolutely essential, wanting very much to avoid giving him any reason to insist on carrying more of the load, whenever they moved on. Now that she had got a good look at it, though, she realized that the only sensible thing would be to wait, try to make it back down there with the stick in place, and get Einars advice about removing it, as it seemed that hed had more

practical experience withsuch thingsthan she had. The first thing that had come to her mind after seeing the injury--after she had managed to get the nausea and revulsion under control, was stabilize and evacuate. Thats what you were supposed to do with impaled objects, if she remembered correctly from her training, pad them and wrap them in place and carry the person out of there so the offending object could be dealt with in a hospital setting where bleeding and other complications could be more easily controlled, but that isnt exactly an option, and I do think I remember something about it being best to remove things like that as soon as possible if evacuation is going to be delayed, which it certainly is in this case, so Ill just have to settle for getting back to Einar, and seeing what his idea isthough I could wrap it with something to stabilize it I guess, and Id better be looking for a good walking stick, too, because I dont think Im going to want to be walking on that leg, moving the muscle and all, with that thing stuck in there. She was starting to shake again, her hands refusing to cooperate as she tried to open the backpack in search of a good-sized wad of usnea and one of the boiled sock strips with which to wrap the leg, and she paused again, squeezed her eyes shut and took a few breaths--help me. I dont really know what Im doing, and I need help, getting a little scared-managing to get ahold of herself to the point where she was again in command of her hands, at least. Padding the protruding stick with usnea on both sides, she wrapped the padding in place and decided to call it good, seeing that the area around it was bruising and beginning to swell and thinking that the sooner she could get down to the shelter and get it out, the better. Standing with the aid of a stick--one of the dead, needle-less branches that her fall had broken off and brought down--she looked down the slope, hoping to see something that would tell her just where the shelter was, but seeing nothing she recognized. No matter. She knew it was down there, knew she could not miss it by too much, as it was just inside the timber that lay above the open, snow-filled basin they had skirted the night before in their travels. If she overshot it, she would simply backtrack and follow the timbers edge until she recognized something. Ready to head down, she remembered the willow thicket that she had pushed through in chasing the grouse, crawled over to its edge and stripped the bark from a number of the reddish shoots, rolling it up and stashing it in her pack. She had been intending to get some to add to the supply they had gathered down on the canyon floor, and hated to pass up on the opportunity. Getting into the backpack and tying the grouse to it with one of the bola strings, she started down, hopping when she could on her right foot, as every contraction of her calf muscles in the left brought a fresh wave of pain washing up from the damaged area. Some use of the foot proved to be necessary, though, in navigating the snowy, deadfall-ridden steepness beneath her--Einar, I have no idea how you do this, day after day, with that crutch!--and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at the sharp tearing sensations in her leg, at those times. Partway down the slope she almost changed her mind and stopped to pull the stick out, but the prospect of serious bleeding prevented her from carrying through with it. The wound was beginning to ooze blood as she moved, and she knew that the presence of the stick could be acting to pinch off veins that would bleed freely when it was pulled out. Dont do it. Best to be down there where you can be still afterwards, where theres a dry, warm place to lie down and put the leg up after, to help control the bleeding. And besides, you dont want to be going back to Einar a bloody, whimpering mess and make

him think this is worse than it may be. He was barely able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time this morning, and he sure doesnt need that kind of a scare. The thought that she must be strong for Einars sake gave Liz the courage she needed to continue down the slope--you can do this. Hes been walking around with worse every day, and you never hear him complain--moving slowly as she navigated through areas of deadfall, trying to keep beneath the heavier timber where she would leave fewer tracks and where the thinner snow cover made for easier going. Beginning to catch occasional glimpses of the snow-bright basin through the trees below her she knew she must be getting close, close, at least, to the elevation of the shelter, even if she had come down to one or the other side of it, and she pressed ahead, growing a bit careless in her eagerness to be off her feet. Paying more heed to the terrain in front of her than to her own feet as she sought the shelter, Liz smacked the protruding stick in her leg against the twisted root of a fallen tree that stuck up out of the snow, and she cried out briefly before biting her lip until the blood came in an attempt to silence herself. Einar had heard, though, was already on his feet, doggedly holding his own against a spreading blackness that rose before his eyes, spear in hand; he was coming.

Liz had been far closer to the shelter when she bumped her leg than she had realized, and had not walked for the space of another minute before she saw Einar coming up the hillside towards her, leaning heavily on his spear and looking a bit unsteady but moving surprisingly quickly, eyes sharp and ready, even if the rest of him hardly was, scanning the slope for danger. It had to be there, whatever had attacked Liz and elicited the scream that had sent him scrambling to his feet; he had never heard her cry out like that, even when she had fallen back in the canyon, so he knew she must have had a very good reason for it. Nothing. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, saw nothing, and continued up through the timber in the direction the cry had seemed to come from. As he climbed, Einar was suddenly seized by a fear, only half rational but wholly believed, that she must have been taken, that the enemy had somehow tracked and found them in the night, seen the heat signature from their fire in a satellite image or found the den and guessed at the probable course of their escape, getting into position and waiting in ambush for one of them to leave the den before pouncing He fitted a dart into the atlatl, crouched in the shadow of a fir trunk, every sense alert and the world taking on a hard, sharp-edged, crackling quality that was all too familiar to him, his exhaustion and the lingering malaise of his blood loss and injuries pushed for the moment to the background. They were out there, and he was going to find them, going to do all he could to free Liz. Briefly he wondered if he was himself under surveillance, felt a sharp prickle of terror and an unpleasant tingling in his shoulder at the thought that they might even then have him in their sights, targeting him not with a snipers bullet but with one of those abominable darts that they had tried on him the last time, but he pushed that thought aside, too, telling himself that surely they would have already made their move, in that case. Keep going. Quiet, careful, and you may yet have the element of surprise on them. Up there. Right where the trees thin out some. Thats where she was, and theres no way theyre just walking out of here with her, hauling her up to some LZ and snatching her off the

mountain. I will get to them, first. And then he saw her, saw the slow, hopping gait with which she traveled, apparently oblivious to any danger if it existed. As he hurried towards her, Einar came to the slow realization that he must have been misunderstanding the sort of danger he was dealing with, from the start, and he finished the climb with halfformed tears of gladness further blurring his already dim and uncertain vision. When Einar reached her Liz steadfastly remained on her feet, trying to conceal her injured leg behind the good one, immensely relieved to see him but at the same time worried and a bit angry at him for attempting that climb in his condition. He was walking heedlessly on his bad foot like somebodys life depended on how quickly he made it up that hill, and clearly having a terrible time catching his breath as he stood there leaning on his spear and staring at her. He saw the stain of blood on her pants leg, the raw red streaks where branches had raked across her face and arms and hands, insisted that she sit down on a fallen tree and let him take a look at the injuries. She complied, and he lowered himself heavily to the ground beside her, briefly closing his eyes as he fought back the dizziness. Mustve been some grouse you tangled with up there! I heard it hollering, figured you must be having a hard time getting ahold of it, butwhat happened to you? Well at least I got the grouse, so well have a good dinner... Fell out of the tree. The one the bird was in when I got it with the bola. He had by that time finished inspecting her head and arms--quite a mess, and would need some careful cleaning and the removal of various imbedded bark fragments, and but no real damage done, as far as he could tell--and he soon discovered the branch sticking out of her leg, bound hastily but fairly effectively into place with the improvised dressings she had applied before leaving the area of the tree. Quickly deciding that its continued presence put her in no immediate danger of serious bleeding, Einar made the decision to get her down to the shelter where more resources were available to them--and where she would not have to travel, immediately aferwards--before attempting to remove the stick. Ok, lets head down there. He crouched immediately in front of her, planted his spear in the snow and leaned slightly forward. Here, get your arms around my neck, cross them on my chest and hang on. Ill carry you. Gonna need at least one of my hands to hold onto this spear, but as long as you can be responsible for making sure you dont come loose, ought to work just fine. Not far down to the shelter, and well get this thing out of you. Liz stared at him in disbelief for a moment, until he finally turned around to see what could possibly be taking her so long. He was getting a little shaky just crouching there like that, and was anxious to be up and moving before the exertion of the climb caught up to him and he found himself unable to do it. Liz was shaking her head. Einar--no! I can walk. Hop. Ill make it. Its just a little branch, doesnt even go clear through the leg, and Ive come all the way from up there in the clearing

Raising an eyebrow and squinting at her he shrugged, handed her the spear. Huh. Sounds kinda like what Id say. Thought you had more sense than that Ok. Hop, if its working for you. But you got to keep the weight off that foot, alright, or Ill have to end up carrying you. Could probably do it a lot more damage by walking on it, using those muscles Oh, Ill keep the weight off of it! No question about that. Which she did, hopping through the snow down towards the shelter, following Einars tracks and supported by him from time to time when they had to cross an especially difficult area of deadfall or steep snow. It took a while, Einar slowing things down perhaps more even than Liz was, but they made it back to the shelter, Einar helping Liz inside and getting her covered up with the yearling hide. She had started to shake again as soon as the shelter came into view, and though he didnt know if it was more from the cold, or simply because she knew she was somewhere safe and could finally relax and begin to take in what had happened to her, he supposed the warmth of the hide certainly couldnt hurt anything. The climb, though untimely and badly exhausting his already limited resources, had served to warm him more thoroughly than any amount of lying curled up in the shelter possibly could have, and he was very grateful that he once more had feeling in all of his extremities, at least--well, kinda wish I couldnt feel the foot, actually, but you cant have it both ways--and could keep his hands more or less steady, when he tried. He knew he would be needing that stability when the time came to remove the stick from Lizs leg. Which Id better be tending to pretty soon, before it has time to start swelling worse. First, need to boil some water though, got to have something clean to wash out that wound with. Guess Ill use a couple of those fuel tablets to boil up half a pot of water-could use five or six times that much, but wont be able to have a fire for hours, yet, and sure dont want to leave that thing in there any longer than we have to--maybe add some Oregon grape roots at the last minute so the stuffll be at least somewhat disinfecting, and find a way to squirt it up into the wound, hopefully flush all the tree fragments and other gunk outaw, Liz, sure dont like seeing you this way. Let me climb the next tree, why dont you? Would be an awful lot easier to face this if it had happened to me Leaning on the granite slab that made up the rear wall of their shelter with her leg propped up to help with the swelling, Liz was working on the grouse, starting to pluck it as Einar heated the water, and he was about to tell her that she didnt need to bother, that he could just skin it for her, but he could see that she was in a lot of pain--brave girl, can see shes trying not to show it--and knew from experience that she really needed something to occupy her mind and hands, just then. She had stopped shaking as she focused on the task, seemed to be keeping control of herself. That sure looks like a fine grouse. Give it a few hours to get dark out there, and we can have a fire, boil it up or roast it even, and have a feast. Got the snow melting. Want to get it to a boil just to make sure its clean, add some berberine and then we can use it to wash that leg out, once the stick is free. How you doing? You Ok? Sure. Not bad. I could have broken my back or something, landing the way I did, so this is not bad. It could bleed a lot though, couldnt it? When we pull the stick out? I

was thinking that the stick may be compressing a vein or an artery, as tightly as its jammed in there, and that when it comes outdo you think we should do a tourniquet on the leg, first? It may bleed some, but I doubt itll be too serious. Wouldnt hurt to have a strip of leather or something in place and all ready to tighten somewhere below your knee, in case it became necessary, but I bet well be fine with some yarrow to slow the bleeding, usnea to absorb it, and a lot of direct pressure. Waters hotyou ready? She nodded, pulled her pants leg up past her knee and loosely wrapped the strip of deer hide he had handed her around her leg, in readiness should the bleeding become too serious. Einar was washing out a plastic zippered bag, the last they had that still held water, cutting off the very tip of one of its corners when he was finished so the bag could be squeezed to create a fairly forceful stream of water to irrigate the wound and hopefully free any fragments that the stick left behind. The bag ready to go, he laid out their remaining supply of yarrow and a good bit of usnea on a flat rock, adding to the supplies a small, flat rock which he intended to wrap atop the dressings to help keep pressure on the wound, if it seemed inclined to bleed. Liz unwrapped the cloth strip with which she had bound the stick in place, removed the usnea dressings, bloody but not soaked. Einar? Can I have that willow stick you keep in your pocket? The one you use when we do your toes You really want it? Pretty chewed up by now buthere. He handed her the stick, tooth-marked and nearly split from numerous dressings of the damaged toes and then the stumps, and she clamped in between her teeth as he took hold of the stick and put slow, steady outward pressure on it, keeping it as straight as possible and gently removing it. The stick appeared to be intact, smooth, no small side branches missing and left imbedded in her leg, and Einar was relieved, thankful. Such a situation would have been decidedly beyond the scope of his knowledge, though of course he would have tried to figure out a way to resolve it Liz had tried to keep quiet through the extraction but had not quite managed it, and he glanced up from his work to find her staring wide-eyed at the bloody stick, understandably a bit distraught but, he thought, doing an excellent job of not letting it get away with her. There was some bleeding but nothing catastrophic, and he filled the bag with by then barely warm water, rinsing out the wound and packing yarrow and usnea against it. Seeing that it still showed little inclination to bleed at more than a trickle, he wrapped it with one of the boiled sock strips that had been set aside for his foot, setting the small, flat rock on top of the wrap where it would apply pressure to the usnea and yarrow on the wound, and wrapping with another strip. That was it, all they could do at the moment, and in his clumsy fashion he took Lizs hand and tried to assure her that everything had gone well, ought to turn out alright, that he would make some willow solution when they had a fire that evening, and she could have some to help with the pain if the bleeding had got no worse, by then. She smiled at him, accepted the water he gave her to drink, and returned to plucking the grouse. Thank you, Einar. Next time I will try to snag the bird before it leaves the ground! Now

maybe youd better rest some. It was a long way up that hill He had hardly stopped moving since they returned to the shelter, and Liz was growing increasingly concerned, seeing how dizzy he apparently was, as he felt his way around the place preparing the wood for that evenings fire and trying to make sure she was comfortable, how hard his breath was coming. Rest. Come on. Sit with me for a minute, Ok? That can all be done later. Finishing with the fire preparations he crawled over to her, checked the dressings to make sure they were not soaking too quickly with blood, and sank down in a heap on the spruce needles beside her, out before he even had a chance to pull a corner of the yearling hide up over himself for warmth. When Einar woke it was to find the shelter bright with the flickering light of a fire--he could see it through his closed eyelids, but couldnt quite seem to get them open--and warm, warm enough that he was certain the fire must have been lit some time ago. He had somehow ended up under the yearling hide, could feel its weight holding him down, and when he tried to move it was to find warm rocks pressed up against the small of his back and in the hollow of his stomach where he had curled around them. He needed the heat, couldnt stop shivering despite the apparent warmth of the shelter, took one of the rocks in his hands and pressed it to his ribs, finally opening his eyes. Liz was sitting there beside the fire with her sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot and dabbing at the abrasions on her left arm with a dampened sock. The grouse, neatly plucked and cleaned, hung over the fire on a stout spruce stick. Einars eyes strayed down to her bandaged leg, back to the scratches on her face and he sat bolt upright, scattering the hot rocks across the floor with a clatter as he suddenly remembered the events of the day. Hey, told you tokick me when I fall asleep like that. Meant it. Hows your leg? I The shelter-rocks spun crazily around him, threatening to dump him on his face, and he lowered his head for a few seconds, scrubbed his hand across his eyes and resumed his dogged, stiff-limbed crawl towards the fire, and Liz, noticing as he went that she seemed to have placed hot rocks from the fire here and there throughout the shelter, heating it from the back and sides as well as from the front, with the blaze. I meant to keep an eye on that leg. Let me take a look. Been bleeding much? No, the dressings havent even started to soak through. And I did try to wake you, because you still had your wet clothes on and I think it would have taken a pry bar to get them off of you, the way you curl up to sleep. Tried to keep you warm but Im afraid it didnt work too well, so I just waited until dark and got the fire going. Kicking might have helped wake you, I dont know, didnt resort to that, but nothing else seemed to be having much effect. You were really out. Pry bar, huh? He dropped down by the fire, holding chilled hands over its flames and shuddering harder as its warmth began loosening his muscles. His clothes were indeed wet, now that she mentioned it he noticed that the pants legs and one sleeve, especially, remained rather damp from his trek up the hill, but he had no interest in changing them before he checked on Lizs injury, feeling that he had already shirked his duty by falling asleep or otherwise losing consciousness when he should have been tending to her. Better keep yourdoggone pry bargood and far away from mespecially when Im

asleep. Now. Let me see that leg. Lizs leg, which she had been careful to keep elevated while she prepared the grouse, took a rest and built the fire, appeared not to have bled much, and Einar carefully removed the outer of the two layers of sock-strips with which it was wrapped, wanting a better look but knowing that it would be inadvisable to tamper with the inner dressing, as that would be likely to start her bleeding again. The area around the wound was showing some bruising, purple-black and swollen, her toes feeling a bit cold, but they had their normal color, and he could easily feel her pulse at the ankle when he checked. The swelling would go down, but he knew the process could be speeded up, and the obvious pain of the injury somewhat reduced, if the area could be cooled some. As cold as it had been in the shelter, he would have been concerned that the use of an ice pack might result in inevitable frost bite--and we sure dont need to have two of us hobbling around with blistered or missing toes--but Liz had somehow managed to get the shelter so thoroughly warmed that he figured it would do no harm. She had amassed a great pile of firewood-mustve gone out for more while I was asleep--and was burning fine, dry aspen sticks along with large chunks of long-dead spruce, which were, upon closer observation, clearly parts of a larger trunk that had been placed over the fire until it had burnt in half. Smart way to do it. Saves work, over trying to cut something like that into the right lengths. Sure takes a while though for something that big to burn all the way through. Wonder just how long I was lying over there being useless? He shook his head, crawled over to the door and filled a damp sock with snow, tying it at the end and molding it over Lizs leg, just above the wound dressing. Here. Want to try something to bring the swelling down? Ow! Sure. Yes. Thats a good idea, but boy, is it cold! Well, youve somehow managed to turn this place into a sauna--minus the humidity, fortunately--with all these hot rocks and the roaring fire. I can feel heat radiating back out of the rocks, already. So this shouldnt chill you too badly. If it starts to, just take it off. Its already helping. Youre right though, this place sure heated up nicely once the fire took off, tonight. I wouldnt have kept building it up like this, once I had a good bed of coals for cooking, but you were just lying over there freezing in your wet clothes and I couldnt seem to wake you or get you warm, no matter what I did, so I just kept adding wood and trying to bring the temperature up in here. And I rolled a big snow-crusted log across the bottom of this hide were using for a door, to keep out the drafts. It worked, warmed me up real quickly and kept you from freezing solid in your sleep, too! Aw, Ive got antifreeze in my blood, he growled. Take a lot more than a little nap in wet clothes to freeze me solid. But uhthanks. Been having an awful time staying awake lately. Kinda comes on with no warning, hits me so fast I cant do anything to stop it. Wish I knew how to keep that from happening. You sure shouldnt have had to go to this kind of effort with your leg all torn up the way it is.

Says the man who just climbed a canyon wall and then hiked twenty miles straight through, immediately after chopping off his own toes, then came looking for me in the snow when I was a little late getting back this morning and tried to carry me back down Well, thats different. Whole different thing. Now how about you let me get some berberine water going, and then Ill help you clean up your arms and face, because it looks like youve got some bits of spruce bark stuck in some of those scrapes, and it wont do to have your arm or something getting all infected just because we neglected to get the gunk cleaned out. And Im thinking maybe you better drink a good bit of the stuff for a few days, too, just like I am, in case that leg tries to get infected. Bad enough that one of us is gonna be hobbling around for a few weeks, we sure dont need to make it two, if it can be helped. She already had the berberine water simmering in the pot over the fire, showed it to him and got a wide grin in response. Clearly Liz was learning, thinking ahead, and it was a tremendous comfort to Einar to know that she was acquiring the skills and thought processes that would allow her to get along out there, should something happen to separate the two of them for a time. Using the sock that she had designated as a washrag, he helped her soak and clean the series of deep gashes and red, irritated spruce rash patches on her arms, pausing now and then to use the tip of his knife, cleaned in berberine water, to free a splinter or bark chip from the abrasions. He had, fortunately, stopped shaking by then and was able through a concentrated effort to keep his hands steady enough not to do her any further harm as he worked. Finishing with her arms, he moved on to her face, cleaning the and treating its scrapes and small cuts with some of the balm of Gilead salve that she had earlier made for his toes. The salicin in the salve was very soothing to the raw patches on her skin, and while she had been more than a bit skeptical about letting Einar anywhere near her with the knife, the way he had been trembling when he woke, she had to admit that the treatment left her feeling a good bit better. He seemed to be doing better as well, the focus demanded by the need to help her keeping him in the present and pushing aside the weariness that constantly seemed to be lurking just around the corner to claim him, of late. Liz was concerned, though, seeing the way that he crouched there on the ground as soon as the task was completed, staring dazedly into the fire and starting to shake again, taking a good many seconds to acknowledge her when she spoke to him. The grouse was sizzling, its skin browning over the flames and emitting a wonderful, mouth-watering aroma as it hung there over the fire, and grabbing the end of the long, green stick that she had peeled of bark and skewered it on, she turned the bird over once again to keep it roasting evenly. Not long, Einar, and well be eating! Rolling a freshly heated rock out from the edge of the fire, she wrapped it in a dry sock and handed it to him. The meal, she was sure, would help restore some of the energy that he had been seriously lacking since their arrival at the shelter. If you can stay awake to eat it. You have to stay awake--its almost ready! Its going to be a good night.

The grouse was nearly ready, and Liz, seeing that Einar was in danger of falling asleep where he sat and wanting to make sure he did not do so before eating, suggested they change the dressings on his foot. A good idea, he knew, as he could feel that things had oozed and bled quite a bit during the climb, not surprising considering that he had in his haste used the foot almost as if nothing was wrong with it. The adrenalin of believing that Liz was in serious danger or possibly even captured had got him up the hill that way, and pretty quickly, but he was certainly feeling the effects now that he was back at the shelter, safe, still and bordering on being warm, even. The foot had swollen, bled, the place where his toes had been feeling like hed put it through a meat grinder--again--and he knew it had better be dealt with, though he would have far rather curled up and let sleep take him again, for as long as it was able. He nodded. Yeah. Better do that. I can take care of it, if youll just hand me that berberine. Why dont you pour some of it into your water bottle first, though, and get started drinking it? Need to get it in your system before some family of microscopic critters decides to take up residence in your leg. If you drink it now, then youll have the dinner to help get that taste out of your mouth. Youll need it. It cant be that bad, can it? I mean, you drink it all the time She thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but couldnt be sure. Dont know. How about you give it a try, and tell me? Pouring over a cups worth of the bright yellow liquid into her bottle, she took an unhesitating gulp of the stuff, paused for a shocked moment before leaning forward doubled over, nearly vomiting at the incredibly intense bitterness of the berberine. Einar handed her his water bottle, and she nearly drained it. Oh! How do you drink this stuff day after day! Thatsoh, thats awful! He shrugged, gave her a lopsided grin, shoulders shaking, laughing silently at her antics as she fanned her open mouth with her hand and stuffed in several green spruce needles to help mask the taste. You get used to it. Get used to it real fast, when you got pneumonia and cant breathe, or when your arms been torn up nearly down to the bone by an angry wolverine and its festeringyeah. Get used to it. Returning to the foot, Einar pulled off the overboot--it had kept his foot dry, prevented further cold damage, as far as he could tell--and started removing the old dressings, but was having a hard time freeing the blood-crusted sock strip, and Liz scooted over beside him with the pot of lukewarm berberine water, dipping some of it onto the dressings and gently soaking and pulling them free. He let her do it, kept still as she cleaned the remaining toes and the open wounds where the skin flaps seemed, at least so far, to be failing to heal over the stumps, lowering his head and trying to breathe slowly as she worked free the pieces of usnea that had been ground into the flesh as he climbed on the foot, subsequently beginning to dry as the bleeding ceased. Though she worked as gently as she was able, Liz could tell that it was taking a supreme effort on Einars part to refrain

from crying out or passing out or perhaps striking at her with the spear that he clasped at his side in a trembling, white-knuckled grip, and she almost wished he would do one or another, thought it might help him get through the cleaning. Thats not your way though, is it? But you really should have let me take care of this sooner. Maybe things wouldnt have had time to dry, then, would have been a little easier to get loose. She was finished, rinsed everything one final time with berberine water--no infection yet, it doesnt look like. Please let this be enough, these things were doing. Dont let him lose this foot-spread some salve on the two remaining toes and around the edges of the wounds, and bound the foot with a clean sock strip, their last. Finished with the foot and wanting to keep Einar from curling up, facing the wall and retreating within himself, sleeping or losing consciousness before he had a chance to eat, as he appeared rather inclined to do, she retrieved the sock that had been used to clean her arms and face, dipping it in the pot of warm water and bathing the grime from his leg, which appeared a bit sore after the climb. Your legs a little swollen, and I saw that you werent wearing your cast when you came looking for me, or using the crutch, either. How is it doing? Uhaches some. And its real weak, doesnt always do what I need it to do or expect it to do, but thatll improve as I use it more, Im sure. Muscles just havent had much use in a good while, ankles kinda stiff, but the bone seems to be healing, and I think Im less likely to freeze the foot again with the cast off than on. The more movement the better, to keep the blood flowing. And the leg got me up the hill, anyway. Didnt really cross my mind that I shouldnt be walking on it, until I was up there and saw you. Heard you holler and got this idea in my head that theyd come, tracked us andtaken youwas real sure of it. Wasnt room in there for much else. She looked at him sadly, seeing that he was very serious about having thought her captured, and she could only imagine, then, what he had believed he was walking into when he came looking for her. Death, or worse. His eyes had gone all dark and distant, hands clenched and face drawn just talking about it. She reached out with cautious hands, placed them firmly over his own where they gripped the spear, wanted to embrace him but could tell by the way he leaned away from her that he didnt really want any such contact, at the moment. Instead she made her best effort to catch his eye, and spoke with a voice soft and a bit husky with emotion. Thank you. He nodded, took her hands. When Liz had finished bathing Einars healing leg and rubbing it for him with a bit of salve to ease its soreness, she checked the grouse again, turned it, and went on and bathed the other leg, keeping the fire going steadily for heat and helping him off with his shirt, washing his top half, too, when he made no objection. It had been a while since either of them had bathed thoroughly, and seemed a good idea, was keeping Einar awake, at least, and appeared perhaps to be relaxing him just a bit. Which it was, but was leaving him at

the same time thinking a bit ruefully to himself that, huhguess shes gonna get me turned into some sort of a semi-civilized critter yet, if I give her half a chancewhats next? As Einar dried himself beside the fire, chilled once more despite the warmth of the water used for his bath, Liz cleaned the old, blood stained sock strip, laying it flat on a rock and pouring boiling water over it, flipping, wringing and doing the reverse side until no more blood came out, hanging it above the fire to dry. Not exactly sterile, but as close as she could come under the circumstances, and she was confident that the boiling water ought at least to be going a long way towards disinfecting the dressing for its next use. Einar was hungry. Had been hungry for days, of course, having got far behind in his eating since first having to deal with the pain of his frostbitten toes, the nausea and fever brought on when they got infected, and the subsequent agony of the amputations and their aftermath, but he found himself, for the first time in a good while, actually looking forward to the meal that night. The roasting bird smelled incredible, and he found himself pressing his empty stomach to ease the cramps that knotted it at the thought of such a feast. Glancing at Liz out of the corner of his eye and seeing her busy, he took his knife and pried loose a bit of grouse skin, brown and crunchy and oozing grease when he freed it, stripping it from the bird and taking an experimental taste. Ahhave had nothing better. Ever. He was absolutely certain, wanted more, but saw Liz watching him out of the corner of her eye, and put down the knife with a sheepish grin and a shrug. Just testing. Got to make sure these things havent been eating too many pine beetles, you know, or you could end up with pine beetle toxicity from consuming the bird. Terrible consequences, your hair starts falling out, teeth get loose and you go all crosseyed, cant taste anything but pine, no matter what you eatand thats just the start of it. You can always tell though, from the taste of the skin. This one tastes alright, fortunately, so we should be safe! I think and he reached for another strip of skin to test, just to be sure. Liz swatted at him with the washcloth-sock, which she had wrung out and was preparing to hang to dry, shooing him away from the fire and turning the grouse one final time. Pine beetle toxicity, is it? Ive never heard of any such thing. Please tell me youre making that up! Aw, now do you really think Id Yes, it seems that you would! She scolded, though delighted to see that Einar finally seemed awake enough not only to carry on a conversation of sorts for the first time since returning to the shelter, but a rather imaginative one, at that Now stay away from my bird! Its almost done, but I dont want all the juice escaping and drying it out, like its going to do if you keep testing every few seconds! Einar scooted out of reach so he wouldnt be overly tempted, got back into his shirt. What gave it away? Howd you know there isnt such thing as pine beetle toxicity? The part about going all cross-eyed when suffering from it. That just wasnt

believable. Huh. Well, it was the best I could come up with The bird was ready, and they ate, sitting together and giving thanks, Einar turning and pretending to be focused on stirring the coals for a minute to keep Liz from seeing the tears that welled up at his first taste of the meal, the first he had been able to really enjoy or eat a significant portion of, in days. Sleep came quickly to the weary pair that evening, stomachs full and satisfied after their meal of grouse and several pots of warm spruce needle tea, the birds clean-picked bones set to simmer in a pot that Liz nestled down in the coals for the night. The shelter was still quite warm when they crawled in between the berms of piled up spruce needles to sleep, the fire only then beginning to dim and die for the evening, and between the warm rocks that Liz packed on each side of the bed and the fact that one of the split pieces of the bear hide was quite dry by that time and available to them for cover, in addition to the yearling hide, it was shaping up to be a reasonably comfortable night. Not that Einar had time to think much about any of this. He was asleep shortly after dragging himself into the bed at Lizs urging, leaving her to prepare the stew pot and shove a last length of spruce into the fire, securing the log against the bear hide that served as a door to keep out drafts and--she hoped--small scavengers that might smell the remnants of their feast and wish to help clean up. She was tired, too, after the struggles of the day and her injury, but it had been clear to her that between his full stomach and the unaccustomed warmth of the shelter, it was all Einar could do to keep his eyes open. She pulled him away from the fire where he was attempting--much to the detriment of his fingers, which were sliced and bleeding in places--to finely chop some lengths of willow bark to boil down for a pain and swelling-reducing solution for her leg, steering him to the bed. Soon joining him, she left the pot of willow bark to heat and simmer in the coals beside the stew pot. He had told her that she ought to wait until morning to try the solution, anyway, just to be sure that her wound was showing no inclination to serious bleeding, and her leg, while sore, somewhat swollen and throbbing quite insistently, was not unbearable. She would sleep. Einar was warm when Liz crawled in under the bear hides beside him, not shivering and not even, it seemed, having felt the need to curl up too tightly to retain warmth, and she was glad to find him fully relaxed for once, as the past few nights had been long, uncomfortable occurrences during which she remembered having spent nearly as much time struggling to re-warm a half-frozen and barely conscious Einar as she had in sleeping, herself, the long cold hours dragging on and on as she lay there listening to his teeth chatter and praying that he might live to see another morning. None of that tonight, I hope. He just didnt have enough energy to produce adequate heat, these past couple of nights, but eating half a grouse ought to go a long way towards fixing that, I expectit sure did for me! And she was asleep, nestled in beside him. Lizs leg gave her some minor trouble during the night, and she woke once to re-position it, pulling a pile of spruce needles between her knees to keep her top leg from pressing down on the swollen part of the injured one, but she was able to get back to sleep reasonably quickly, checking

Einar and finding his hands still to be warm, face drawn in under the bear hide. Sometime in the early morning hours when the temperature outside was at its minimum and the air was quiet and so crystal clear that even the stars stood still, Einar stirred, carefully squirmed out of Lizs grasp and found his way to the door, where he crouched listening to the night. His sleep had as usual been a tangle of dreams, vivid and at times terrifying, and as he sat wiping the sweat from his face and trembling in the slight draft that crept around the door to brush him with its icy fingers, he would have striven to put the dream-images out of his mind as he usually did on waking after such nights. One, though, the last one, the one that had awakened him, stood out in his memory, its shadow refusing to pass and its details sharp as life in his mind. It had been spring, the snow soft and slushy, lingering in ever-diminishing patches in the shady areas beneath fallen trees and at the edges of the timber, but the meadow mostly clear, greening with the first hint of newly emerging alpine grasses and flowers whose season was as short as it was brilliant. Liz was out in the meadow for some reason, crouching beside a large grey upright slab of rock near its middle. She seemed to be digging something, spring beauty bulbs, he guessed, though he couldnt tell for sure, distant as he was on the rocky perch where he sat waiting for one of the band of bighorn sheep that were contentedly grazing in an adjoining basin to wander within atlatl range. The morning sun was warm on his shoulders as he sat, and a small sound, the faintest scrape and crunch of rock on rock, returned his attention to the hunt. The ram was still too far away, making his way up through a series of rock bands that stood guard above the basin, and Einar focused his eyes on the little patch of timber just above the animal, in order to avoid alarming it with his gaze. The creature was approaching, oblivious to his presence, and Einar had just got the dart fitted and was taking aim when he heard the first shout, jerked around and squinted down at the meadow, and Liz. She was not alone. Already three of the men had reached her, had her on the ground and were trying to cuff her, more running to join them from the nearby woods. She was fighting back, struggling and kicking and then she wasnt moving anymore and he didnt know why, couldnt see clearly enough across that distance and he was running, scrambling and sliding down the rock face beneath him and sprinting through the timber, jumping over tangles of deadfall and once falling, himself, when a branch seemed to leap up in his path and catch him across the midsection, knocking out his breath. It was far, too far, and though he picked up his pace, breath catching and burning in his lungs with the effort when he heard the helicopter coming in, saw its rotors flashing through the trees, he reached the meadow too late, fell to his knees and pounded the earth in helpless rage as he watched the chopper disappear over the ridge. She was gone. In the distance a helicopter scoured one of the distant ridges that they had left behind in crossing the canyon, and Einar crouched there shaking at the memory of the dream until its rumbling had died away into the silence of the night. Uninterested in returning to bed he went out and sat on a tree trunk that Liz had apparently cleared of snow in one of her firewood quests, supposing she must have decided against it as it was newly fallen that year, fresh and green and full of moisture inside. The night was frigid. He could see the

pale starlight gleaming ghostly white on the billows of his breath as they rose, spread and vanished in the still, shadowed dimness there beneath the trees. Gone. Gone in a breath Steam rose gently from his sweat-dampened clothing, and he could feel his skin begin to shrink and contract as the blood went out of it, retreated deeper into his body in an attempt to conserve heat. A few minutes more and he rose, limped stiffly up the slope behind the shelter and found a rock outcropping, wind-scoured, icy, providing him a bit of a view down into the snow-heaped basin below the timber that shielded them, again took a seat, back against an exposed slab of granite. Feeling the cold as it seeped through his single layer of clothing and into his bones, he made no effort to stop it. He was soon trembling uncontrollably, legs cramping and jaw aching fiercely, but knew it would eventually stop, all of it. Everythingeventually stops. If one waits long enough. And he intended to wait. Spring was still many, many months away up there in the high country; not until late May or early June would the snow begin disappearing from the meadows and basins as he had seen in his dream, and until that happened, life would continue to be a constant struggle for food, and enough of it. Liz had done an excellent job obtaining supper for them that night, if the meal had been a bit costly; she was clearly learning, but was also, he knew, working herself to the bone trying to care for him and provide for their basic needs during the times when he was unable to be of much assistance. Those times seemed to have been all too frequent, of late. No way for her to live. You eat the food that she brings in, sit by her fire to keep from freezing and burn the wood that shes gathered, let her carry your pack up the mountain, but what do you add? What do you give? Just making things harder for her; your presence is making it so the enemys never going to leave her alone, never going to relent, and the day will eventually come when theres nothing you can do to protect her, when theyll surprise her and you wont be close enough to do anything about it, and theyll take her. She would be safe down in town, her friends could hide her, give her a place to stay or get her out of the area and make sure she stays there until the feds realize youre not around anymore and give up on the whole thing. Shes only staying up here because of you. Youre killing her, Einar. It is your job to protect her, and at any cost. Do it. You know how. Einar had no idea how long he sat there staring down at the patches of snowy brightness that showed between trees, growing colder and colder but embracing the chill, welcoming it and accepting its presence around him and in him, the drowsiness that it brought, the relief from the twisting, burning pain of his missing toes and the battered, un-healing flesh that remained in their wake leaving him for the time badly crippled, despite his healing leg, the cessation of his shivering, stillness, silence, until he felt that he must have ceased to exist, at least as an entity separate from the icy spur of rock that was his perch. Down below, Liz still slept soundly and warm in her bed of spruce needles and bear hides. It was to remain a mystery to Einar, when he thought back on it later, just when he had begun shivering again that morning and, more importantly, why. It seemed his body had become so habituated to resisting the advances of the cold that it had taken over and done

so somewhat automatically as his mind--silly thing--grew increasingly chilled and fuzzy. Thats what he told himself, anyway, though he knew such an occurrence was highly unlikely--such things just did not happenor did not just happen, or maybe both; he was still a bit confused as he sat there trying to puzzle it out--should not have happened, and he later came to accept another explanation. However it happened, he woke from what had seemed much like sleep--dreamless, but not Wordless--to a faint graying of the starscattered sky in the east, spruce-silhouettes standing sharp and clear against its growing brightness, trembling violently and wondering why he had chosen to sleep out on bare rock on such a night without any covering, when there were clearly numerous trees available to provide him warmth and shelter. Then, he remembered. Forgive me. And he put it out of his mind for the moment, knowing that if he didnt focus on doing something for himself, and quickly, he might very well slip (back?) beyond the point of no return. It would have been all too easy; he couldnt seem to get up, couldnt, in fact, even seem to find his arms in order to swing them for warmth, and knew hed have to go about it another way. Do this, Einar. Done it before, you know how Putting all of his remaining energy into the effort, he took in a deep breath, filled his lungs to their limit and held the breath, slowly let it out, ever so slowly, picturing the breath traveling down through his arms, exiting the fingers--not literally what was happening, of course, but it worked for him. After several minutes of this, still shivering furiously, his fingers began tingling with the flow of returning circulation, and he flexed them, rubbed them and stuck his hands in his armpits for further warming, turning his attention to his legs and feet until they, too, were again somewhat functional. His dangerously lowered core temperature was beginning to rise by that point, his efforts affecting it gradually and minutely but still enough to make a difference--this works an awful lot better at maintaining a normal temperature in the first place under adverse conditions than bringing a person back from half frozen, thats for sure--and though he felt as if he could go on like that forever, just breathing himself warm and returning the life to his chilled body, he knew that he must not give into any such temptation, that the breathing was a tool and not an end in and of itself. Finally he stopped, exhausted, letting his breaths settle back into a normal pattern. Only then did he allow his mind to return to the cause of his present predicament. All of your own making. Pride, Einar. Thats what it is, all it isand theres no honor in that. She helps you, sure, when you need it, and you do the same for her, so what? Nothing wrong with that. And you say youre worried about being able to protect her, that it is your duty to do sowell, do it. Make it so youll be able to do it. You never yet backed down from a duty, and you sure dont get to start it, now. No excuses. Now stand up, walk if you can or crawl if you have to, and get yourself back down there before you really do freeze. Better do it before she wakes up, too, or youre gonna have an awful lot of explaining to do when she sees how cold you areand even more, if you end up losing more toes after this. Not being particularly far from the shelter, the return trip went quickly despite the fact that Einar could not seem to stay on his feet for more than a few steps at a time, and daylight was just beginning to brighten far to the east as he dragged himself in under the door flap, pausing first to brush the snow from his clothes, the warmth of the place washing over him and setting his limbs to prickling and burning

again. It had been too cold outside, fortunately, for the snow to begin melting and begin soaking in, and his clothes did not need changing. Holding his breath to silence its coldinduced puffing and whistling for a moment he paused just inside the door, heard Liz breathing slow and regular in sleep and dragged himself over to her, aching hands reaching out to touch her face in the darkness, feeling her warmth and holding back lest he disturb her. Crawling back into the bed he lay trembling face down on the spruce needles, trying not to touch her, hoping she might not wake. She did, though, rolled close for warmth when she realized how very cold he had somehow managed to become, spoke to him. He grabbed her and buried his face against her shoulder, making no effort to conceal his tears as she held him. Sorry Lizzie. Im so sorry Sorry? Hey, Einar, are you Ok? Youve been outside? Youre absolutely frozen! No, come here, dont try to get away from me. Whats wrong, have you been dreaming again? One of those dreams He nodded, wanted to tell her but could see no purpose in doing so and doubted his ability to get out more than a word or two, anyway, until he had warmed up some. Yeah. Guess so. She didnt say anything, just held him closer until he warmed enough to begin sleeping again, which took a good while. Einar was up out of bed a short hour later, still cold but doing better, and he left the shelter again, this time wearing a bear hide and his crutch and taking his mostly empty pack. Liz was aware of him leaving the bed, watched him go but did not try to stop him, seeing that he appeared to be wide awake and possessed of a definite plan for his outing. The morning was clear, sun beginning to show golden on the stark, regular fringe of trees up on the far side of the basin, and Einar followed Lizs tracks from the previous morning. The going was difficult on the steep snowy slope, encumbered as he was with the crutch, but he knew that he had just been doing more damage to what was left of his right foot by walking on it so much before the skin flaps had begun healing over, and with all the walking he intended to do over the coming days, it seemed best to give the foot a break, that morning. His leg, at least, seemed to be working again if his hasty climb the day before was any indication, and though it was understandably very weak after so long a period of limited use, he supposed he ought to be encouraged by the fact that it showed no ill effects from the hard use, that morning, aside from a bit of swelling and a dull ache that he expected would diminish as the day went along. Well, Ill certainly be finding out, because its gonna get a lot of use from now on. Have to go careful on the toes--lack of toes--for while I guess, but its time for that leg to get strong again. Ive got to be able to run again, climb, get around up here without having to rely on crawling or tumbling, and I sure cant do that too well on this crutch. Reaching the first of the deadfall traps Liz had told him about setting he found it empty, continued on up the hill, pushing himself as hard as he was able and completing the circuit formed by her tracks, finding the tree where the grouse hunting mishap had occurred and collecting

more bark from the willows in the little thicket beside the grouse-tree before heading down. Einar returned to the shelter just over an hour after leaving, carrying with him food for that night, a marten so freshly caught that he knew it must have met its fate while he had been sitting up there on the rocks, contending with his own. Liz met him at the door, holding it open for him, and he was greeted with the odor of the grouse stew, still warm, that she had set to simmer in the coals the night before.

Before sharing the breakfast stew with Liz, Einar skinned and cleaned the marten, stretching its hide over a piece of firewood which he split with his knife, smoothing out its rough edges so as not to tear the hide. Scraping the bits of fat and membrane from the flesh side of the fur, he propped it in the back of the shelter to dry and await eventual processing, along with the ones Liz had earlier trapped. His foot was bothering him quite a bit, had been since he woke that morning, and he shifted position several times in as he worked, attempting to alleviate the discomfort. It was, he supposed, the lingering effect of his long climb on it the day before and again in the night. Unless I froze some more toes last night. He shivered. Have to take a look at it, after breakfast. Einar was hungry that morning, they both were, but Einar, especially, after his long freezing night hours up on the rocks and the mornings foray to check traps, and he had to hold himself back from gulping too quickly whenever Liz passed the stew pot to him. Liz took his ravenousness as a good sign that the pain of his toes must finally be beginning to subside, hoped he might soon be able to get back to eating a bit more normally. If they could continue to come up with enough food to make that possible. It still surprised Liz somewhat just how much of her time was devoted to food that winter--finding and obtaining food, cleaning, preparing, and storing it, talking about it for seemingly endless hours with Einar and, when none of those were going on, thinking about food, what they did have, what they didnt have, what was needed, the things she used to eat in the before time, as Einar called it, yet even with all that thinking and planning and doing, it seemed they were seldom quite full, quite satisfied. Summer would be better, she expected, with more variety of game to choose from and berries and other plant foods to supplement it, and she knew, also, that their prospects of continuing to occasionally fill their bellies would have to be improved by migrating down to the lower elevations, as virtually all of the other big game had done, by that point. She knew Einar would not hear of it, though, at least not yet, not until the search had quieted down even further, and she did not want to press the matter. He was very quiet that morning, seemed lost in thought, and Liz wondered if his unusually reserved demeanor might be due to the obviously disturbing dream that had awakened him in the night. It seemed that Einar wanted to tell her something--she caught him more than once staring intently at her when he thought she wasnt looking--but couldnt quite bring himself to do so. He didnt say a word, in fact, all through the meal. Breakfast finished and Liz scrubbing out the cooking pot with some ashes, a bit of snow and a spruce bough, Einar gathered all of the ponderosa cones that some rodent--squirrel,

he guessed--had heaped up at the back of the shelter, piling them beside the fire pit so they would be ready for that evening when they could have a fire. Ponderosa seeds were small things, less than a quarter the size of the familiar white pine nuts that came from the lower-elevation pinyons--his mouth watered at the thought; too bad they dont grow up this high, those things are great, full of fat and so plentiful some years--and as Einar opened one of the cones, he saw that the seeds were black and winged much like maple seeds, only sitting singly beneath each of the cones protective scales. Not much food in each seed, but as many cones as had been stored there in the shelter, it definitely seemed worth roasting and gathering them. By heating or even partially burning the cones, he knew, they could be forced to open up further and release their seeds, simultaneously roasting the seeds and making them easier to grind. The cones, had they been left undisturbed on the ground, would have long ago lost their seeds, but by having been placed in the cold, dark confines of the rock shelter, their gatherer had preserved them for the winter. Which reminded Einar. Need to get some snares set out for the critter or critters, in case they happen to return while were here. He had seen no squirrel, rat or other rodent tracks in the snow around the shelter since their arrival, but supposed the creature responsible for the stash of cones might have been discouraged by the heavy snowfall from venturing out too far from wherever its winter hideaway might be, in which case it would probably be along sometime over the next few days, as the snow began developing a crust. Unless the critter went and forgot just where he buried this stuff. Seen it happen The cones piled up and awaiting evening, and a fire, and Liz done washing the breakfast pot, Einar got out the berberine water and usnea pulled a clean sock strip down from the spot where it had hung drying over the fire. Lizs leg looked good that morning, still somewhat swollen and badly bruised around the wound and where her shin had struck the tree, but it did not appear to be getting infected, and the bleeding had entirely stopped. Looks Ok. How does it feel? Einar spoke for the first time that morning. A little worse than yesterday, but I think its just the muscles tightening up. I can walk on it. Should be ready to climb another tree in a day or so, if youd like another grouse! She said it in a light, playful manner in the hopes of getting some sort of response from Einar other than the stony-faced seriousness with which he had so far faced the day, but he just nodded, eyes sober, and handed her the bottle of berberine water. Better drink some more. Can be hard to keep down on an empty stomach, but should be alright now that youve eaten. She took the bottle, but set it down on a flat rock beside the fire instead of drinking right away, put her hand on Einars shoulder and kept it there until he finally looked up at her. He looked cold, still, even after having eaten, and she pulled the yearling hide tighter around his neck. His lips were chapped and peeling and looked a bit frostbitten, dark blotches beginning to show on his cheeks and nose, and she studied him a bit worriedly, rubbing some salve into the damaged skin and wondering how he had managed to get so cold overnight. She had not even been aware of him leaving the bed, until he crawled back in.

How about we take a look at your foot now, change the dressings and see how its doing this morning? He let her, though insisting that she first drink her morning gulp of berberine, lest it be forgotten. There had been little new bleeding from Einars toe-stubs over night but the skin flaps looked worse than they had the day before, some of them shriveling and starting to turn black, and Einar wondered whether it was a result of further cold damage, or simply due to their failure to begin healing over the wounds. Either way, it appeared that they would have to be coming off, eventually. Not a big problem, wont even hurt, they way theyre lookingbut Im not sure where that leaves the foot. Guess itll eventually heal over, if I can keep it from getting infected in the meantime His two remaining toes did not look any better for the wear, either, a series of new blisters, dark and fluid-filled, showing in a raised line along the outside of his big toe. Liz had seen, carefully dabbed the areas with salve and wrapped them. Einar, I dont really understand about all of this new frostbite. Your face, your footI know you must have left the bed last night, but I was sleeping pretty soundlywhat were you doing? He shrugged, grimaced a bit as she tightened the wrappings on his foot and helped him back into his overboot, supposed he had better answer. Went outside for a while. Climbed up the hill up there, sat on some rocks. Needed to think, I guess. Sat on some rocks? Einar, it was so cold last night How long were you out there? Dont know. Really dont know. Lost track, Ijust sat there, just went on sitting there until everythingstopped, and I really dont know why I woke up again. Had quit shivering. You dont wake up from that, but. he took her hand, looked her in the eye, Im not doing that again, Liz. She grabbed him hard by the shoulders, wanted to shake him but refrained; he was already shaking. Well youd better not! You hear me? Youd better not ever do anything like that again, or you know what? She fished around in her pack, came up with the pair of handcuffs that Pete had tried to restrain her with right before she had stabbed him and escaped, shook them threateningly at him. Well Ill tell you what. Ill just have to start hitching us together at night, so you cant wander away! You want that? Because Ill do it, I will, if you dont stop this! She had been shaking him despite herself, stopped when she realized it and waited for his response. He was staring at the ground, slowly raised his head, a hint of a smile showing at the corner of his mouth. Ok. Fair enough. Now listen, Ive got a plan for today. Thought we could load the basics into our packs, stash everything else and climb up there onto the top of this ridge, maybe get a look down into some of those basins on the other side, see if we cant pick one out so we have someplace to go in a few days when your legs healed up and were ready to move again. We can look for a place with some good timber on the sides of it, open grassy place down in the bottom, maybe look for signs of water and hope to end up in one that has its own little spring, in the springand summer. Place to go, and to stay.

What do you think? Each taking a few basic items in their packs and protecting the rest in the back of the shelter, wrapped in the yearling hide and piled with rocks to keep out scavengers, Einar and Liz started up the slope in search of the ridge top, and the distant view Einar hoped it might offer. He took the crutch and used it most of the time--foot was not doing too well, and was letting him know about it--but occasionally paused to remove it, using it as a walking stick as he exercised his long-immobile leg, determined to begin regaining strength in its muscles. What he got, instead, was a series of massive cramps as the underused muscles reacted to the load being placed on them and to Einars poor ability to use the available oxygen, due to his recent blood loss. At first he kept going, kept trying to use the leg, reminding himself that hed done it before, had deliberately trained himself to be able to keep climbing or at least to keep his grip on the rock and not lose any ground through otherwise debilitating arm or leg cramps, and had become quite effective at it over the years. This was different, though, wasnt going away or getting any better, and when Liz laid a gentle hand on him where he stood hugging a tree for balance and asked if he wanted help getting the crutch back on, he allowed that just maybe he did. He had taken the climb quickly once it became clear that Lizs leg was not troubling her too much, and was having a very difficult time getting his breath. The crutch strapped back on, Liz offered him some water, which he accepted. Youre really doing great this morning, but I wonder if you ought to be working so hard, just yet. You lost a lot of blood a couple days ago, and then those breathing problems Got to do it. Have to get stronger so I can do my share again, but more than that, I just cant go on lying around like Ive been. Tried it for the last two days because I didnt really have a choice, and it didnt work. Cant do it anymore. Sure, this may end up being a bad idea, but at least Ill sleep tonight. Inside the shelter, that is And he attempted a goofy grin that proved not to be too compatible with his visible struggle for oxygen, and he got only a shake of the head in return from Liz, who gave him another sip of water and helped him up. Well, if those really are the only two options, then I guess this has to be the better one, but its not looking so good, at least not from out here Seeming to realize that Liz wanted to say something, Einar glanced at her, but she remained silent. Hows your leg, by the way? Not bad. Sore, but works fine and seems to be getting a little less stiff as we go. Like you said, I should be ready to climb another tree in a day or two Making their way to the top of the ridge, a journey that grew progressively slower the higher they got, despite Einar pushing himself as hard as he was able, they stood finally at its crest, Einar insisting that they descend a few feet on its far side before sitting to rest and take in the view. Never know who might be watching, hed said, who might see you silhouetted on the skyline like this, and then itd all be over Habits like this can end up saving your life, and once you get them established, its hard to go against them, and not an especially good idea, anyway. The terrain precluded them going much below the

summit without descending very sharply indeed, though, and they soon took up a perch beneath a low-wind blasted stand of sub alpine fir, boots inches from the edge of a very steep dropoff. Catching their breath and drawing the split bear hide pieces tightly around their bodies against the bitter wind that swept up the slope at them they were elated, Einar especially, at the distant view, the land falling away steeply beneath them in a jumble of broken rock and small, avalanche-scarred trees to join the sweeping expanse of a large basin, wide open aside from a few bands of stunted timber that crossed it here and there, appearing to follow long, narrow outcroppings of rock that jutted up from the more level ground of the basin. The rock bands were conjecture, only, as the snow down there was far too deep and drifted to reveal such details at the moment. Along the basins far side ran the largest stand of timber, a thick, continuous thing whose pattern hinted at a seasonal creek. Pulling out the binoculars, Einar even thought he saw the tops of a few aspens, scraggly, twisted dwarves compared to the towering, white-trunked things that he was used to seeing at even slightly lower elevations, a further confirmation that water of some sort must exist over against the far side of the basin. Beyond the band of trees the land sloped sharply upwards again, so steep in places that the snow had not clung to it, leaving exposed the jagged, broken wall of cliffs that protected the place. The basin, it seemed, was protected by high ground on all sides, rendering it nearly inaccessible but by some serious scrambling on what Einar was certain the melting of the snow would reveal as rather loose, steep rock. Far, far down to the right and beyond a steep, timbered ridge he saw that a valley of sorts opened up, long and almost glacial-looking and providing what appeared to be the only reasonably uncomplicated access to the place. Beyond the multiple layers of ridges and spires stood a row of high-walled, saw-toothed peaks, reddish and gleaming where the snow had slid or had not stuck in the first place, lending their forbidding height and steepness to the fortress-like feel of the place. Immediately Einar liked it, liked, also, the fact that the basin was clearly only one of many that lay between the enfolding ridges and rock-spined heights that honeycombed the area. Looks like a place where the bighorns and elk would go to calve, Liz, and theyre seldom wrong about choosing a spot. Imagine how green that grass is gonna be down in there, soon as the snows gone Liz was staring intently at something down on the basin floor, reached out and took the binoculars from him, studying whatever it was. Theres an odd flat spot down there Einar, just beyond that little rise with the tiny trees sticking up out of the snow on top of it. What do you suppose that is? He hadnt noticed the feature she was talking about, retrieved the binoculars and searched for it. Well first of all, those probably arent especially tiny trees, its just that the snow is ten or fifteen feet deep right therebut that, I do believe, is a lake! Tarn, pool, whatever you want to call it, probably too small to be considered a lake, but anyhow, it means water! And means theres a little creek that feeds it most likely, too. Snowmelt creek probably, but thats all you need up this high, because the snow takes all season to melt out, and by

the time its running short, times come for it to start snowing all over again! Think we saw what we came to see. That place down there is far from where they were searching, and if they dont realize weve crossed the canyon by now, they may not figure it out. Probably wont. Look like home, to you? If it is a place where you can be, and can stayfor more than a few days at a timea place where you can really be at home, then yes, it sure looks like home to me, even if it is high and cold and looks like it probably only thaws out for a month or two in the middle of summer It sure does! It looks good! They stayed there for a time studying the land, taking turns with the binoculars and discussing their route down into the basin--it would have to be a cautious decent, due to the danger of slides and the desire to keep tracks to a minimum, still, but Einar eventually worked out what looked to him like a feasible option. The sun was high in the sky by then; it was well after noon, and when Liz suggested they have a snack, Einar gladly accepted the jerky and bear fat that she held out to him. Eating, he felt a bit of his strength begin to return, hoping it might be enough to see him back down to the shelter. The climb had taken quite a toll on him, and though it definitely had improved his state of mind and left him contentedly lying there beneath the tree and planning for the future, its effect on his body had not been quite so beneficial. No matter. He would make it. Had to. And probably ought to get started before too long, come to think of it, because his foot was hurting terribly and would likely be in need of attention before too long, if he did not want to face losing the remaining toes. Which he did not, especially. He rose, gritting his teeth and pressing his eyes momentarily shut against the sudden wave of dizziness that hit him and left him tottering dangerously there near the edge of the precipice. Liz, fortunately, had not seen, being absorbed in studying their potential future home with the binoculars. She could not help but take notice, though, when he grabbed an overhanging branch of one of the little firs to steady himself, and in doing so accidentally dumped its load of snow on her head and down her neck. Liz jumped up, spluttering and swatting at her hair, tossing a large chunk of icy crust at Einar in the belief that the snowy assault had been intentional. Lizs aim was good, and Einar was not quick enough to dodge the chunk of snow, which took him square in the face. Its impact unsteadying him, he fell on his back in the snow, scrambling up to a sitting position as quickly as he could and spitting out the mouthful of snow that he had ended up with. Seeing that he couldnt seem to focus his eyes or remain upright without leaning rather dramatically to one side, Liz realized that she might have made a mistake. Oops! Sorry. I thought you were trying to start a snowball fight. Are you alright? Sure. He tossed the remains of the icy chunk back in her direction, stuffed more snow down her neck when she sat down beside him to dab at the blood that was oozing from a scrape left on his cheek by the ice. Who says it wasnt a snowball fight? Just looks like one Im not gonna win, is all. You got me pretty good! But your day will come Hey! Id say it already has! She stood swatting at her clothes, shivering and trying to get the lumps of snow out before they melted any further. This snow is cold, in case you

hadnt noticed! How would you like it if I did that to you? And she came at him with a menacingly large double handful of snow. Oh, I think Id like it pretty well actually! He laughed, sprawling on the ground and slipping out of his bear hide cloak. Go ahead, lets find out You put that back on before you freeze. Youre not right, you know. Somethings seriously wrong with you. Sure, I know, figured youd know by now, too. But does that mean youre not gonna play in the snow with me? Not right now, thats for sure. Not with you already half frozen and sitting up here on the top of this ridge with the wind just blasting up out of that basin. And I really dont think Id care at all for your sort of playing in the snow, anyway. Now lets get out of here before you come up with any more of your weird ideas! He laughed again, rolled to his knees and used the crutch as a prop as he stood. The levity of the moment up on the ridgetop aside, Einar knew he was in for a rough time on the way back down to the shelter. He was feeling the effects of the climb and of the altitude, itself, tremendously weary after the way he had spent much of the previous night and reminded constantly of further damage it had inflicted on his foot, but none of these things were able to dampen the enthusiasm with which he set off down the slope, buoyed by having managed to make the climb despite the difficulties and by the vision of what he hoped might become their future home. Distance managed to slow his pace, though, distance and the seemingly endless tangles of deadfall across which their path led them, and before they were halfway down Einar was really struggling to keep on his feet. The crutch had been abandoned early in the descent, strapped to his back after a serious fall in which the crutch-tip became trapped between two snow-hidden logs and spilled him onto his face, badly wrenching his hip in the process. Though walking on his damaged foot was by no means comfortable and might, he knew, do further damage, he simply could not afford to risk a new injury of some sort by stumbling and sliding along on the crutch. It had been alright on the climb, but gravity and the slightly softer snow as the day warmed were turning the whole thing into a very long, difficult balancing act. On the way down Einar paused now and then to collect the fresh new tips that were just beginning to appear on some of the spruces and firs, explaining his reasoning when Liz asked him about it. Need more vitamin C, I think. Might help me heal up, heal the toes, and I know from experimenting last winter that itll help me with other things, too, maybe give me a little more energy some of these days when I cant seem to find quite enough. The spruce needle tea were doing every evening is fine, prevents scurvy, for sure, but I need higher concentrations and these new little needles have that. Ill hang them up in the shelter, dry them, make a big batch of that stuff every night when we have a fire and drink it through the day. Can make you some, too, if you want to try it.

Sounds like a good idea for you, but I shouldnt, just in casewell, Ive always heard that something in pine oil can be dangerous to ababy, if a woman should happen to be carrying one, so I probably need to stop the pine and spruce for now. Stopping, he glanced back up the slope, hand full of freshly cut spruce tips and startlement in his eyes. What baby? What are you saying? No, no, I dont mean now, but it seems that it might be wise for me to start getting in the habit, just in case. I got to thinking about it when I was drinking some more of that berberine stuff this morning--I know youre not supposed to use goldenseal while expecting, and I seem to remember you mentioning that berberine is the thing that goldenseal and Oregon grape have in common, the chemical that gives them both their bright yellow color, and that got me to thinking about other things that I ought to avoid, just in case. Einar looked at her a bit blankly, shook his head. This isntreally an area where I focused a lot of attention when I was learning this stuff. Never really expected it to come up. But yes, berberine is the main active compound in both goldenseal and Oregon grape, so I guess if youare concerned about this being a possibilitythen the berberine is out. Good thing your legs looking alright! No, I already said Im not concerned right now. Just thinking for the future, and wondering if I should get in the habit of avoiding a few things like that, just so I dont end up accidentally causing any harm. Susan knows all about this stuff, and she was starting to teach me, but hadnt gotten very far. I was there for the birth of one of her grandsons, though, so I got to see a little bit about how that went I do wish there was a way to go see her, but I know thats not something we can think about right now. He shook his head. No. Not an option. Not if youre intending of coming back up here afterwards, anyway. The two just cant go together, right now. Oh, Im not going anywhere! Except back down to that shelter. Just thinking out loud. You should try it from time to time! I sometimes wonder whats going on in that head of yours... Huh. He growled. Some things maybe youre better off not knowing. It was evening by the time they made it back down to the basin-edge where the shelter lay beneath its protective cluster of trees, having made a side trip to check Lizs deadfalls on the way down. They were empty, all of them, but on reaching the leaning rocks of their temporary home, Einar saw that a marten had certainly visited in their absence. The tracks were prolific, circling and then entering the shelter, and he hurried inside to make sure their stashed food had not been tampered with. Everything was, much to his relief, as they had left it, though the faint white traces of some creatures claws on several of the

rock slabs they had piled over their cache showed that, had they not taken the time to thoroughly secure things, they might have returned to a dismal scene, indeed. Liz was outside gathering firewood. He could hear the sharp, brittle snap of the dead branches she was breaking off from the protected undersides of spruces and firs, and supposed he ought to get busy chopping up the carcass of the marten he had found in the deadfall so many hours ago on his morning foray. Soon. First, though he let his head rest on his knee, and was asleep almost instantly, startling awake when he slumped over and hit his head on the granite slab at the back of the shelter moments later. Not good! Get to work. Gonna sleep tonight it seems, and thats great, but its sure not time yet. Youve got dinner to take care of, Lizs leg to check and then you better take care of your own foot, too, or youre gonna wake up some morning with an out-of-control fever again and the realization that the whole foots got to come off. And though youd definitely try, I dont know if thats one you could realistically expect to make it through out here. Now. Food. Chop up that weasel, get him into the stew pot. Liz returned to the shelter with her last load of wood shortly after dusk to find that not only had Einar dissected the marten into stew-sized chunks, but he had a fire all ready to go, also. Glancing out at the dimming sky, he decided that it was dark enough to go ahead with the fire. As the stew bubbled he changed the bandage on Lizs leg, bathing the wound with berberine water. Despite a bit of swelling and bruises that were just entering the purple stage, the injury site did not look bad at all and she said it was hurting less than it had been, that morning. Einar breathed a sigh of relief. Something could still go wrong, but its not looking too bad His own foot, he decided, would have to wait until after supper, both for his sake and for Lizs. He didnt want her losing her appetite, and knew from the way things were feeling that he probably wouldnt be eating much at all that night, after having the toes tampered with. As soon as the fire had produced adequate coals, Einar scraped some of them aside onto a flat rock that he had chosen earlier, adding a layer of pine cones atop them and shoving the smoking mess over closer to the door flap and chimney to prevent them being smoked out. Lowering another rock on top of the cones to help keep the heat in he waited as the sizzling of pitch joined the wonderful aroma of heating pine. Eventually he flipped the top rock out of position, gingerly picking up the gently smoking remains of one of the cones, slightly charred from the coals, and very sticky. The small winged seeds it contained had loosened with the heat, and were easy to pick out and set aside for further roasting. As many as made it past him, that is. Warm, sticky and already slightly roasted, they made a wonderful treat just as they were, and he handed Liz a cone to work on as they waited for the stew. You know, she asked, what I just realized? It was a clear, reasonably calm day, and I didnt hear one helicopter all day long. Do you think theyre through looking in this area? There was one, very early this morning. Hard to say what theyre up to. Lets give it a few days, see what sort of pattern develops, before coming to any conclusion. Sure was good to have a day without all that rumbling, though! Feasting that night on marten stew to which had been added the little heap of pine seeds

yielded by Einars roasting project and some lumps of bear fat and dried bear blood, they managed to satisfy most of the hunger that had come of a long day spent exerting themselves in the cold and making the long climb of the ridge, following it with a batch of Lizs bear fat-chokecherry ice cream, the first they had enjoyed since leaving the den. Once again Einar had a difficult time staying awake long enough to partake of the meal despite what appeared to be a valiant and at times somewhat angry effort to do so, and when not even sitting bolt upright on a pile of rocks in the chill air near the entrance-he tried it, not liking the drowsiness that was attempting to come over him--was sufficient to keep his head from nodding in sleep, Liz knew she must take matters into her own hands. His foot still needed attention and, if he was to have any energy in the morning, he really needed to eat, too, and she gave him the task of stirring the stew and keeping it from beginning to stick as it cooked down and thickened. Being near the warmth of the fire did not help any in Einars struggle against sleep, but the assigned task did--cant let the stew burn--and he diligently tended to it while Liz took off her boots and changed socks. Though fortunately not frostbitten, her own feet had not fared particularly well on the climb, as the toes of both her boots were beginning to separate from the soles, allowing more snow and moisture in than she would have liked. The boots had served her well, especially seeing as they had been nothing but inexpensive hikers to begin with, and had seen many, many miles of hard use since she had joined Einar that fall. Up until the toes had begun separating after the descent and climb of the canyon, they had for the most part done an adequate job of keeping her feet warm, paired with frequently-changed socks and the pair of hair-in bear hide gaiters Einar had made her, but she could see that if something was not done soon about her footwear situation, she could quickly end up in a situation as serious as Einars, facing the potential loss of toes. She could, she supposed, wear Einars right boot for a while, as it had been riding around in her pack ever since he broke his leg and might not be something he could take advantage of again for a good while, yet, but she hated to wear it out and knew, besides, that wearing a boot several times too big, along with one that fit, would leave her dangerously clumsy on some of the steep, tricky terrain that they were in the habit of covering. Einars left boot looked little better than her own, toe beginning to separate and the sole worn nearly through beneath the ball of the foot from the unusual way he had taken to walking while on the crutch. The toes of their boots could, she expected, be repaired to some extent using pitch glue or the hide glue that Einar had boiled down from the deer hide scrapings and dried for future use, but she doubted the repairs would be sufficient to keep out the winter weather, in the long run. They needed new boots. Einar was watching her as she studied the badly worn toes of her boots, pausing in his stew-stirring and suddenly looking a good bit more wakeful. Falling apart? Yes, theyre starting to. I got a good bit of snow in there today on the way down. What do you think, glue them? Done that before, with my old pair. Glued the toes and then wrapped the whole area with cordageworked for awhile. Until the sole fell off one day when I was running

from a dog, then another time in the rocks as I went after a marmot, and got lost forever down in the rockslide. Wore squirrel hide slippers after that--just case skin the squirrel, slip the hide off and turn it inside out , stick my toes in the head and tie the back legs behind my heel--worked alright in the summer but wouldnt do at all, in this sort of weather. Guess its time to cut up that deer hide, make it into the closest thing we can get to mukluks, maybe line them with marten fur. For now though, let me have those boots of yours after dinner, and Ill see what I can do with some glue and maybe cordage. Cant have snow getting in. Im sure you would prefer not to end up like me She didnt answer, thinking that Im afraid I get more and more like you every day Im out here; its inevitable, but knowing that he had only been referring to the toes, a path down which she certainly did not wish to follow him, if at all possible. Ok, after we eat. Dinner finished and Einar managing to keep awake only because he knew Lizs boots needed help and not wanting to leave the job for later lest she go out to run the trapline the next morning and come back with frozen feet--it was shaping up to be another crystal-clear, frigid night--he found the little bear-gut bag of hide glue squares that he had set aside at the den, choosing one and placing it in a slight depression in one of the large rocks near the fire. Ideally, he knew, he ought to have been soaking the glue square in cool water for the past hour or so to fully hydrate it before attempting to reconstitute by mixing with hot water, but he had not thought to do so, and figured he would be able to dissolve enough of it to be useful, anyway. Dripping onto it several drops of warm water from the pot of snow Liz had just melted, he poked and prodded at the clearish, yellowtinted square until it began dissolving around the edges, adding a bit of water and leaving the glue to finish reconstituting. Waiting on the glue to become useable, he retrieved a chunk of spruce pitch and set it on a warm rock near the fire to begin softening. No need to liquefy it yet and have it begin running all over the place, but he wanted to get a head start on the project, uncertain how long he was going to be able to force himself to remain awake to work on it. His breathing seemed alright--better than it had been up on top of the ridge, at least--and he didnt think he was feverish or had any other outward signs of infection that might have explained the crushing weariness that had come over him upon reaching the shelter that evening, but something was definitely not normal--whatever that is--and all he could think was that he must still be feeling the effects of his blood loss. To be expected, he knew, as his memory of the time after being stabbed told him that the weakness of that sort of loss would persist for weeks, particularly if he was not eating as well as he might, but the predicament still frustrated him somewhat, as it seemed he ought to simply be able to choose to let it affect him less, to find some extra strength somewhere and put it to use, but seemed unable to do so. Well. Youre awake. Stay that way until this boots fixed, and call it good for the night, alright? It wasnt alright, but he grudgingly assented, growling at himself about the next day and how things were going to be different, how hed work hard enough to make up for his present laziness, and more, and he did not realize that he had been growling aloud until Liz looked over at him. Abashed

at his unknowing outburst, he quickly returned his focus to the boot, keeping his mouth firmly shut. The glue square was soft, stretchy and extremely sticky around the edges by that time, and he coated the end of a small, barkless stick with it, grabbing Lizs boot, whose toe end he had previously secured with several wraps of cordage to keep it from moving and shifting as he worked. Dabbing a good bit of the sticky substance along the damaged portion of the leather where it had begun separating from the rubber of the sole, he added more, setting the boot a distance from the fire to begin gelling in the cool air while he started on the second boot. Returning to the first, he spread and smoothed the glue with his finger, working it deeper into the crack and adding another thin layer on top. The glue, he knew, would shrink slightly as it finished drying. Even dry, hide glue, while extremely sturdy and slightly flexible, was not waterproof, and though in the cold weather he knew this would not be a tremendous problem, Einar intended to waterproof the repairs with a layer of spruce pitch as soon as the glue finished drying. Seeing that he appeared to be done with the gluing stage of the boot repair, Liz sat down beside him. How about if I change the dressings on your foot while you do whatever it is youre planning to do with the pitch, there. It needs to be done, and I can see that youre starting to get tired Can you, now? He sighed, shook his head in frustration. Yeah, guess it better be done, but you sure dont have to do it. Give me a minute here to finish, and Ill She wouldnt hear of it, could see his struggle with sleep and removed his boot, tending to the foot as he worked. He finished his project before she did, coating the dried glue with pitch and cinching the cordage ties down tighter to hold the repair in place, wide awake and trying hard not to let Liz see how badly she was hurting him. The foot was worse, the additional damage done by his hours sitting immobile in the cold early that morning only then really becoming apparent, and he knew that he had better do a thorough assessment of it the next morning, see what was going to be necessary to keep it from becoming dangerously infected. But for nowhe barely made it to the bed before he was asleep. If youll let me have it, and some of that sinew thread youve got all coiled up, Ill work on turning that deer hide into a pair of mukluks. I can sew. Ill make them big enough to fit you, and make them work for me by stuffing the toes with usnea. Warmer that way anyhow, and the good thing is that whichever of us needs them most at the time, can use them! Dont know if Ill be able to finish them before we leave here, but it sure cant hurt to start! Liz was to have more days to work on those mukluks than she would have thought at all likely, that evening. The night was quiet, too quiet, and Liz woke more than once to the horrified thought that Einar might have sneaked outside again, might be sitting up there in the rocks freezing himself to death, but each time she found him exactly as he had left him the evening before when she had helped him, exhausted, into the bed. In fact, he seemed not to have

moved a muscle since falling asleep, which was very much out of the ordinary for him. He was reasonably warm though--hot rocks and piles of spruce needles scraped up onto the edges of the bear hide before she went to bed had seen to that--and he was breathing, if a bit fast, so she left him to sleep, glad that she seemed not to have to worry about him leaving the bed that night, at least, or waking to some small noise and mistaking her for the enemy as had happened in the past. Sleep, Einar, be warm and sleep and dream of that basin with its trees and little lake and the calving elk and bighorn sheep you said we might see there in the spring It was a long day today and you need rest. As did she, pressing close to him for warmth as she drifted back to sleep, remembering as she did a passage from Ecclesiastes that she had recently read, something about how if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? She was certain that she must have read those words before, and more than once, but never had they seemed quite so relevant as in the life she was now living, nor had the ones that came before them, about how two are better than one, because if one falls the other can help him back up. Though Im afraid Einar would probably have an answer to that question about how you can keep warm when sleeping alone, if I posed it to him--something about having antifreeze in your blood, and how if you dont, its all because you just havent trained hard enoughwell. Either way, were warm tonight, Einar, and youre sleeping and I need to be, too Sometime towards morning the snow began soft and heavy, temperatures that had plummeted throughout the first part of the night stabilizing and even beginning to rise a bit. As the fresh snow piled up the world took on the gentle, hushed quality that can often and unequivocally announce a storms presence even before one looks outside, and after a time Liz once again woke, the change having caught her attention, even in sleep. It was bright outside the shelter, the mild, diffused light speaking of the new snowfall and explaining to her the slightly warmer temperatures she believed she was feeling upon poking her head up out of the blankets. Einar was still sleeping and she left him, slipping carefully out of the bed so as not to wake him. It was the first time in a very long time that she could remember him sleeping all the way through the night without stirring, and she knew it must mean that he was in very bad need of rest. Retrieving her boots, which she had tucked into the bottom of the bed to prevent them getting so cold over night that she felt in danger of freezing her feet just by donning them, she checked Einars repairs, pleased to see that they seemed to have held quite well. Brushing aside the pile of snow that had filtered down through the open chimney hole where the two slabs of rock met at the front Liz pushed aside the door flap and quickly confirmed her suspicions about the snow that had fallen in the night. It was to be a big storm, by all appearances, had already dropped somewhere upwards of a foot and a half of new snow and was still coming down hard, the small, fast-falling flakes accumulating quickly and showing no sign of slacking off. Her first thought, after a brief rush of gratefulness that they could look forward to another day without passing aircraft to set Einar to worrying and getting all antsy to move on, was of her traps. Though she had placed all but one of the deadfalls safely beneath overarching umbrellas of spruce or fir boughs, the wind could, she knew, still end up drifting them over before too much longer, if it had not already. On the chance that one of more of them might

have been tripped before the storm started and might even then contain some fresh meat for their breakfast, she hurried into her freshly repaired boots and carefully eased one of the split bear hide pieces off of the bed, knowing that she had better have some protection if she was to venture out into that storm. It was very odd, she thought, that Einar did not stir even when she pulled the hide from the bed--she went slowly and as carefully as she could, but such actions would normally have awakened him in a hurry--and as she tucked the remaining hide into place and piled more duff over it to help make up for the absence of her cloak-hide, she began to worry a bit about the soundness of his sleep. Carefully finding his wrist, she felt his pulse--fast, but no more so than it had been, from time to time since the removal of his toes and the loss of all that blood--and pulled his hat down almost to his eyes to help him stay warm in her absence. Before heading out she broke up a number of the small, dry sticks she had piled in the corner, preparing a fire against Einars waking, or her return, whichever was to come first. She could not imagine Einar objecting to them having a daytime fire, as hard as it was snowing, and found herself very much looking forward to returning to a warm shelter and having the benefit of a fire all day for light, heat and so she could get ahead on melting drinking water. Wanting the place to be warm when he woke and also wishing that he might have a ready way to prepare something warm to drink, she briefly considered starting the fire before leaving and waiting until she had a good bed of coals going, rolling a large log or two over them to keep the fire smoldering along while she was gone, but the thought of what could potentially happen if one of the pitchy spruce logs spit an ember into the piles of dry duff and pine cones near the bed, taking off before Einar could wake and stomp out the flames, was more than enough to convince her to wait. Hungry, she pulled a chunk of bear fat and some jerky from her pack and took a moment to eat before heading out. A pot of broth made from the boiled down bones of the previous nights marten and enriched a bit with fat had been sitting in the coals all night, its top covered with dirt and rocks to keep in the heat, and when she checked it Liz was pleased to find it still warm. She took a sip of the broth--ooh, not bad, though some greens would really improve it; I need to get back to growing those milkweed sprouts-crumbled some jerky into it to soften, and again buried the pot in rocks to hopefully keep the broth at least lukewarm until Einar woke. He could always reheat it when he got the fire going, but she supposed he might appreciate having something to start out with, some ready food to give him strength before he made the effort of bringing the fire to life. Not that Im even sure he cares if his food is warm. Half the time Im convinced that he would just as soon gnaw on a frozen elk quarter like some wolverine as eat a decent, civilized meal, but it cant hurt for the option to be there Slipping out into the snowy world outside, she rolled the heavy log back against the bottom of the door flap to keep drafts out, starting up the slope to check the traps. If she could find them. Proving to be even deeper than it had initially appeared, the snow was a major challenge as Liz struggled up the slope behind the shelter, leading her after a very short time to leave the shallow trench that she knew marked her old trail and head even deeper into the timber in the hopes of avoiding the deepest of the snowfall. It was wearing her out, slogging through the knee-deep stuff step after step, and she knew that every extra calorie used in the effort would have to be replaced, possibly leaving her with a deficit, if she

ended up expending more energy than was provided by whatever creature she might find in the traps. A very likely scenario, as there was a good possibility that she would find all of the traps empty, if the creatures had been aware of the coming storm and had holed up early instead of going prowling for food. But on the other hand, I did have all of those things baited with rabbit guts, and maybe the martens and ermines and things get more active before a storm, wanting to get a good meal in them before it comes. I know thats what I would do, if I had a good sense of when a storm was coming. But then, Im not a weasel and dont know how they think--Einar probably does, since hes mentioned trapping them before, have to ask him about this--so I guess Ill just have to wait and see. Returning to her contemplation of the energy that she was to expend on the trap run versus the possible return if she was successful, Liz found herself focusing with an almost angry intensity on the irony of life down in civilization, as Einar called it, laughing bitterly as she thought of all the weight loss programs and low calorie, low fat foods that were constantly being advertised down there, and she wondered how it was possible that a very simple blessing such as an abundance of food could be so corrupted as to become, in some instances, a curse that so detrimentally affected peoples lives, reducing their quality if not outright shortening them. She shook her head. Leave it to fallen human nature, I guess, to take a gift and turn it into a problem. The first two traps were empty, one drifted over with snow and the other nearly so, and she dug out and took the solidly-frozen rabbit gut bait from each, wanting it for future use. The second to last trap, as it turned out, had been shielded from the blowing snow by a low cluster of gooseberry bushes that stood just to the side of the tree that sheltered it, and on approaching, she saw with a sudden flash of excitement that it had been tripped. Brushing away the snow that had come to rest on top of the collapsed rock she slowly raised it, nearly letting out a whoop of joy when she saw the somewhat flattened ermine that lay beneath it. A small prize, for sure, providing less fur than a marten and definitely less meat, but at least it was something! More than she had come to expect of that snowy morning, as she found trap after trap to be not only empty, but their bait undisturbed. Liz returned, then, ermine in hand, to find that Einar appeared not to have moved, the broth remaining untouched under its protective layer of rocks and the lack of tracks-other than hers--in the snow outside the door indicating that he had not so much as left the shelter for the short four step walk to the tree that they had designated as the outhouse. Shaking the accumulated snow, dry and powdery, from her bear hide cloak, she squinted in the darkness of the shelter, found the bed and added the additional layer to the one that already covered him. His hands were very cold, he was shaking and it appeared that he had made no effort to curl up for warmth. Time to get the fire going, and then Id better try and wake you so you can eat. "Ermine, Einar! Fresh ermine to roast for breakfast!" Einar could hear the crackling of the fire as its flames climbed through the small spruce sticks and into the larger branches Liz had placed on it, knew it must be late in the day and tried to rise, but nothing seemed to be working right and he went on lying there,

feeling as if the bear hide that covered him must weigh a ton. He was thirsty, throat dry and sandy, and though he couldnt see her--doggone eyes wouldnt seem to open, and he would have pried them open with his fingers and held them that way if necessary, except that he couldnt seem to find his fingers, must have misplaced them somewhere, along with his toes--he knew Liz must be there, spoke to her in the hopes that she might help him find his water, but she did not respond. Silence, then, and the momentary return of a blackness that seemed to blot out his hearing and, to his relief, the awareness of his terrible thirst, also, and when he was next aware of his surroundings Liz was lifting him, shaking him gently by the shoulder and telling him that he must wake up, or he was going to miss breakfast. I am awake. Eyes wont open for some reason and theres something the matter with my hands, but Im awake. Need to take care of your leg before breakfast though, and I could sure use some water. Water would help me get my eyes open, I think. Must be stuck. Seems like its got to be getting pretty latedidnt I hear you leave a while ago and then come back? Should have kicked me out of the bed then, but Im up now, and What are youwhathey, why are you holding me down like this? Let go! Let me up! Need to get up! And in a frenzy of poorly coordinated resistance against what he believed to be Lizs efforts to restrain him--though she was, in truth, not even touching him at the moment--Einar managed to largely demolish the bed, kicking and flailing his arms in a futile attempt to rise, sending spruce needles flying in all directions and ending up face down near the fire, tangled up in the bear hide and fighting for breath. Liz was there, he could feel gentle hands on him as she rolled him away from the fire-water, pleasedont we have any water? Give me snow and Ill melt it in my mouth, I know we got plenty of snow--and disentangled his limbs, and then everything went black again, nothingness, silence, and he would have fought it, too, had he then possessed the least awareness of his own existence. After rolling Einar onto his side and dragging the bear hide back over him, hastily scraping a few piles of spruce needles back together at his sides for warmth, Liz crouched watching him, afraid to touch him lest she set off another struggle. He had seemed a little hot, she thought, but not nearly feverish enough to be causing his frighteningly erratic behavior, and she did not understand it. He had seemed basically all right the evening before, if a good bit more weary than usual. Whats going on here, Einar? You wear yourself out too bad on that climb yesterday, or what? No answer, and there were other things she wanted to say, wishing to give voice to some of her fears, but she restrained herself, knowing there was a good chance that he was able to hear her, even if making a response was beyond his ability for the time. Ok. Go ahead and sleep some more if thats what you need. Ill save you some of this ermine, and youve got broth left from last night, too... Returning to the fire, she added a few sticks, setting the leftover broth to warm. Liz was worried, did not understand Einars inability to stay awake, but knew that she had better find a way to get some water into him before long, and hopefully some nutrition, too, if he was to have the energy to do anything, whenever he did wake up. Skinning and cleaning the ermine, Liz tried to keep her fear in check, hoping and praying that Einars unresponsiveness might simply be a delayed reaction to the tremendous exertion he had required of himself since leaving the den several days before, his bodys way of finally forcing him to give it the rest it needed,

but despite her best efforts she was afraid, finding herself almost in tears when she looked at him. Breakfast was finished, and Einar had not stirred. Liz took a warmed rock from beside the fire and tucked it beneath the bear hide, pressing it up against his lower back. It seemed that he had not quite warmed up from his time alone in the bed while she ran the trapline, and she knew he needed food perhaps more than anything, just then. He simply did not have enough reserve to go for long as he was, would soon be in a position where he couldnt produce enough heat and other problems began to develop, and she knew it. Thinking back to another time when Einar had lost consciousness for a while, following his stabbing and the subsequent blood loss and infection it brought, Liz remembered successfully giving him water by carefully dripping it onto the side of his mouth with his head raised, and waiting for his swallowing reflexes to take over. It had worked, and had been necessary, too, as badly dehydrated as he had been then, but had left her constantly concerned that he might choke on some of the liquid or breathe it into his lungs, leaving him with worse problems than he already faced. She could do it again if she had to, but wanted to give him a bit more time to wake up, first. Please wake up. It seems like a very long time ago, those days under the rock ledge after you got stabbed, and a lot has happened since then. Liz was a bit afraid of what Einar might do if she ended up having to hold his mouth open to give him sips of water the way she had before, concerned that he might end up hurting himself or even her, trying to resist her efforts. He had always--as long as she had known him, at least--been that way to some extent, very independent and reluctant to accept help, but she had noticed a change in him between the time she had been with him after the stabbing in the meadow, and when she had again found him, holed up among the rocky fins and spires of the Bulwarks. With those changes--she ascribed them to whatever experience he had endured after being hit with the bear tranquilizers, though she had so far been unsuccessful in getting him to talk much about the incident--had come an even greater reluctance to allow her to do things for him, a certain reserve lurking behind his eyes, even a sense of suspicion, perhaps, which seldom entirely disappeared, though he gave every outward appearance of trusting her. Liz had been saddened from time to time by the fact that he always seemed to be holding something back, keeping her from getting as close to him as she perhaps otherwise might have been able to, and it left her wondering frequently whether she was doing something to shake his faith in her. Examine the situation as she might, she had never been able to settle on exactly what that might be, finally accepting the matter, to the extent she was able, with the understanding that everyone is different--and Einars perhaps just a bit more different than most!--and everyone has their own way of managing the aftermath of various experiences. He would, she hoped, eventually come around, given enough time and patience on her part. Now, though, Liz was concerned that the trust they had managed to build up between them might be damaged if she did not proceed very cautiously when it came to helping Einar get through whatever difficulty seemed to have left him with a limited ability to remain conscious that morning. Got to make sure he somehow gets water if this goes on for too long, but the last thing I want is for him to wake up and decide that Ive been forcing things on him in a way he wouldnt want. If its between

that and having him end up seriously dehydrated though, which is going to be the case in a day or so if he doesnt wake up She sighed, shook her head in frustration and added another branch to the fire, scooping up a pot of snow to melt. Ill have to change the dressings on his foot in a while--cant afford to skip that--and I guess well find out then how hes going to react to me helping him when hes like this. Maybe that will bring him around so he can get some breakfast down Just wake up already, why dont you? Save us both a lot of trouble. Which is exactly what Einar was struggling to do, fighting the soft, pressing blackness that seemed to want so badly to envelop him again and cut off his connection with the world. He answered her, told her he was ready to eat but would like to take a look at her leg first and maybe have some water--really need that water, getting kinda weak-feeling, and I think that would fix it--but for some reason, she seemed to be ignoring him. Repeating what he has said, louder this time and certain beyond any doubt that he was speaking out loud, he began growing increasingly frustrated when Liz showed no sign of having heard him, continuing to snap sticks and add them to the fire--thats what it sounded like, at least; he still couldnt seem to get his eyes open--as if he wasnt even there.

Leaving Einar to sleep for the moment in the hopes that he might still wake on his own, given time, Liz turned her attention to his boot, which was beginning to fail in much the same hers were, in addition to its sole wearing quite thin from the unusual use it had seen since he broke his leg. It would not be long at all, she could see, before a hole opened up in the rubber under the ball of his foot. I wonder what would be best to keep this from wearing all the way through? Maybe a piece of deer hide, glued on? Or a small piece of bear hide maybe, with the fur down for a little traction on the snow? Better wait and let Einar decide on that. It sounds like he had this happen with his last pair of boots, too. But I saw how he fixed mine last night, and I can at least do the same for his. And she proceeded to begin preparing another square of the hide glue and softening some pitch, retrieving Einars boot from its spot beside the bed. Once the repair was finished, hide glue smeared into place, cooled to solidify and sealed against the weather with pitch, she returned his boot to its place and again strove to wake him, getting no more than a grunt in response. Ok. Another hour or two, and then youve just got to have some water. Now I know you were hoping to leave here in the next day or so and head for that basin, but in case we end up being here a little longer, Im going to start some more of those milkweed sprouts. Since that storms still going strong outside and we can have a fire, its a good opportunity to get the seeds soaked in some warm water and spread between two sheets of damp aspen inner bark like we did before back at the den. That den really was a good place, you know--a good first home, starter home, as I guess theyd call it down there She laughed, picturing how the real estate advertisement might be worded for such a dwelling--snug, weather-tight den, bear already removed, well concealed against

passing aircraft. All amenities included, great starter home for newlywed fugitives--and took out the bag of milkweed seeds that they had saved when collecting down, pouring a scant handful of them into a pot of gently heated water. But back to the sprouts. I think we could both benefit from some fresh greens in our diet, and Im thinking that if I could get a couple batches sprouts going, maybe there would be enough to dry so wed have some to carry with us and add to soups, times when we dont have the chance to do fresh ones. Not quite as good as fresh, maybe, but if were careful not to get them too hot while theyre drying, most of their nutritional value ought to stay intact. After this first batch sprouts, I can real quick green them up in the sun--if the suns out by then--to increase the chlorophyll content, and we can pound them up and add them to your water, along with the stew. Werent you the one who told me once that chlorophylls structure is very similar to that of red blood cells, and that its one of the quickest ways to bring your blood count back up after a loss? I think it was you. You were talking about nettles being a great source of it, I think, but these sprouts will be green, so theyll have at least some chlorophyll, right? Einar did not answer, of course, and Liz felt a little silly for talking to him like that when he was so clearly out cold--starting to look pretty cold, too, pretty badly chilled. Id better get some more hot rocks snuggled up there beside him--but she did it anyway, on the chance that he might be able to hear her, if not respond. Taking care of the rocks, she made a brief trip outside to strip some mostly-frozen inner bark from a long dead leaning aspen trunk not far from the shelter, setting it beside the fire to thaw and sprinkling it with warm water before spreading the soaked milkweed seeds on it, one layer thick, and adding another strip overtop. She placed the improvised sprouter near the fire, but not so near that the seeds would roast or dry out too quickly. Checking on Einar again she found him to be quite cold and beginning to shake despite the warm rocks, and, her chores done for the moment and quite weary, herself, she decided to lie down with him for a while in the hopes of getting him thoroughly warm and keeping him that way for a while, expecting that his body could more efficiently heal itself--I sure hope thats what its up to, at least--if he was not having to put so much energy into constantly fighting to maintain his core temperature. As she lay there, she spoke to him, whispering of the basin and of summer, the elk calving, and their future life there, hoping such talk might be a comfort to him, but he seemed to be in a different place entirely and not hearing her, as he tossed and groaned in his sleep, at times pushing at her and trying to free himself from her encircling arms, but finally settling into something a bit more like sleep. Though it had not been her intention Liz ended up drifting off to sleep shortly after Einar stopped shivering, awakened some time later by the sharp pop of a pitch pocket in one of the logs in the fire. She reached out and pushed the log, a long one which she had been burning in half--the job had been completed, she must have been asleep for a while-further into the fire so a new section could be consumed. Einars breathing seemed noticeably distressed, faster than before and somewhat irregular, and when she studied him in the flickering light of the fire, her forehead wrinkled up in consternation at the hollowness of his cheeks, and the way that the flesh seemed sunken in around the bones of his hand, when she took it in hers. You seriously need water, Einar. Im sorry, but no more waiting.

The snow in the water pot had thoroughly melted while she slept, and Liz poured it, warm but not hot, into her water bottle. She wished she had something to add, some honey, sugar, something to give him a bit of energy, but there was nothing, and she knew that the water would do him at least some good. If he did alright with it and she could get it into him without causing any choking, she could always try some strained broth, in a little while. Einar, completely unaware of his surroundings at the time, made no resistance whatsoever to Lizs attempts to give him water, and she shed tears of relief when she saw him swallow as the first drops of liquid trickled down his throat. Keeping his head elevated and tilted to one side she gave him the water one bottle-cap full at a time, stopping after he had swallowed a good third of a bottle and easing him back down into the bed. Ok. Thatll help. It will have to help. Ill get the broth heating, and then had better take care of your toes, because its been way too long. Liz tended to his foot, moving slowly and carefully so as not to hurt him any more than she had to, but she could see from the deep creases between his eyebrows and the thin, flat white line of his mouth that her efforts were not entirely effective. Then he sat up, wild-eyed and breathing hard, staring past her, but seeming not to see her. Hey Einar, youre awake! Youve been asleep for a while, a good while, and it was time to take care of your foot. Do you want some more water? She held the bottle out to him, held it up to his lips, but Einar turned his head away sharply, leaning back on the rock. Ok. Let me finish with your foot, and maybe youll feel more like drinking when its all done. It looks like you could even have some willow if you want it, because there hasnt been much more bleeding. Look. I think your foot is starting to heal up some, where the toes were. What she did not mention was that the two remaining toes were looking, to her at least, nearly as bad as the damaged ones had shortly before he had decided that they must go. Hoping she was wrong in her assessment and deciding that either way, it might be better not to bring the matter up until Einar had been given a bit more time to adjust to being awake again, she said no more. Continuing with the removal of the bandages and easing the usnea pads out from between his two remaining toes, Liz retrieved the bottle of berberine, which she had been warming in a pot of hot water by the fire. Einar was still awake, more or less, watching her with glazed eyes and greeting her, when she looked up, with a defiant, scornful grin the likes of which she had certainly never seen from him before. You know this is a waste of your time. Still not talking. You can take the whole foot if you want to, but my storys the same. Know nothing. Hey. You. Can you even understand me? What, dont speak English? Huh. Now thatd be pretty funny. But I bet youre bluffing, you slimy little Einar! Hey, what are you talking about? Its me. Liz. Please. Look at me. Im just dressing your foot, and I know it hurts, but Im almost done, and then Ill get you the willow.

Another snarling grin, top lip curled in disgust. Dressing? Huh. Clever. He sighed, let his head fall back against the rock. She was losing him again. Liz shook her head, blinking away her tears and trying to catch his eye again but he was staring up at the ceiling, his gaze unmoving, wouldnt--probably couldnt--respond to her voice. He was beginning to drift to the side, about to fall, and she eased him back to the ground and covered him back up, finishing with his foot and wrapping it in clean sock strips before easing it into the overboot for warmth. The water pot, which she tried to keep constantly full of melting snow to maintain their supply, had boiled dry as she worked, and tucking a warm rock in beside Einar, she left the shelter to scoop up more snow and get some fresh air after the long and difficult process of tending to his foot. Einar heard her leave, sat up. The world was fuzzy, confusing, dim and undulating sickeningly at the dizziness that came over him on opening his eyes, his head pounding agonizingly with every slow, dull beat of his heart and his whole body aching terribly, but he could see well enough to make out the only thing that mattered. His way was clear to escape, to freedom; he could see the sky. The guard was gone, maybe there was another outside, perhaps more than one, even, but he would deal with that when the time came. They had somehow managed to overlook his knife, it seemed, when they searched him, and he grinned fiercely at the discovery, got it onto his hand and started a slow crawl for the door. Crawling gave way very quickly to dragging when he found his limbs too weak to support him, but it did not matter. He had a goal in mind, in sight, and whatever waited out there, he was ready.

It seemed a terribly long way to the door, and Einar several times felt the blackness welling up to take him again, but he fought it with all he had, breathing as deeply as he could before exhaling forcefully, tensing the muscles of his legs and lower abdomen in the hopes of getting some extra blood to his brain--assuming thats the problem here-knowing that a second chance at escape might not come along and marveling that the current opportunity existed, at all. Could be a trap, a test, could be that theyre waiting out there to crack me in the head with a stick as soon as they see me and drag me back in here for more work on my foot, but theres at least some chance that this may work, and I dont know when the last time was that I saw the sky, they dont let me see the sky, so I got to do this His leg was cramping terribly, useless, so he ignored it, dragging his lower half behind him and straining with his abdominal muscles whenever he felt the dark close to overwhelming him again, somehow managing to maintain consciousness, if barely. The door. He had reached it, lay panting on his stomach, pleading for strength that he just didnt seem to have, finally got himself going again with the thought that the guard would be back at any moment, had surely just left to use the latrine--careless fool, thinking his prisoner too near death to be a threat and not bothering to call in a replacement to keep watch in his absence--and how long could that possibly takego, move, up into those trees and you may not be seen, may have a chance here. Snow. There was snow on the ground, cold beneath his hands, snow all around him and

thickly filling the air as it drifted down, settling on his shoulders and in his hair, and he knew that wasnt right, shouldnt be snow, cant be snowbrains not working right, just ignore the snownow wheres that doggone guard? Didnt see him, looked up in case perhaps the man or one of his numerous companions might be lurking up in the rocks above him, needing attention with the knife, but instead he sawtrees, the good, honest straight-trunked, wind-swayed sweep-boughed spruces of his own mountains, unmistakable, real, the thin high crisp dry air feeling like a gift from Heaven as it caught slightly in his throat and confirmed that he was not imagining things, and he laughed in relief--unbelievable, blessed relief--scooped up a handful of snow and scrubbed it across his face, rested his forehead in it and grinned as its biting chill crept into him. Home. Been here all the time, I guess. All this time, and I didnt even realize it He heard someone coming, soft through the snow, and looked up. A familiar face, dear to him, he knew, but he wondered if she would remember. It seemed a very long time that he had been awaymonths, at least, but it could have been years; one does lose track of time. Liz saw him there, knife in hand and face crusted with snow, her fear of what he might do if still in his earlier state competing with a desire to rush to him and help him back into the shelter before the cold could sink more deeply into his bones than it already had, and Einar saw the recognition in her eyes, smiled, lowering the knife when he realized she was watching it with some apprehension. Liz! Home! Yes. Yes, you are. Welcome home, Einar. He nodded, an ironic little hint of a shadowed smile passing across his face, tried but failed to get to his feet. Leg was still cramping, and the other was not much use, either. She held open the door, and he crawled back into the shelter, leaning against the wall for support when he realized that he was about to fall over, vision going dark once more. Maybe not quite as wide awake as you thoughtgot to work on thatsit up, come on, sit up straighter now. Liz sat down beside him, brushed the snow from his face and clothes, and he looked over at her, accepted the water bottle she was trying to hand him, but could not seem to get it up to his mouth. Arms werent quite working the way they should be, he supposed, but then, nothing really was, and he did not much care at the moment, still awash in relief to find himself back in the high, snowy world of his mountains instead ofright. Leave it be. It wasnt real, not this time. Liz was holding the bottle for him, and he drank, nearly choking on the first mouthful but then managing to get some down. Better. Oh, not good to get this far behind on water, Einar. Dont do that. But its getting better. Think I can move again, now. You ready to head up to that basin, Liz? Got a good storm going here, and we might as well let it cover our tracks, even though were outside of the search area, now, as far as we can tell. I see that youve got some soup heating there, so we can eat first, but then wed better start climbing, if we want to get to the top before dark. All this new snow will mean a good bit more avalanche danger, but if were careful and keep to the timber on the way down, as much as we can He stopped, out of breath and beginning to get

that glazed, distant look in his eyes once more, leaving Liz concerned that he might be about to slip back into some form of unconsciousness. Looking at him incredulously, she shook her head. Im so glad to see you acting like yourself again Einar, but no. Not today. Im not ready, today. Lets give it another day or so before we make that climb again, let the new snow compact and settle in, and and you do realize that you spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon passed out in the bed and not showing the least sign of being able to wake up, and then didnt even recognize me and called me a slimy little something-or-other when I tried to help with your foot, right? All before crawling out into the snow with your knife like you were hunting me, or something. And now youre awake, but you cant even get your legs under you or hold your own water bottle to take a drink, so no way! Im not ready to leave here and certainly not ready to make the climb with you like this. Give it time. He was watching her out of half-opened eyes, waiting for her to finish the sentence. And? You dont miss a thing, even now, do you? And I was thinking that we ought to go ahead and eat up this broth before it all boils away. Ive been keeping it hot for you all day. Ohthanks. Sounds good. Real good. Ishould have been helping with the fire and everything today, left you to do all the work. Sorry. Wasnt really sleeping that whole time butcouldnt seem to get my body to do what I was telling it, kinda came disconnected or something I think. Heard you talking, though, at least at firstwhich reminds me. I better have a look at your leg before we eat, and my foot, too. No, my legs fine, really. Starting to heal up and looking real good except for the bruising. And I took care of your foot no more than half an hour ago, so its good for now, too. Do you remember that? He didnt, told her so, but seemed to be starting to remember something else at the mention of it, something he would perhaps rather not have, and Liz saw the shadow return to his eyes, an odd hollowness, and thought for a minute that he was going to slip back into his prior strangeness, again. She quickly decided that the matter could be talked about later, much later, if at all, and the moment soon passed. No, dont remember that, but I do seem to remember you saying something about the last two toes looking almost as bad as the others did when I finally decided to take them off, so I need to take a look for myself. I never said that. Well, somebody did, because I heard it, and it sure sounded like your voice, to me. No need to hide things from me, Liz Im not. I really didnt say that. But Ill admitI was thinking it. The toes dont look

so good. But they do have clean dressings on them now, so why dont you eat first before looking? You havent had anything since yesterday He nodded, and they shared the pot of rich, warm broth, Einar able to sit up a good bit straighter and keep his eyes open with less trouble after he had drunk his portion. For a few minutes, at least, after which the warmth of the food in his stomach and his bodys effort to digest its first meal in a good while left him tremendously sleepy, and his first impulse was to fight it, but when Liz told him that she was going to lie down for a while and asked if he wanted to join her, he smiled, crept over to the bed. Yeah. Think I need to sleep now. Watching Einar as the rapid, labored breathing that the slightest bit of activity seemed to elicit from him that day slowed and normalized as he lay there, the lines in his face easing and softening just a bit, Liz was tremendously thankful to see that he appeared to be genuinely, peacefully sleeping, rather than simply having lost consciousness again. Yes, time to sleep now. Outside, the snow continued coming down thick and wind-swirled, drifting and piling gently against the outside of the door flap.

The storm that enveloped the high country that afternoon as Einar and Liz lay warm and oblivious, catching up on some much needed sleep beneath the rocks of the shelter, was to be the largest one yet in what was proving to be a winter the likes of which the area had not seen for a number of years. Hour after hour the snow came down, alternating as the temperature shifted between curtains of thick, heavy conglomerate flakes that clung to each other as they drifted slowly to earth and the tiny, prolific wind-driven specks that often added up the fastest--making it difficult at times to breathe if out in the storm without inhaling them and coughing--and meant that the cold was settling more firmly over the mountains. It was hours before either of the sleepers stirred there in the shelter, Liz waking slowly to the feel of Einar there beside her, breathing evenly, still at rest. Lying still and listening, she was aware of a profound silence all around them, a stillness that could not quite be explained by their own lack of motion, and when she eased out of the bed to investigate, disentangling herself gently from Einars grasp and tucking the bear hide back in around him to keep the warmth in, it was to discover that the door flap was entirely covered with snow on the outside. Heavily laden, it bulged inwards, and when she poked it sharply with a stick in an attempt to shake off the snow before it became too heavy and brought the flap down, she found that it could not be shaken loose. A hasty investigation, standing bent over beneath the chimney opening and craning her neck until she could get a glimpse of the outside world, told her exactly why. They were snowed in. The door was completely covered, not just drifted over with a thin layer of blown snow as she had believed, but thoroughly buried beneath what she knew had to be at least two or three feet of new snow. It was cold in the shelter, the coals of their fire long gone black, but it was not frigid, she knew, as it would have been had they not received the extra layer of insulation on the outside.

Wanting to get the fire going again before Einar woke to give the place some time to warm and perhaps start some tea, she sorted through their pile of remaining firewood, finding it rather sparse. Well, we have to dig out of here sometime, so it might as well be now. She got into her mittens and boots, eased one of the split bear hide pieces out from on top of Einar and pushed more piles of spruce needles into its place, wishing more than ever for a pair of water-resistant pants of some sort to cover the pair of polypropylene pants, by then rather threadbare in places, that were to serve as the only protection for her bottom half as she ventured out into the new snow. Between the polypro pants and her jeans, at least she had usually been able to ensure that she had something dry to change into after each foray in the winter weather, but as the jeans did a rather poor job of keeping her warm when they got the least bit damp--which they often did, tramping through snow--they had seen less use by far than the other pair. Even still, they were beginning to fall apart here and there at the seams, the cloth of the knees growing rather thin, and inspecting them by the dim, diffused light that made its way in through the chimney opening, she decided that at least part of her remaining time in the shelter must be devoted to clothing repair and maintenance. And I sure wish I knew where to go out and find a deer or an elk or something--maybe a caribou, if we were a lot farther north, and leave the hair on for warmth--so we could get skins to make us some winter pants. None of what we have--either mine or his--is going to hold together for too much longer it doesnt look like, even with careful repairs. The cloth is just wearing too thin, and Im sure not looking forward to having to try and wrap and tie marten hides around my legs, or something, to cover them. The one deer hide we do have is going to have to be turned into mukluks, because feet have to take first priority, I think. We need some larger game, thats all there is to it. But there sure doesnt seem to be any, up this high, and probably wont be until most of the snow is gone. Months and months from now. Well. I know some of the tribes up in the Pacific Northwest--Salish and others, I think; Einar would probably know more about it--boiled cedar bark and then pounded it until it was soft and the fibers could be separated, then spun it into something like yarn for weaving a rough cloth out of. And other tribes would just take strips of the bark and make thin bundles, then weave them together with cordage to make the outside layers for their blankets and traveling robes. I remember seeing an old photo one time of a woman crouching preparing food of some sort, with a cedar blanked lined with rabbit fur wrapped around her shoulders. So, why couldnt we make snow pants this same wayif aspen inner bark could be used instead of the cedar. Its probably too brittle, but I think Ill experiment. For now though, Id better just hurry up and get some more wood for the fire, before that snow gets any deeper out there and before Einar wakes up! Sure hope he knows who and where he is when he wakes up, and doesnt mistake me for anybody hed rather not be around or feels a pressing need to do away with, as he apparently did earlier She glanced over at him. Still sleeping--that is good--and not shaking yet, though she knew he probably soon would be without some additional source of heat. Once again she wondered how he had managed while injured and alone that past winter, wanted to ask him but supposed his answer would consist of a few growled words about the antifreeze in his blood and the fact that, despite it, thered been times when he barely had made it, but Im still here She shook her head. Really would like to know. Maybe the right

opportunity will come up, and I can ask him about it. And hope to get a serious answer. Smiling, she pulled on her mittens and headed out into the storm. Pushing her way out through the snow that was packed against the door proved to be a bit more difficult than Liz had anticipated, as it had been compressed somewhat by the wind as it was shoved in under the protective trees and deposited in layers against the rocks and yearling hide that made up their little refuge. Eventually she made it out, kicking and shoving at the snow as she cleared it away from in front of the door. More was coming, that much was certain as she scanned the low, leaded sky, all distant views obscured by the gently swirling whiteness, and she wanted to get the entrance area clear of snow before too much more could pile up, making her job that much more difficult. Moving the snow was hard work, and she paused resting for a moment upon finishing, catching her breath and squinting out at the dim forms of nearby spruces and firs, trying to recreate in her mind the dry branch situation beneath each, and decide which provided the most likely opportunity for obtaining more wood. It was unwise, she knew, to continue taking everything from the nearest trees only, decimating their supply and requiring that longer and longer trips be made each time in search of more wood. The injury to her leg two days prior had been a forceful reminder to her of the grim situation they would be facing if both she and Einar ended up badly injured or incapacitated at the same time, and she knew it would be best, no matter where they were sheltering or how short a time they intended to stay in a location, to take a bit more time and range farther from the shelter for wood, leaving a ready supply within crawling distance against the possibility of injury or illness. She had not done it, had been too anxious about Einar to wander far from the shelter, and was now faced with the prospect of a long slog through thigh-deep snow just to scrape together enough wood to heat the place and boil up a pot of stew, that evening. Off I go, then, and maybe thisll help me remember, for next time. Please stay in there Einar, if you happen to wake while Im gone. Please be yourself and be sensible enough not to go wandering around in this Heading in the general direction of a large stand of as-yet untouched spruces not too many hundreds of yards distant from the shelter and at its approximate elevation--best to avoid climbing too much right now if I can, this stuff is deep!--Liz found that, even without the added difficulty of needing to climb in it, travel through the fresh snow was difficult and exhausting, at best. After pushing her way doggedly through the drifts for a number of wearying minutes--step, sink, get the other leg up out of the deepness, swing it forward a short distance and plant it, on and on, falling at times and flailing about when she hit an unseen obstacle--Liz decided that if she was not to spend the rest of the day just reaching the desired trees, let alone collecting wood and hauling it back, then she would have to make snowshoes. No willows right here. There are some back in the shelter, but Im sure not going all the way back there to get them, then spending the time to bend and tie them until I have snowshoes. Remembering something Einar had once mentioned to her, she floundered over to the nearest evergreen and began breaking off branches. Back at the shelter Einar stirred, opened his eyes. Foot hurt. Rocks above his head, dim and grey in the pale light that oozed in through the chimney

hole, and waking was a slow, creeping process for Einar, eyelids seeming terribly heavy and head splitting when he tried to move it. Didnt matter too much, because he was home, remembered that, if not much else at first, recognized the smell of aspen-wood smoke and snow, a wonderful combination, and knew that it was true. Water. Must be some nearby, because he could smell it, too, and it felt like he could really use some. It seemed to take forever to get himself rolled over onto his stomach so he could creep forward in search of it but he succeeded, found the bottle mere inches from the side of the bed, fumbled with the lid and finally got it off. The water helped, helped his head, anyway, the stabbing pain between his eyes reduced to a dull ache as he drained the bottle and went looking for another, not finding it. He couldnt find Liz, either, knew she had been there and wondered when she had left, and why. The last memory he had--the last one that was not of a dream, anyhow--was of her adamantly refusing to leave the shelter that day and begin the move to the basin, suggesting that he sleep and steering him over to the bed. Probably just out getting some wood, checking the trapshere. Her part of the beds still pretty warm, so she hasnt been gone very long. Now--sharply reminded of what had awakened him when he accidentally bumped his foot on a pile of spruce needles--better deal with the foot. Not so good, today. Before removing the dressings and changing them, however, he wanted to get at look outside, wanted to get some idea of what the day was like and see where Liz had gone, if her tracks near the entrance would tell him. They did not. Were nearly covered in snow, actually, a shallow and rapidly filling trench all that was left to indicate the direction of her leaving, and he crawled out into the trampled-down snow just outside the shelter, pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying as the inevitable dizziness swam the world before his eyes and fought hard to send him sprawling. Einar fought equally hard, remained standing and took deep breaths in an attempt to clear the swarm of black spots from before his eyes. Not much use today, are you? Thats got to change. Better get out there and find her in case shes ended up hanging upside down from a tree again-unlikely, he knew, but it seemed as good a reason as any to do the thing he knew he must do, get out and struggle to overcome the weakness that still seemed to have all too firm a hold on him--but seems this foot had better be tended to, first. Ten minutes later he had finished getting the dressings off, and the matter was settled. On your own this time, Liz, at least for the moment. If youre not back in a while Ill come after you, sure, but for now He sighed. Better get a fire going

Liz knew that a single evergreen branch on each foot was unlikely to be of much help when it came to keeping her from sinking three feet into the new snow, and she chose several small ones for each side, taking off her mittens and fumbling in her pocket for the bits of paracord and nettle cordage that Einar insisted she always carry--now I see why; good idea! With two or three small branches lashed together and then to each of her feet, crossing over each other, their small side branches interlocking, she carefully tried the snow again, found that while she still sunk in, the amount could now be measured in inches rather than feet. Finding travel slightly easier with the use of the improvised

snowshoes, Liz went from tree to tree, breaking off dead branches and adding them to the burden that she already carried, lashed together and slung over her shoulder. It was an awkward, cumbersome way to carry the stuff, leaving her at times to stop in frustration as she disentangled the bundles from the overhead branches, but short of dragging the branches along behind her, which she knew would lead to numerous and inevitable snags on the underbrush that protruded from the snow and snatched at her snowshoes, she could think of no better way to transport her acquisitions. A sled would be good. Perfect, actually. Something that would let me drag the branches without snagging them, and would help keep them from collecting too much snow and ending up damp, too. Something like those long, rounded strips of spruce bark Einar was keeping the bear fat on back in the den. They looked like the bark had just been peeled off half the circumference of the tree for five or six feet, and they looked like they would have made great sleds. I never asked him, but he must have used them to haul things on, maybe even firewood. She didnt see any hanging from trees, though, and was not exactly sure how to go about cutting one, assuming that had been how Einar got ahold of his. She did not want to take the time just then to experiment. Einar, she knew, could be waking at any moment or could already have awakened, and she hated the thought of being far from the shelter when that happened, entirely unsure as she was just what state Einar might be in upon returning to wakefulness. So. Just carry the stuff, for now. Even with the help of the snowshoes, the job of moving through the deep, soft snow was a challenging and exhausting one, and when Liz found a small dead aspen, still standing but leaning badly, she saw it as an opportunity to finish off her wood-gathering tasks for the day and put an end to the seemingly endless slog from one tree to the next, coming away from each with a few useful branches, at best. If, that was, she could get it down, and then find a way to transport it. Felling the tree proved to be little problem, as its connection to the ground was quite tenuous, the remaining roots snapping shortly after she put her full weight on it. Hauling the bounty proved to be a different matter, as one end of it sunk--of course--into the snow as soon as she lifted the other to tuck it beneath her arm and begin dragging, the resistance of all that snow making forward motion nearly impossible. She tried anyway, straining and pulling and thinking of Einar back that at the shelter, possibly awake and almost certainly--if recent history was any indication--at least somewhat confused and likely about to do something foolish. Pull as she might, though, the log would not budge more than an inch or two, and after twice dropping her load of branches in the snow with the effort, she stood panting for breath and knowing that she must find another way. There was still some paracord left in her pocket, a three or four foot length, and she got it out, tied one end around the terminus of the broken tree and looped the other up over her shoulder, wrapping it a couple of times around her arm. This allowed the log to lie basically flat as she pulled, and it would have ordinarily have hurt terribly to have so much weight resting across her shoulder on such a thin little cord, the bear hide cloak provided sufficient padding. Once Liz got turned around and back into her previously broken trail the going was much easier, and before too long the shelter-rocks were in sight once again. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney-opening. She could just see it through a dense curtain of falling snow, and she smiled, knowing Einar was awake and

apparently still in the shelter. A good sign! Warming himself by the fire and welcoming its stronger light, Einar inspected his foot once again, hoping that in the shadows of the shelter he might have been mistaken about the wet, oozing mess that his big toe seemed to have become, hoping to see instead a more stable black crust that would mean he could wait, could continue treating the damaged areas with salve and clean dressings and give them a chance to heal. No such luck. The toes looked worse, actually, by the fires light, definitely oozing and, he thought, beginning to smell. That smell. Only it has absolutely nothing to do with luck, Einar, and you know it. Thing was starting to heal, Im pretty sure, before you insisted on spending that night up in the rocks trying to get your head straight, and damaging it further. Sure wasnt the smartest thing you ever done. He looked at the foot again, turned away from the fire and vomited into the spruce needles, losing the entire bottle of water he had just drunk at the thought of what was to come next. Somehow he was finding the operation quite a bit harder to face than he had the first time around, was sweating and starting to shake despite the growing warmth of the fire and would have been disgusted and somewhat angry at himself over the perceived weakness, if hed possessed the energy to think much about it. Guess this may be one thing a person never does get used to. Dont have enough toes left to really get used to it Heh. Maybe if I ended up having to do half the fingers, too, this might start to seem a little more routine. He shook his head. Not funny, Einar. Not a bit. But it had better be done, and I sure dont want Liz here to watch so it looks like I need to hurry up. Doesnt feel like Id get too far if I tried to crawl off on my own and look for a private place to do it, this time. Mighty dizzy. So dizzy, in fact, that he seemed suddenly unable to focus clearly on the foot at all, was sick again and leaned back on the rock behind him, closed his eyes. If theres any way this can be avoided, then please It couldnt, though, there was no way, as far as he could see, and he was ready to be done with the task, done, lest he slip back into the shadows for a day or two and wake to find the entire foot too far gone to save. Quite possible the way things are going, and that would be the end of me, most likely. Be kinda hard on Liz to watch somebody go that way. Do it. A pot of frozen berberine water that Liz had boiled up the night before but left to finish the next day sat near the fire, beginning to melt around the edges, and he held the pot in both hands and slurped at the little trickles of liquid, thirsty, knowing that he was in serious need of fluids and could use the yellow juices antibiotic properties, as well, if the stuff would stay down. Slowly, methodically, having increased difficulty maintaining awareness the longer he remained upright but determined to do what he had to do before Liz returned, Einar searched through the pack. Usnea. Sock strips. Wheres the yarrow? Hope we didnt use it all up last timesure cant remember one way or the other. He couldnt find it, knew he risked serious bleeding by attempting the job without it. Not that there arent lots of other ways to control bleeding, but it wouldnt even have to be that serious of a bleed to leave you in real trouble this time, I dont think. Got to have that yarrow. More searching, nothing yielded. He added more wood to the fire, inching the pot of berberine water closer to the flames. Liz must have it with her. Either that, or I used it all up. Not likely at all to find any this time of year, either, with all this snow, even if I could get out and search. Well. Can do without it, then. From the jumbled pile of gear that lay on the

floor where he had dumped it in his search, Einar pulled an inch wide deerhide strap, somewhat softened by repeated workings, that he had been preparing for use in finishing up the bola. Wrapping the strap around his leg jut above the ankle he tied it loosely and worked a stick in through the knot, wanting to have a tourniquet ready to use should it be required. If I start bleeding bad, this at least ought to give me time to heat my knife up in the coals and start cauterizing things before I pass out from blood loss, get the stump packed with usnea and wrapped up real tight to keep the bleeding down Dont know if itll be enough but its the best I can seem to come up with. Remembering how difficult it had been to finish the job the first time around and knowing that the bone was much, much thicker in the big toe than were those in the others, he hunted around the shelter until he found a good sized chunk of granite, weighing in excess of three pounds by his estimate, that he could bring down on the knife to increase its effectiveness. Dripping some of the thawing yellow berberine solution out of the pot he washed the toes, the foot, the rock beneath them, cleaned his knife, meaning to proceed with the job and finish it as quickly as possible. And he probably would have, too, had not the time come for Liz to return. The blood was pounding so in his head that he didnt even hear the soft footsteps as they approached the shelter. The first thing that alerted him to Lizs presence was the crash of her bundle of branches as she unburdened herself on the flat-trampled snow just outside the door, greeting him with a cheerful shout and pushing aside the door flap when she got no answer. Greeted by the sight of Einar, white-faced and bleary eyed, sitting by the fire with his foot flat on a scrubbed rock slab and the knife resting precariously on the first joint of his big toe, granite chunk in hand and a willow stick clamped between his teeth, Liz froze where she was, stared at him for a second before letting the door flap fall closed and slowly approaching him. Einar. Wait. Put down the knife. He looked up and saw her, let the rock sink to the ground--had barely been able to hold it up, in the first place--and spit out the stick. No use, Liz. Theyre gone. Bound to start poisoning me here pretty soon, if theyre not already. Gonna ask you to wait outside while I do this. Come get warm first if you need to, have a drink, and then Let me take a look first. Please. Not waiting for an answer she crouched beside him and took hold of his leg, a prickling in her scalp reminding her that she really wasnt sure how Einar would react or even what state he might be in since waking that morning, and that it really would have been a good idea to secure the knife somehow before getting that close to him. He kept still, though, hands clenched and eyes far away as she made her inspection, trying to maintain the resolve that he had worked up and wishing she would go ahead and finish so he could get on with things before he changed his mind or passed out or both. She was saying something, and concentrated on quieting the pounding in his head so he could hear her.

Its going to mean days of dressing changes again and I know itll hurt, will drag things out, and maybe you dont want that at this point, but I really think theres still a chance to save them. Look. There are little areas that seem to be oozing, but I can tell you that theyre no bigger than they were yesterday. I looked real carefully, then. In fact, I think a few of the places that were oozing yesterday are starting to crust over, this morning. Now this storm looks like its going to be socked in for a while. The snows real deep and getting deeper out there, and with that kind of avalanche danger, I dont think were going to be heading up to the basin for another day or two, at the least. We have a good warm dry shelter here, and lots of firewood to keep it that way, so how about we go back to the berberine soaks twice a day like were doing before, see if we can get the toes to keep crusting over and stop that infection before it goes any further. Then if they still need to go after a few days of that, Ill do it myself. Or help you in whatever way you want. He nodded--pointless, most likely, bound to end like the last ones did, but shes right might as well give it a try if we can keep the infection under control--let his breath out and bowed his head, suddenly feeling the strength go out of him at the realization that he was not going to do it, not then, at least. Ok. Ill give it a day or two. Thing is thoughI know thereve been some gaps these last few daysbig chunks of time that I really dont remember, and since I dont know just why thats been happening, whats to say Im through with it? Dont want to end up in a situation where Im getting sick and the toes have to go real quickly, but Im not awake to do itcould end up getting in real trouble in a hurry, that way. I will not let that happen. Einar. Look at me. I mean that. Just give yourself a chance. He nodded again, dried his foot and worked the fresh, salve-coated usnea clumps into place, wrapping it as Liz shook the snow from her cloak and hung it near the fire to dry, warming her hands and working on a pot of stew.

With Einar settled in by the fire and a pot of snow melting for stew, Liz hurried outside and began knocking the freshly fallen snow from the firewood and hauling it inside. The snow, fortunately, was dry and cold enough that it had not begun soaking into the wood as it would have done in a warmer day, and the branches and even the aspen trunk that had been dragged had remained quite dry and ready to use. Propping the aspen trunk upright against the outside of the shelter--it was too big to bring in, unless to stick one end in the fire to begin the process of burning it through and shortening it--she broke the smaller branches into manageable lengths and stacked them against one wall. It appeared that she had gathered enough, if they were careful, to get them through a day or two of storm, should it last that long. Not that she intended to sit around and watch their supply diminish without renewing it as they burnt it up, but Liz was learning to expect unforeseen circumstances, and realized that things could certainly come up which might

prevent her from getting out to collect more wood for a day or two. Or longer. Einar was still sitting up when she finished the job, was turning his boot this way and that and curiously inspecting the repair she had made while he slept, and she was encouraged to see him managing to remain awake and seemingly himself for a longer stretch than he had been able since they had returned from the climb to the basin. Perhaps he was beginning to mend. I sure hope so. Hate to think what shape you would have been in right now if youd have gone ahead with those toes, Einar. Please, please let him keep the toes He looked up at her strangely at that, almost as if he had heard her thoughts. Be able to head up there in a day or so. Well give this storm some time to blow itself out, maybe let the sun get on those slopes for a full day so anything that really wants to slide has the chance to do it, and then head up there. Toes should either be on the mend by then, or no longer a concern. Hey, I see you fixed my boot. Thanks! Well, I hope I did an adequate job of it. I watched you do mine, but Im not sure I got enough glue in there. Looks great. How are yours holding up? Keep your feet dry this morning? Yes, between the glue and pitch you put on the toes, these wraps of string and the bear hide gaiters, my feet stayed pretty dry. Snow had started coming in, so Im really glad you were able to fix them. Im concerned about that spot on the sole of your left boot, though. Its almost worn through, and I was going to try gluing some rawhide to it, but didnt know if that was the best way to do it. You said youd repaired a sole like that, before? UhI did make a temporary repair with marmot skin once, left the fur on for traction, and it worked but I never did get to find out how durable it was, cause the entire sole came loose a day or two later while I was crossing a rockslide and it fell down where I couldnt get it. Not too long after that I was going around barefoot, then wearing squirrel hide slippers until that agent so kindly came along and let me inherit his boots Too bad we didnt think to grab you a pair, too, for later. Now, I do have the boots I took off that photographer, Steve, to slow down his trip back down to the trailhead when I let he and Juni--the reporter--come up to the mine that timebut theyre stashed way back on the ridge above the river with a bunch of other stuff I couldnt carry, after you headed down to the canoe rental place that time. Huh. Seems like an awful long time ago, doesnt it? She nodded slowly, looked up at him. Another world. Yep. Both quiet for a time after that, they stared into the flames, each absorbed in their own thoughts, until Liz noticed that the water was close to boiling--and Einar appearing close to sleep--and she took out a packet of pemmican and began breaking it up in preparation for adding it to the water. That sight brought Einar back to full wakefulness quickly enough, leaving him to jump and nearly scramble to his feet, a cold prickle running down

his spine as he realized what she was doing, and its implications for their food supply. Were all out of jerky, then? Yes, mostly. I set some aside, just a little bit, but if we want any protein in our meal, anything at all besides bearfat and a few dried chokecherries and lily roots, actually I should have gone out and checked the traps this morning, but figured with the storm No, no sense in that, nothingll be out in this weather, and theres no point you being, either. At least we have all that fat, still, and well get out and set more traps, snares, as soon as the snow stops coming down like this. As confident as he tried to sound, Einar was worried, knew there would be little in the way of game for days after a storm of the magnitude they were seeing, and knew, also, that they had been living right on the edge as far as food intake, even before the storm came and shut off the meager supply of fresh protein the traps had been producing for them. The fat meant that they would be able to hold out far longer than they otherwise would have against the cold and the pressures of starvation, but Einar knew all too well the way even a small change in conditions could upset the delicate balance that was sustaining life, and turn barely getting by into a desperate struggle for existence, almost overnight. He had seen it before, lived it before more than once, and was more than willing to do so again if that was the price of his ongoing freedom, but had hoped somehow to spare Liz from participating in the cycle. Then what are you doing up so high, here in the middle of winter? Theres barely enough game up here to support the few martens and foxes the area supplies, let alone two half starved humans, and surely you had to know that. Just too high. Send her down, before she ends up a pile of skin and bones like you are, and its too late for her, too. He knew, though, that she would never go, not as long as he was alive, anyhow, and for a moment the line of reasoning that had grabbed hold of him that night up in the rocks started making an awful lot of sense again, and he rested his head on his knee, tried to drive the thoughts away, knew they werent right. Help me. Dont think I have the strength to do this one myself. Liz did not understand his sudden sullenness, thought him perhaps upset with her for using up the packet of pemmican. She scooted over beside him, put a hand on his shoulder. Einar sat upright as if startled out of a dream, looked at her. If anything happens to me, Lizyou know that you shouldnt try to stay up here, right? Thered be more to eat down lower. You should find a good little meadow in a valley somewhere near water, settle in there andget a trap line set up, do some fishing. You can get through the winter, and then when spring comeswell, youve done summer before. Youll be alright. Hey. I know the foot must hurt awfully bad, and not being able to get around like youre used to has got you down, but youre going to get through this, Ok? Youve been through worse, I know it. But yes, I do understand about going down lower. And Im wonderingwhy cant we go ahead and do it, now? As soon as you can travel, anyway. We could spend a month or so down there, get plenty to eat and build up our strength, and then head back up to that basin in the spring. You know, migrate a bit, just like the deer and elk, and like the Utes and others surely did, when this was their home

Yeah. That would make things easier, wouldnt it? Nothing easy about this life. Cant always do the things that would otherwise make most sense, survival-wise, when youre being hunted like this No. Too much chance of running across someone down there, being spotted. If you were by yourselfnot such a target. But if anyone were to see me, well, our camp, and you, would suddenly become the number one focus of the search, and I cant do thatcant risk that. This is where I stay, up high here. Then its where I stay, too. This storm wont last too much longer, surely, and then the critters will start getting out again. Well put out a lot more traps, either here or in the basin, wherever we are, get a bunch of rabbits, squirrels, more martens and ermines-well make it. Now. Lets soak your foot and get those toes started healing up.

Before preparing the warm water for soaking Einars remaining toes, Liz boiled up a pot of willow solution, watching as the water slowly took on the dark color and pungent odor that she had been used to seeing in Einars batches of the stuff, testing it and finally pulling it from the fire when its scalding bitterness led her to wrinkle us her nose and shudder as she swallowed. Oh! I sure wish I had some mint to add to this stuff, or a few rosehips for sweetness, at least. Not sure how he drinks this. He did, though, getting nearly a cups worth of the liquid down, though with obvious difficulty. Liz, with his permission, added some of the willow to the soaking water along with the bright yellow berberine, hoping the analgesic effect of the willows salicin might perhaps provide a bit of relief through direct contact, in addition to what Einar had drunk. The soaking water was ready, then, its temperature just below body temperature--Einars, not hers; she had him check it with his hand to make sure it was alright--and Liz helped him lower his foot carefully into the pot so the remaining two toes were fully submerged. After a minute or so it became clear that Einar was having a much harder time managing the hurt of the soaking than he had before, a result, he would have supposed, had he been capable of analyzing it at the time, of his exhaustion and the recent time spent drifting in and out of consciousness. Liz could see his struggle, watched him retreating further and further within himself and while she would ordinarily have left him alone at such times to handle things his own way, she worried that his body might take the added strain as a sign that it needed to shut down again. She wondered if, under the circumstances, it might prove helpful to try and distract Einar while the foot soaked. Its worth a try. He can always growl at me to leave him alone and turn to face the wall, if thats what he prefers. When we were talking a little bit ago about our food supply, Einar, and you mentioned that were up too high, ought to head down as soon as we can so we can find more foodwell, Im just wondering if theres really so much more available down a little lower, now in the middle of winter. I mean, isnt hunger and even starvation kind of just the way of things at times, when youre living like this? It appeared at first as though Einar did not intend to answer, staring as he was at the floor and with eyes barely open, face sweating and his hands starting to shake despite his best efforts at keeping still.

Finally he looked up at her, speech halting and clipped at times because of the pain, but clearly benefiting from the distraction. There is so much, though. I lived this way for years, you know, when I was up at my cabin. Came out for supplies sometimes when I wanted to, for variety or because I enjoyed things like oatmeal but couldnt grow oats, but never because I had to. The land provided. One river valley provided, and I wouldnt even have had those long daily treks along the trapline if all Id been after was food. Only did that because I wanted the money from the furs, wanted a little something to buy gas for when I wanted to go somewhere and pay off the property taxes to keep the Sheriff off my doorstepthats all. Had nothing to do with eating, with staying alive, directly. Yeah, famine, starvation, even, have always been a part of human history, but if you look at it, theyve been a lot more common among peoples that relied exclusively on agriculture for a good portion of their food, putting them at the mercy of the weather, invading armies sent by other peoples who wanted the land for their own agricultural use, taxes and the politics of the day, and so on. Theyve always been more regularly affected by famine than the folks who go wandering around eating off the bounty of the land more like bears, feasting on berries when they were abundant, digging grubs out of old punky fallen trees and--unlike bears--trapping or hunting and eating everything from the smallest of rodents to the largest hoofed critters, just relying on whatever was available and being real flexible if their favorite game was sparse for a season or two. Person can live on mice, squirrels, fishwhatevers around, just like the some of the bigger predators--wolves, even--do when their favorite bigger game is scarce. Of course, even bears and wolves and such have their lean years, so Im sure not saying its always easy or that there will always be enough, just that the land really does provide, if a persons free to wander around and let it do so. Which we havent been, and thats where a lot of the problem comes in. You look back just at the known history of this continent, for example, and most of the times when people who lived this way--call us hunter-gatherers, if you want to use the common term--were faced with starvation, it was because some outside force disrupted the ways they had come to do things. Another tribe competing with them for territory, another culture--our ancestors, for one--coming along and changing the order of things. Well, thats what were looking at, right now, the two of us. Outside pressures. Has nothing to do with the weather, or with there not being enough to eat, or us being incapable of harvesting it and putting it to use, even. Its that we been running all summer, hiding under the rocks for days at a time waiting for the search to move on and having to be awfully careful where we leave tracks, how we disturb the ground when we dig for lily corms, even, staying away from major waterways and even the smaller creeks a lot of the time out of concern that they may be watched, not to mention the fact that Ive been pretty doggone useless, physically, from time to time. That doesnt help, either Now if you want to take a real critical look at my ability to get us out from under the search so we can start living normally again, well, you may have something there. Pretty sure there have been times when I made things more difficult than they had to be, out of an overabundance of caution. Mind starts doing some pretty funny things when youve been hunted for so long. I know it, but cant seem to do much about it, and Im not sure that I really would want to, either, because that extra caution has saved me, more than

once. Both now and other times. But my point is, dont blame the land. Look at that pile of fat I got off the hibernating bear. Was a good year, for those able to take advantage of its plenty. We justwerent among them this time. That can change. He was quiet after that, having worn himself out with all the talking and beginning to feel once again the full effects of the water on his damaged foot, his breathing growing fast and ragged as he struggled to get his reaction to the hurt under control. Liz offered him some more of the willow solution and he took a grateful swallow, leaning back against the rock with closed eyes. She added a bit of warm water to the soaking pot, and another stick to the fire, sat down beside him. So. We just need to get out from under the search, it sounds like, get you healed up and convinced that theyre not after us any more, then start living on mice and rabbits and grubs and things until spring comes, and well have it made. Right? The corner of his mouth curled up in a brief hint of a smile as he stared at the rocky ceiling, eyes half open. Yeah. Something like that. Ok! We can do that! You dont give up, do you Liz? I like that. Thats themost important thing. Yeah, we can do it. Try, anyway. First thing is to get up to that basin, put some more distance between us and whatevers left of the search. Pulling his foot out of the water as he spoke, Einar rested his heel on the rock that was to have served as chopping block in the toe-removal operation that Liz had interrupted in returning to the shelter, sucking his breath in sharply as he carefully dried it with a clean sock strip and inspected the halffilled fluid blisters that lined his big toe, new, the result of his night up in the rocks, adding their menace to the damage that had already been done the toe the first time around. Whether the warm water soaks would be of any help at all, considering the condition of the foot, he did not know, but he doubted they would hurt, either--real bad choice of words, hurts like the dickens and is gonna keep on doing so every time you soak themwould be better off if youd just gone ahead and chopped them off--and might at least help prevent life-threatening infection for a while, if not lead to the healing of his toes. Staring at the toes, his mind wandering, Einar had stopped moving halfway through applying the new dressings and had forgotten to start again, and Liz, concerned that his mind was slipping again and wanting to keep him awake at least until she could get some food into him, took the usnea clumps from his hands and finished the job of dressing the foot. Get him talking, again When you were talking about the role of agriculture and other things in bringing about famine, a while ago--it sounded like something youd really spent some time thinking about. Another fleeting trace of a smile, an obvious struggle with the forces that were trying to

drag him under, and Einar looked up, laughed. The human species has always been a big mystery to me, you see, a big, fascinating mystery, even though they tell me Im a part of it... Never have understood human critters or most of their ways, always felt like some sort of an outside observer just staring in wonderment and confusion at something that in a lot of ways was totally foreign to me, but Ive always been able to learn things pretty quickly by observation. So at one point in my life I had the idea that a good way to become a bit better acquainted would be to undertake an intense, methodical study of humanity, I guess you could say. That led me in a real roundabout way to pursue an anthropology minor in schoolpretty goofy, huh? Probably not what you expected from a rough old mountain man-Sasquatch critter like me. But then life got in the way, and I spent a few long years becoming far more intimately acquainted with the dark side of human nature than I ever would have ever realized there was to know. A different sort of education. Yeah. Learned a lot. Wouldnt go back and change it. Gained a lot, lost somethingtoo though, I think. After thatwell, Id just had enough. Seen enough. Didnt want any more to do with civilization, when I got through, and really didnt have anything to do with it, for a good long while. Should have just kept that up, I guess. Leave everybody alone, they leave me alonesounds good, at least in theory. But you see, Ive always had this sense of duty, of justice, and its got me in trouble more than once over the years, but I just cant seem to leave it be. None of thats real relevant right now, though. We are where we are, and all thats in the past. Sure its relevant. Its who you are. And part of why you are. But you know, if things hadnt turned out the way they did, whatever the reasons, we surely never would have met, so all I know is that it cant all be bad! She had questions, things she wanted to know a lot more about, but hesitated to ask them. He had already been far more open about his past--though in his own cryptic and sometimes rather frustrating manner--than he ever had been on other occasions, and she was not sure whether it was simply because he was finally ready to talk about it, or because his exhaustion and the hurt of his toes had him thinking a bit less than clearly. And I sure wouldnt want him to feel later like Id taken advantage of him by pressing him to answer things while he wasnt quite himself. Enough, for now. Id better just get this stew finished up, and see if hell eat something. Looks like hes about ready to start falling asleep again. Three days later the storm was over, snow drifted deep and fluffy around the shelter and in the more open areas nearer the little cirque on whose edge it perched, and Einar was beginning to be a bit more hopeful about the prospect of keeping his toes. Liz, also, rejoiced that day at a renewed cause for hope, and though she shared Einars encouragement at the apparent improvement in his toes, it was his life that she silently gave thanks for as they sat down to their meal of stew that night. They had not been easy days, those days of storm and darkness as Einar lay hour after hour under the rocks, marking the passage of time by counting the excruciating toesoakings through which he hoped to salvage what was left of his foot, struggling between treatments to stay awake and accomplish something useful--a bit of repair work on their clothing, the fletching of another dart or two for the atlatl--but spending a good bit of his time hovering unwillingly in a dark, hazy place between sleep and wakefulness, an angry,

relentless beast tearing and twisting at his foot the entire time. He could not eat. Had tried at first, swallowing the broth that Liz held to his lips and sitting hunched forward with his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to keep it down, but his foot was nauseating him, and he lost the meal shortly after finishing it, vomiting until his ribs ached before dragging himself, totally spent, over into the farthest corner of the shelter and curling up in an attempt to get away from the smell of the remaining stew. After that he had been afraid to try, almost, hating to waste any more of their meager food supply, but Liz had gone on insisting, and he had managed the odd sip here and there at her urging. As he had with water, which he was forgetting to drink entirely but for when she reminded him. Along with the water she continued to give him willow solution, hoping that perhaps the slight reduction in pain it seemed to offer would be enough to allow him to eat again, to sleep, even, as she did not believe hed managed to get much real sleep at all since first beginning to soak the foot again. Which he had not, and was really beginning to feel the effects of his lack of sleep along with everything else, his mind grabbing onto Lizs persistent efforts to get him to take some liquid and twisting them into a complex scheme wherein she was slowly poisoning him, feeding him progressive doses of the same awful substance that had been in those bear darts. The theory fit perfectly, explained his growing weakness and inability to stay awake for more than seconds at a time, and he knew that just as soon as the poisoning was complete and he was totally incapacitated she would go, escape the area herself and leave him to wait helplessly for the rocks above his head to betray him, turn to glass or ice as they had before so his pursuers could see him clear as day, could come and take him. Liz sat with him as he lay there tossing and sweating and sorting out the intricacies of the plot, holding his hand and wondering why his pulse was racing so, why he looked up at her with such a pained mixture of terror and sadness in his eyes Whyd it have to be you, Liz? Several times while Liz was out--she tried not to leave him for very long at a time, but had to get firewood and tend occasionally to her own needs--Einar had come very close to ending the agony by taking his knife to the blackened, rotting appendages, but always he had hesitated, hearing her gentle voice as she urged him to wait, just one more day, give them a chanceand he was also a bit concerned that with all the willow he had been drinking, he might be in for some rather serious bleeding if he did not first give the blood-thinning salacin a few days to clear out of his system. This concern, along with the fear that it, along with the broth, might be poisoned, finally led to him refuse to drink any more of the willow solution sometime on the second day, a decision that Liz had at first attributed to his lack of sleep and food, assuming it to be a malfunction in his thought processes and continuing to encourage him to take the stuff until he had explained to her the reason for his reluctance. He did not explain the part about the poison, though. Cant have her knowing that I knowmaybe shell change her mind, throw the stuff away and decide not to contact themplease, Lizzieyou cant believe what they tell you. Whatever deal theyve offered youit wont last past the point where they get their hands on me. Lies, all lies. Dont do it, for your own sake if not for mine After that first day without food Einar began having increasing difficulty staying warm even there in the fire-heated shelter, Liz keeping him supplied with hot rocks and holding him close at night, helping him sit up occasionally during the day when he seemed to be

growing dangerously chilled and holding a pot of hot water beneath his face so he could breathe its steam. He had helped, at first, with the toe soakings and dressing changes, but that day seemed either unwilling or unable to do so, and she had taken on the task, attempting to engage him in conversation to keep him still during the soaking periods and perhaps keep his mind off of the pain, just a bit. The conversations had never gone too far, though, as Einar found Lizs words making little sense to him and could tell that his responses were even less comprehensible by her, and he eventually gave up and lay there staring at the ceiling as she worked, retreating into a world of shadow and dream that was at times tremendously unpleasant. The dreams, though, in all of their vivid intensity, could not even approach being as powerfully disturbing as the knowledge that Liz, who he had loved, had turned on him and was even then laying the groundwork for his capture by administering the poison that would render him incapable of resisting, and it was with an immense sorrow that he met her eyes whenever he was awake. Seeing the sadness and not understanding it, Liz knew only that his eyes did not look like those of a man fighting valiantly for his life as she had seen him do in the past, and as she knew he must do if he wanted to get through the next few days. Come back to me, Einar. Please come back. What more can I be doing for you? What do you need? Lord, show me what he needs He needed water, nourishment, needed them very badly, and she continued making broth, enriched with bits of fat and bear blood, and would have poured sips of it down his throat as she had done before, had he not been just awake enough to resist her efforts rather emphatically. Please eat. You have to eat something. I know youre afraid of losing it, but you have to try, because I dont want to lose you. Please. Youre not going to get any stronger until you do Sometime during the long hours of the second day, there was an obvious change in Einar as he gathered his strength and began fighting back against the inertia that increasingly seemed to be claiming him, sitting up and struggling to force everything else into the background as he focused on a task, and he managed it, but the period of wakefulness did not last for long. Liz was encouraged by the fact that even in his state of semi-sleep he visibly continued the struggle, fighting to hold his own and wanting very badly to be awake. He had a slight fever, which she had first noticed shortly after the first soaking of the toes, but she did not think it was being caused by the toes, as they did not look any worse the morning after that first soaking, and definitely smelled less awful. Certainly he must still be anemic after that blood loss, she knew, but could think of no way to help reverse that other than to continue giving him sips of broth whenever he would take them, and perhaps trying to get some of the iron-rich milkweed sprouts into him, if possible. Very carefully she had tended them, keeping them near the fire for warmth and giving the little white shoots a few minutes of careful sun exposure to green them up, once when the clouds had parted between waves of the storm. Grinding them, she had stirred the resulting pulp into Einars water, hoping their chlorophyll and iron might help him just a bit. The sprouts might have helped. She could not tell, but Einar did seem to rest a bit easier after getting some of the sprout drink down. Sitting with Einar hour after hour as the snow piled up outside and reading aloud occasionally from Susans Bible--the Psalms seemed most appropriate, and she kept returning to them--in an effort to keep him calm and prevent him trying to crawl outside

as he seemed increasingly inclined to do every time he woke sufficiently to try it, Liz could not help but think she was watching him slip away, losing ground and growing weaker by the hour. Seeing this, she came to question the wisdom of ever suggesting that he try to keep the toes, even coming close to asking if he would allow her to help him get the job over with. She did not, though, as her concern over what the potential blood loss would do to him in his current state was greater, for the time, than her fear of infection. He did seem to have a low grade fever, but the foot itself showed no signs of worsening infection, and appeared, in fact, to be improving slightly with the repeated soakings in the warm berberine water. It was not until the evening of the third day that Liz began to hope once more that both Einar and his toes had a good chance of pulling through. He sat up, then, for the first time in well over a day, hauled himself over to the fire and leaned back against the wall, smiling at Liz when she brought him a pot of broth. Accepting the sip she gave him, he swallowed with difficulty, took the pot and nearly drained it. Sure did have some weird dreams last night, Liz. Still snowing this morning? Staring at Einar for a moment in an attempt to judge whether he might be joking when he asked her if it was still snowing this morning, Liz sat down beside him, offering her water bottle, as he had finished the broth and seemed to be looking for something else. The snow stopped this afternoon, Einar. It snowed for a night and three days. Quite an accumulation out there! You want to see? Eyeing her suspiciously he scooted over to the door, shoved aside the flap and stared out in wonder at a world billowing and white with new snow, far more than could have fallen in one night, for certain. He was confused, tried to think back on the details of the past however long it had been since he had started losing track of time, and could not remember much that did not seem to belong to the realm of dream. He hoped it all belonged there, anyway, turned his mind away from it in a hurry and suddenly remembered the foot soakings and was able to look back and count them. Five. Of that, he was sure. Hard to forget those. Shaking his head, he crawled back over to the fire, hating that he had lost days like that without even realizing it was happening. It scared him. Wouldnt have bothered him so much, he was pretty sure, had he been by himself, and he was not exactly sure why that should be, but it was. You sure have been doing more than your share around here, looks like. Again. Should have just kicked me, gone on kicking until I got up and made myself a little less useless. Sometimes I do need to be told twice, you know, reminded, if Im a little sleepy and slow, but theres no excuse for lying around like I know I have been. The footthat really should have been my job. Feels better today though. Good bit better. It looks better, too. Its too soon to tell just how it will end up, but at least the areas that were starting to ooze and look really infected have dried up, formed a dry, black crust. That gives you more time, I expect, to wait and see if theyll heal. Now. Let me show you what I made yesterday. I hope you dont mind me having used the marten skins,

but You trapped those martens. Theyre yours. Well, good! Wait here. Ill be right back. Grabbing something and disappearing outside Liz returned shortly, wearing a pair of rough, mid-calf-length marten fur leggings that fit her and, she said, could be worn by him as well, though they would only come down to his knees, by all appearances. And every time we take another marten Ill soften his hide like I did these--just rubbing and rubbing them with a rock, on the flesh side--and sew it onto one leg or another until these are full-length over-pants that either of us can wear. Then hopefully Ill start on a second pair so we can each be wearing them at once. I figured wed never get anything done before summer if we kept waiting to have enough raw materials to finish the job, so why not just get as far as we can with it? And these are going to have to be a lot warmer, even half-finished, than traipsing around in the waist-deep snow in our threadbare old long underwear or jeans. Theyre windproof, too! She slipped out of the pants and handed them to Einar, who studied her work, admiring the fine stitches she had done with what appeared to be thin strands of sinew, and the well-made drawstring at the top that would allow the waist to adjust for changing food availability as well as for the needs of different wearers. Wow. Never told me you could sew like this! Pretty incredible work here, and looks awful warm, too. Put these together with one of those split bear hide pieces, and youve got something you could sit out in the weather with for a few hours early some morning waiting for an elk to come along, something you could travel with through a blizzard without ending up half frozen by the time you stop, like weve done now and then. Makes me want to get out there and set a few dozen more snares and deadfalls for marten! In a few days, maybe. Those toes need time if theyre going to heal, and we need to let the slopes slide after all that new snow before we head down into the basin, right? Now, how about you try these pants, so I can see how many more hides well need to get before theyll fit you? And I expect theyd really help keep you warm while youre not in the bed, too. Aw, theyre yours. You did all the work. Dont want to be taking them. She insisted, though, helping him get the pants on over his own badly worn and less than warm ones, Einar grinning as he tightened the drawstring around his waist. Warm. Real warm. Ahh. Can feel the difference already. He rubbed his legs, which had grown stiff and bone cold in the minutes since he had left the bed--happens pretty quick when you got no insulation at all on there--knowing by the prickling feel of returning circulation that the garment would not only keep his legs far warmer, but help with blood flow to his feet, also. Should have had something like this sooner, we both should. But these are hers. Now give them back before you get too fond of them. What is this? Going all soft,

are you, from lying around and letting somebody take care of you forhowever long that was? That wont do. Shame on you. Get outside. Struggling to stand and finding it all but impossible--doggone legs. Been off em too long--he scrambled out of the over-pants and handed them back to Liz. Those are gonna keep you real warm out on that trapline, thats for sure! Now I got to He tried again to get to his feet, promptly fell to his knees in the rocks beside the fire and knelt there bruised and hurting, squinting at the ground in the hopes of clearing up some of the dizziness so he could try again, got to head outside for a minute, here. Been lying around like a heap of bones for way too long, and its got me feeling kinda crimped. Got to see thesky for a while. Liz was at his side, steadying him to prevent another sudden meeting with the rocky floor and wanting to urge him to stay, to demand that he not go out in the snow so soon after waking, and not having eaten for so long, but knowing that she must do no such thing. He probably did need to get outside, she supposed, just as he needed to eat and breathe and stay warm. Please dont sit out there in the snow until I have to come drag you kicking and screaming back in here and thaw you out. I know you seem to prefer to exist in some half frozen state just on the edge of serious hypothermia most of the time, but I really think youd heal faster right now if you could manage to avoid itand avoid wearing yourself out too badly, also, or I have a feeling you may end up right where you were a day or two ago, and you sure wouldnt like that, would you? Easing one of the bear hide cloaks over his head, she handed him his spear. Can I help you get the crutch on? No need. Not going that far. Which it certainly seemed that he wasnt, as he fell to the snow after taking no more than two or three wobbly steps past the door flap, sitting there in a daze as he worked to catch his breath and stared up at the snow-laden spruces, patches of a deep, purplish blue showing between their spiny forms. Stand up. Nothing wrong with your legs, and theres sure no room for laziness, here in this life. Move. Standing he finally managed, hanging onto the spear with both hands and feeling like his body weighed a ton as he struggled to keep it somewhat upright, staring off into the snowy distances of the cirque, which lay sparkling in the sunlight, partially concealed by the evergreens. The outhouse tree lay not five paces beyond where he stood, Liz having made a path to it by repeatedly trampling and kicking at the snow that separated it from the shelter, and setting it as his goal--some goal, but you got to start somewhere--Einar set off, hanging onto the spear with white-knuckled hands and stopping halfway through the journey to stand bent over, sagging, resting his chin on his chest, the blood pounding so in his head that he could hardly see where he was going. It took a while, but he got to that tree, did his business and turned himself around to head back. Taking a few more halting steps away from the shelter along one of Lizs firewood paths, he stood, back straight this time and his head unbent, studying the land below the shelter, the timbered hills above it, and taking great breaths of the crisply cold morning air. Liz was watching him from the door as he returned, but did not allow him to see her, backing off when he got near and letting him push the door flap open for himself, after which he sank to the floor beside the fire with a sigh that spoke as much of triumph and

satisfaction as it did his obvious exhaustion. Hed done it. Was a start.

Liz was working on a batch of broth, stewing some bits of jerky and the remaining milkweed sprouts, and as Einar sat there catching his breath from the short walk out to the tree, he suddenly looked up, wild-eyed, hair sticking out in all directions from beneath his hat, glanced from the fire to the blue sky up outside the chimney hole, and slammed his head into the low rock ceiling as he scrambled to his feet. Liz would have been hard pressed to keep from bursting out laughing at the sight if it was not obvious how seriously he was taking the matter, and had not his actions put their breakfast in immediate danger of being spilled and lost as he collapsed in an unceremonious heap in the rocks beside the fire. She grabbed the pot, scooting it to safety and helping Einar to sit back up. Skys clear, Liz. Got to put this fire out. Dont know that were far enough yet from the search--whatevers left of it--to be doing this. Should have caught it sooner, guess Im not quite as wide awake yet as I thought A fact, Liz could see, that was troubling him immensely, and she hurried to reassure him. Theres almost no smoke. Look. Ive only been using the tiniest, driest little aspen branches this morning. How about we finish the stew, at least, before we put it out? Good job on the dry branches, butno. Can finish the stew by burying the pot in the coals. Looks like youve got plenty of coals. Here. Ill do it. He eased the pot down into a pocket of hot, glowing coals, the distinct forms of half-burnt, delicate-branched sticks highlighted in living, moving oranges and reds, and used a rock to scrape more coals up against its sides, scooping dirt up from the ground with his hands and packing it around the pot, smothering what was left of the flames quickly and with almost no smoke escaping and laying small rock slabs over the mound of dirt. There. Dig the pot out in ten or fifteen minutes, and youll have a nice hot stew, cooked to perfection. Or something like it. What have you got in there, anyway? Sure smells good Sprouts. Jerky, bear fat and sprouts. You need iron, and those sprouts are a decent source for it, Im guessing, though Ive certainly never seen nutrition data for milkweed sprouts in any of the sprouting books. I know its a little late for this, now that the snows on the ground, but I was wondering if you know of any other plants whose seeds we might find still intact this time of year, for sprouting? Do you know of any? Huh. Well, if we were lower we might find some acorns down under a layer of leaves that are starting to sprout, and they wouldnt have too much tannin yet, but up here where everythings under five or six feet of snowwell, one thing you just might see occasionally is dock. You know, those shaggy reddish brown stalks that stick up out of the snow and are real common along the fences and highways down in the valley? Well, theyll grow up this high or nearly so, though they wont be nearly as plentiful, and you can sometimes still find stalks where the seeds havent fallen out, even this far along in

the winter. Sprouting them ought to be about like sprouting buckwheat, Id expect, and Ive done that. Dont know how much iron they have, but the leaves are a real dark green, so I expect if you could expose them to a little sun, they ought to be worthwhile. Oh! I think Ive seen some, just up the hill a little ways near that little aspen grove below the tree where I took the grouse. In fact, it looked like the grouse had been picking at the tops of the stalks where they stuck up out of the snow, trying to get at the seeds. I didnt think of checking to see if I could eat what it seemed to be eating, but I guess I should have! Now I want to go look! Ill be right back, Ok? Managing a weary laugh at her excitement, Einar handed her the marten fur over pants. Sure, have at it. As far as iron thoughyou know, theres way more iron in the blood of one single small critter, marten, ermine, squirrel, even, than in a whole passel of sprouts. And anyway, its me that needs the iron, so I ought be the one tramping around in those snowdrifts after the critters and dock seeds. Oh, no! Not yet. Think of your toes. Please. And yes, I know critters are a richer source of iron, but I havent seen hide not hair of anything larger than a chickadee since this storm started. No tracks, nothing. Hopefully theyll be back out soon, but for now, the dock is going to be better than nothing. He agreed, and she left, first extracting from him a promise to stay inside and warm while she was away. With Liz had gone on the hunt for the dock stalks she believed she had seen, Einar, determined to build, somehow, on the momentum of his trip out to the tree, lay on his back and lifted first one leg and then another, gritting his teeth against the crushing weakness and cramping that he felt coming on as he repeated the motions, frustrated that his legs had barely been able to bear his weight, even, when he had demanded the task of them and somewhat alarmed at how difficult the simple act of lifting them had become. Several other exercises he tried in succession, and though none were working particularly well he kept at it, finishing up by trying but failing to do a few sit-ups. That failure irked him terribly, and he kept trying, lifting himself as far as he could each time before falling back to the ground, stomach muscles cramping and nearly useless. Well. Itll all come back, I guess. Enough, anyway, to let me start getting around a little better. Its gonna have to, because in a day or so were making the climb up to that basin, and Im going on my own two feet, pack of some sort on my back, or not at all. He rolled over, lay on his stomach staring at the rocks in front of the then-cold fire, catching his breath and waiting for the pounding of the blood in his head to slow to a level that would tell him he had at least some chance of maintaining consciousness if he tried to rise. His foot hurt badly, had been hurting all morning but seemed to be growing worse, demanding more and more of his attention, and he eyed the bottle of blackish brown willow solution, nearly half full, that Liz had left on the rocks near him. Much as any relief at all would have been welcome just then he did not want to get any more of the willow in his system that day, fearful of the bleeding that could result if the soakings did not do their job and he ended up having to take off the toes. Speaking of which, it was about time to soak them, before the water Liz had heated for the purpose grew too cold.

He didnt want to do it, did not want to touch the foot, let alone go through the agony of soaking free the dressings and applying fresh ones--his stomach turned at the thought-but he knew Liz would surely remember it and end up insisting that it be done, even if he pretended not to realize that it was time. Might as well go ahead and get started When Liz returned, a bundle of brown dock stalks in one hand and triumph in her eyes, it was to find Einar sprawled out beside the dead fire, foot soaking and the look in his eyes--hard as he tried to hide it--telling her plainly that he had decided against using any of the willow. She sat down beside him and showed him the dock in the hopes of getting his mind off the pain, shook a few of the small, triangular seeds out into her hand and inspected them, commenting that they really did look like a miniature version of buckwheat, darker brown and about a tenth the size, but still very similar. They tasted similar, too, when she tried, and though he did his best to answer her direct questions, she could see that Einar was little able to focus on anything she was saying, and appeared, actually, to be dangerously close to slipping back into the half aware state in which he had spent large portions of the past three days. She really wanted to prevent that, worked herself in behind him and held him, hoping a serious question might occupy his mind enough to keep him firmly in the present. Yesterday, Einar, while you were trying to wake up but couldnt, you kept mumbling something about the rocks, about how there was something wrong with the rocks and that they were all turning to glassI couldnt figure out what you were talking about it, but it really seemed to be bothering you. Yeah... He started to get that faraway look again, clamped his jaw and shook his head to keep himself in the present. This past summer when they tracked me down, got me with those darts Ehdoesnt really matter. Wasnt real, but I sure thought it was, yesterday. Thought a lot of things, yesterday. But Im awake now. Im glad! The soup is surely ready now, and youd better have some as soon as were done here. I think itll help you, make it easier to stay awake when you need to. That has to have been a big part of your problem the last couple of days--you just got too far behind on food and water, wouldnt let me give you any, after a while. The rocks, though. What was the matter with them? Youve mentioned something before about rock turning to glass--asked me if Id ever had that happen to me, as I remember--and Id really like to understand what youre talking about. It seemed to have something to do with why ever you wouldnt let me give you any broth or water, even Einar was squirming uncomfortably, staring at the ground and looking desperately for something to occupy his hands so he could appear busy and not have to look at Liz, and she spared him the trouble by turning away to dig the broth pot out of the dirt where he had buried it to finish cooking in the heat of the coals, willing to drop the matter--though she really thought it might be helpful in some way if she could understand--rather than push him to speak of something he would rather leave in the shadows. Which he definitely would rather have done, feeling as he was a pressing sense of dread begin to creep up his backbone and squeeze him around the middle at the mere mention of it, but

he supposed Liz really did deserve some sort of an explanation, fixed his eyes on a chunk of granite that he held balanced in his palm as he spoke. Threw myself off a shale cliff, that day, Einar began. Not sure how they tracked me down but they did it, got me with a dart before I even realized they were there. I returned fire and Im pretty sure I hit the guy but he got another dart off afterwards, and it was too much, that second dart, I was starting to stumble around pretty badly, so I hit the brush and took off running. Knew what the darts were just as soon as I saw that orange stuff sticking out of me, pulled them out but it wasnt quick enough. He was coming, guy with the rest of the darts, I was losing my legs, couldnt keep them under me, knew the cliff was there because Id stood there the night before and studied the valley, and I just dived for it, tumbled down the shale and ended up in the water. Couldnt swim, couldnt move, swallowed waterfinally washed up on the bank at a big curve in the river, guess I somehow dragged myself up under some rocks there on the bank, but I couldnt tell you how. An undercut, roofed with rocks. Remember that, but I dont really remember much else about the next while. Darts messed me up real bad. Guess I passed out. Next thing I was aware of, a chopper was hovering over me, could hear it, feel the vibrations through the ground, but knew I was safe because of the mass of rock over my head. Wrong. Looked up and saw that the rock was changing, going all clear, clear as perfectly formed water ice or glass or something, and I was looking right up at the belly of that chopper and the men standing there beside it, could hear them plain as day, too, talking about how theyd poisoned my food and would soon have meknew theyd see me as soon as they looked down and I wanted to scoot up further under the bank where the rock hadnt changed, might hide me, but I couldnt find my arms, legscouldnt find my body at all so I just lay there, waitingthat was the worst part. Knowing what was coming and not being able to do anything about it, to fight it. Well, they never did look down and the rock finally went solid again, went black, everything went black, and I was falling, down, down in the blackness, for what seemed like a very, very long time. Everything just crumbled away. Youwere there, after a while. Grabbed me and pulled me up out of that when I had just about decided that nothing was real, had never been real, that there was no sense in fighting it anymore. Could hear you thinking about me, could hear your thoughts and I guess you heard mine, too, because you grabbed my hands and I just held on till things started seeming a little more real again, and I could start to move some. Took a while but I guess the poison finally started working its way out of my system, and I could walk again, left there and headed back up into the woods. He stopped, wiped his face on his sleeve and glanced up at her, ashamed at the realization that he had started shaking somewhere along the way in the telling of the thing. Liz moved closer, took his hand--the one that wasnt resting on his knife--and he wanted to pull it away, but didnt. So. Thats it. Pretty ridiculous, huh? Guess I know now that it wasnt real butsure was real at the time, and sometimes when I look up at the rocks, any rockswell, I can just feel them getting ready to turn, even though I tell myself it cant really happen, cant possibly happen, but the logic of it just isnt enough, isnt as strong asthat other thing. Especially times like yesterday. I realize theres no way any of that dart poisons still in

me, and I ought to be able to just choose not to be affected by this any more, I really ought to, but sometimes He crossed his arms, bowing his head and staring at the ground. Im awful sorry. Pretty doggone ashamed of myself, too. Should be able to do better than this. She stared at his bent form, reached for him but drew her hand back, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how, unsure if he would even want her to try. EinarIm sorry. I didnt know. Youve got nothing to be sorry about, and absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. For months and months, over a year now, youve counted on the terrain to shelter you and keep you from detection and out of their hands, the cliffs and trees and overhangs of these mountains, and youve done a pretty incredible job of using the land to your advantage. I can see why the thought of the very things that have sheltered you all this time turning and giving you away, refusing you shelter, would beterrifying. Especially when you couldnt move, because of those darts. It would probably feel like there was nothing left, nowhere to turn, wouldnt it? She put a gentle hand on his face, kept it there until he finally looked up. But its not going to happen, you know thatthe rocks arent going to turn on you, and neither am I. Those are two things you can be sure of. He looked her in the eye for a long moment, remembering the doubt that had come over him the day before, the certainty hed felt that she was even then poisoning him as part of a deal she had made with his pursuers, and he was very glad that he hadnt mentioned it to her. I know it, Liz. Thank you for that. Liz knew that it would probably be best to leave things as they were, not press him any further, but knew also that the chance to speak of such matters might not come again for a very long time, if ever--it was clear to her that Einar would rather be doing almost anything other than discussing the present topic--and there was one more thing that she really felt a need to know. So the other day when I was dressing your foot and you kept telling me that you werent going to talk, that I couldnt make you talkdo you remember that? A shrug, the barest hint of a nod. Well, you seemed to think I was somebody else, and then you crawled out there after me with the knife when I left the shelterI really thought you were coming after me there for a second. Were you thinking about those rocks then, too? Thinking I was one of the agents up there? The hard lines at the corners of his mouth deepening, Einar shoved his soaking toes up against the edge of the pot, using the good half minute that it took him to get ahold of their renewed hurt and start breathing again to attempt to formulate an answer. No success. Got to say somethingcant just go on sitting here. Ahno, that was something else and Isomething I dont really think about very much, had managed not to think much about for years, until all of this with the search kinda brought things back up. Dont really have anything to say about it. Not relevant. Sorry you got caught up in all of this. Next time I get weird like that you just need to kick me out in the snow before I can say anything, pour some water on me and make sure I stay out there until I wake up, alright? So. The part about the rocks was something you needed to hear about, because youre in it with me, butplease understand. Got to leave the other part alone. Now, he growled, angry at himself for his weakness and for allowing Liz to see it, and not at all

liking the direction in which the conversation seemed headed, time to wrap these toes. Guess theyve had all the soaking they can take, for one day. He did the job himself, clamping his jaw against the pain as he shoved the fresh usnea clumps into place and winding a fresh sock strip around the foot with an almost mechanical efficiency, making it clear that he neither needed nor wanted any assistance. Liz let him be, pulling out one of the red-brown dock seed stalks she had found and working to separate the seeds from their small, winged casings. Einar finished with his foot, looked up. Might want to wait on the sprouts. Its about time to go now. I figure we ought to leave early in the morning tomorrow, early enough that well stand a good chance of making the climb and descending down into the basin before the suns had time to be on that slope long enough to heat things up and start them softening. A long sunny day like today will probably have caused a slide or two to let go before its over, but therere bound to be areas that havent slid yet, and chances are theyd end up being right in our path. That last storm created prime avalanche conditions up around here, from what I can see, and you combine that with a sunny afternoon, and youre just asking for trouble as soon as you get out of the trees and start across a steep area. Do it in the morning though while things are still pretty solid, and well probably be alright. Plus therell be a crust on the snow in the sunny areas where its surface did a bit of melting today, then hardened up overnight. That should keep us from leaving too many highly visible tracks in the open areas, if and when we have to cross them. In the shade itll be another matter, deep, powdery snow and well end up sinking past our waists here and there, Im sure. Guess we better eat as well as we can today, give ourselves some energy for that climb tomorrow. You can sprout that dock at our new home in the basin, if that sounds alright to you. Think your legs up to the climb? Yes. My leg is fine. But youre hardly up to another climb like that--the last one completely did you in for three days if youre forgetting, and if anything youre weaker now than you were before we started up there the last time, between an almost complete lack of food over the last few days and whatever leftover infection or illness youve been fightingbut I know youve got to do it, got to get moving, so Im not even going to try and talk you out of this. It sounds like Id better cook up a big pot of stew as soon as we can have a fire this evening, and then we both need to try and get a real good nights sleep if were going to be ready for that climb. And I need to get busy on some snowshoes. Want to help me put together a couple pair? Reaching for the pile of willow shoots that Liz had brought back on one of her trips up to the aspen grove, Einar gave her a big grin. Sure do! Working for an hour or so in silence Einar and Liz made good progress on the snowshoes, stopping before the broth could grow cold to share a meal. Despite not feeling much like eating between the recent soaking of his foot and the uncomfortable conversation with Liz, Einar did a thorough job of consuming his portion, knowing that he would need the strength for the climb he intended to make the next morning. By the time the light began

fading outside the shelter, they had nearly completed three showshoes, Einar having decided that he could use the smaller one that he had made for the end of his crutch, whether or not he was wearing the crutch, and save them some work on his pair. Admiring their work--hasty and not as exacting as Einar would have liked, but serviceable, they set them aside for darkness, when pitch could be melted over a fire to coat the rawhide laces and help keep them from absorbing moisture and stretching, allowing the shoes to fall apart. That night Einar, though tremendously weary, lay awake for a long time staring at the dying glow of the fire on the rocks above his head, waiting for the pain the days second toe soaking to begin subsiding, reluctant to sleep as he listened to Lizs regular breathing. Pressing himself against the side of the bed to keep his restlessness from disturbing her, he was soon badly chilled but hardly caring as he occupied his mind with thoughts of their upcoming climb and tried not to think about what he might be in for upon falling asleep, the dream images that were surely lurking out there to grab him as soon as he closed his eyes. Forget it. Got to try, or youre not gonna be good for much in the morning. Not likely to be much use anyway, but some sleep would surely help. He squirmed restlessly, fighting to suppress a strong urge, verging at times on panic, that screamed at him to crawl outside and spend a few hours in the snow watching the night and listening for who knew what, and Liz, seeming to sense his discomfort, rolled closer and wrapped her arms around him in a way which would have made leaving the bed without waking her a major challenge. Lying there, his own breathing finally slowing to more nearly match hers and his desire to be up and moving through the night fading a bit as his weariness grew, Einar finally surrendered himself to sleep, relaxing in Lizs embrace and dreaming of wide, wind-swept expanses of snow that glittered and sparkled with the mornings first rays of sun, of spruce-tops standing sharp and regular against a blue-purple sky, and the pungent, earthy smell of sun on damp rock, warm, alive. Good dreams, and he woke with a slight hint of a smile, encompassed by a tremendous sense of well being--for the sleep I thank You, andLizwish I could tell you how grateful I am-sometime in the early, dark hours of the morning, knowing that the time had come to be leaving. In the mornings frigid dark they slipped into bearskin cloaks and, in Lizs case, marten fur overpants, rolling up the yearling hide for transport and sitting close together just inside the wide-open shelter entrance, staring up at the stars that peeked through the gently swaying evergreen tops as they shared a quick breakfast of cold pemmican and dried chokecherries. A hasty strapping on of the improvised snowshoes, one final look around the shelter by the light of one of Lizs burning fire pellets to make sure nothing was being left behind, and they were off, Einar taking the lead in plowing through the deep, powdery drifts that had accumulated all around their shelter, using his spear for a bit of balance as he struggled to get his snowshoe legs under him. Not an easy task, with his right leg strapped into the crutch in an attempt to spare the injured toes from being beaten to a pulp against the snow, and neither leg strong enough to easily support his weight, let alone carry him through the deep snow with the wide, swinging gait necessitated by the snowshoes. The snow had developed a hard crust in places overnight, and whenever he hit patches of this crust the toes of Einars snowshoes tended to sink and

become trapped beneath it, leaving him to pull them free with a struggle as he broke back up through the crust. When Liz caught up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder he looked back at her and nodded, allowing her to pass and take the lead for a while and traveling a bit easier in the lightly packed trail left by her snowshoes. Zigzagging back and forth across the slope, Liz managed for the first bit of the climb to pick out a path that would allow them to continue using the snowshoes to their advantage, but eventually the climb steepened to the point where this was no longer possible. The snowshoes were, in the steep, loose powder, beginning to act more like skis as the angle of the slope increased, and the constant effort of resisting one backwards slide after another and regaining the ground thus lost was wearing both of them out badly, Liz barely able to keep to her feet with the heavy pack as they threatened constantly to slide out from under her, and Einar finding it all he could manage to keep himself from being carried away down the mountainside to slam into one of the numerous trees that populated the slope, as difficult as it was for him to stop his sliding once it started. The near complete darkness of the morning only complicated matters, making it more difficult to judge foot placement and slope angle, and Einar finally he sat down, stuck his bear hide mittens onto the spear for safe-keeping, and fumbled out of his snowshoe bindings, calling ahead to Liz. Be better off without them, steep as this is in here. One of us is gonna get hurt if we keep up this constant sliding and climbing routine. Agreeing with him, Liz removed her snowshoes also, strapping them to her pack and, when he insisted on doing the carrying, helping Einar back into his own pack after he strapped his snowshoes and crutch to it. The decision to abandon the use of the crutch had been a surprisingly easy one for him--the toes, he knew, would suffer, but the prospect of stumping along through snow that varied between thigh and waist deep on that crutch was not something he had the energy to contemplate, just then. Progress was going to be difficult enough on foot. It was beginning to get light, though just barely, by the time they got going again, Einar taking the first turn at breaking trail. Unable, due to his past hip injury, to lift and swing his left leg forward over the surface of the snow as he ordinarily would have done, Einar was left to plow laboriously through it, shoving at the crust and attempting to break it with his legs as he went. It would have been heartbreakingly difficult work for anyone to carry on for long, and it was, physically, but Einar was nonetheless enjoying it, as much as a man in his condition could be expected to enjoy any such physical exertion, the work filling some need in him and leaving him satisfied, whole. Step after step he pushed ahead with an intensity that Liz had not seen in him since his initial struggle with the loss of his toes and the systemic infection that had lingered afterwards, looking back at her with a fierce light in his eyes whenever he paused for a rest in breaking trail. Exhaustion. Complete, undeniable, it was stalking his every step and eventually caught up with him, despite his determination and a stamina that defied his physical condition and seemed to come from someplace very deep within. Only then, leaning forward with his forehead resting on the straight, regular drift of snow that deeply covered a fallen aspen trunk and struggling so hard for breath that his lungs ached, did he allow Liz to pass him and take a turn at breaking trail.

On up the mountain, then, they traveled as the first rays of sun began to show yellowwhite on the high, jagged teeth of the peaks opposite them, stark white in their thickly plastered rime of new snow, and whenever Einar looked back at those peaks he was met with the sight of streamers of white in the wind, powder being ripped off of the heights and plumed into a sky that was just beginning to show a pale hint of blue. Time to change places with Liz. Picking up his pace slightly--it was all but impossible for him at that point to exert himself further, but he managed it somehow, closed the distance between them--he rested a hand on her shoulder, and, breath coming too hard for words, nodded gratefully when she asked him if he meant to take a turn at the front. His legs hurt, muscles occasionally taking a notion to cramp up and further slowing him, but more than anything they were beginning to be rubbed quite raw where they pushed against the crust every time he took fell through, and after a time it felt as though the rough icy stuff was grating directly against bone with every step. No matter. The thin cloth of his pants, which had at first afforded him at least some protection from the cold, was quickly growing soaked with melting snow as he pushed on through the drifts, his slowness leaving his legs resting against the snow for long enough, at times, to begin melting it. His legs would soon enough be too numb to feel the constant assault of the icy crust, and he was glad. Eventually as the morning wore on they settled into a routine in which whoever was acting as trail-breaker got to wear the overpants, to help save bruised and battered shins and thighs from further wear, and to cut down on wet and freezing legs in the one who was leading, at the time. It helped, as did the breaks they took when switching places, Liz sitting down in the snow and Einar simply slumping forward wherever he stood, hanging suspended there in the deep snow and letting it support him, not wanting to go any more horizontal than he already was for fear of finding himself unable to rise. He had begun coughing somewhere along the way, a persistent problem that seemed to be making it progressively more difficult to catch his breath and which left him occasionally bringing up a mouthful of foamy fluid tinged at times with blood, a detail which he tried very hard though without success to conceal from Liz. She could see that he was pushing himself along right at the ragged edge of his endurance if not beyond it, ought to have stopped and turned around long ago, and was relieved every time he responded to her hand on his shoulder, allowing her to pass and take her turn at the front. They were nearing the top of the ridge, landmarks remembered from their first climb beckoning and encouraging them to continue, and as she watched Einar struggle along--he had insisted on returning to his place at the front, though she had urged him strongly to allow her to take over his turn at breaking trail, just for a while--Liz could only hope and pray that he would have the strength to finish the task so they could begin to head down, as he clearly needed to do. Up, up, drifts growing deeper as the trees thinned out; those last few hundred feet are often the longest when one is weary and has been anticipating the top, passing several false summits distorted by the snow to look like the real thing, and that mornings climb was no exception. Einar was struggling, shoving his way through the snow with increasing difficulty, movements less and less coordinated, but even considering the way he struggled, it was easier for him, in his own mind, to do the work of breaking trail than

to watch Liz do it; she could see that it irked him to give up his position in the lead and wondered about it, not having seen in his character a need to be first simply for the sake of being so, as she had observed in many men. Whatever Einars reasoning, Liz could see that his insistence on continuing to take the lead was wearing badly on him, pushing him more quickly than was necessary towards the point beyond which he would find himself unable to keep to his feet, let alone continue the climb under his own power. This is ridiculous, but you seem to be ignoring every hint I give you that maybe you ought to step aside and let me take a turn--I hope youre deliberately ignoring them, anyway, because if not then I guess youre just too exhausted to give them any notice, and that would not be good. Once just after a break Liz decided the time had come to press the matter, following Einar as he rose with difficulty and started to stagger forward to take his second consecutive turn at the front, pushing into the trail before she could get around him and assume her dutiful spot as designated snowplow for a space. Reaching him, she grabbed his shoulder firmly enough that he could not easily shake her off. You have a hard time being in the back, dont you Einar? He looked back at her wearily, sank down in the snow, sensing the start of a matter that might not be easily resolved by his usual terse three or four word answer, and too winded to both talk and break trail at the same time. Yeahin this case, I do. I know where my limits are, know real well, but I dont know yours. So yes, its easier for me to break trail, to keep on almost like Im here by myself, than to ask you to do it. Or to let you do it. Make any sense? She shook her head, frustrated with him but unwilling to back down. He was killing himself, literally working himself to death, and shed had enough of trudging along behind him and watching it happen. Sure, in a twisted sort of way thats starting to become much too familiar to meit makes some sense. Now move over and let me by. Its time we both learned where my limits are, dont you think? Weve got a climb to finish. A bit dumbfounded at her answer but too tired to do much arguing, Einar tried to step aside, didnt manage it quickly enough and fell in the deep powder when she brushed past him, floundering around for a minute as he sought to get his feet back under him and rise, after which he squirmed out of the snow-crusted overpants and handed them to her to aid in her push through the snow. More climbing, Einar silently appreciative of the easier going in Lizs steps through the snow, but at the same time finding it more difficult than before to maintain even a moderate pace, relieved as he was of the duty of clearing a path. It had given him something to focus on, a reason why he must not stop. Well. Keep moving. You want her to have to drag you up this? Several dozen slow steps later Einar looked up to see a cornice, definite, unmistakable, looming against the sky over on his left, as sure a herald of the ridges summit as he had seen so far. Glad that things off to the side there, and not in our path Sunrise. The ridge top reached, sights familiar, welcome, spreading out below them, the

object of their prior dreamings when they had sat, weary but triumphant, after that first climb and recited the merits of the little basin--trees, water, concealment, grass that would soon be green and replete with living creatures of all descriptions, rabbits, squirrels, the newly born young of elk and bighorn sheep secure in their mountain refuge, home. But there was no green that day, no sign of the bounty that they had dreamed up while resting before on the ridges ragged summit, only the flat grey sameness of a world buried in snow, many deep feet of snow, cirque walls untouched so far by slides, their snowy burden hanging heavy, menacing, flat in the grey light of early morning. The sun was on the ridge top, on the peaks opposite it, but its glory was to be short-lived that morning, as it peeked out from beneath a lid of cloud, reaching with brittle, failing hands through a narrow crack left between the horizon and the mass of grey, and the two travelers ought to have been glad of the sight, meaning as it did that the warming, softening rays of the sun would hardly have time to do their work on the avalanche-prone slopes before they could head down, giving them more time to make the descent in relative safety. Einar realized the advantage and Liz, too, would have seen them had she reasoned the matter through, but somehow the combination of the sky, heavy, slate-grey, portending, and the snow-buried basin, the last little islands of trees that they had seen out near its center, even, buried now beneath the drifts, left them with a vague sense of dread, of indefinable wrongness that was difficult to shake as they stood there beneath the scraggly, wind-blasted tree that had sheltered them after their first ascent. The sight was as Einar had expected it to be--how else could the basin look, after such a snow as they had just seen?--but still he was gripped by a sense of foreboding when he looked down into it that morning, seeing reflected in its stark emptiness only hunger, desperation, bare bones emerging from the melting snow, picked clean by scavengers as the winter finally released its grip after several more bleak, cold months, and he knew that he was looking at his own remains and probably Lizs, too, wind singing through their ribs and scattering the remaining fragments of their clothing. Winterkill. Too high. Starved and then finished off by the cold. He had seen it countless times, deer, elk, bighorn, but he shook his head. Not gonna go that way. Youre just seeing your own reflection down there, you creaky old sack of bones, your own hunger and maybe just a bit of desperation trying to creep in around the edges. Pull this bear hide in closer why dont you, to keep the wind from singing so loudly through your ribs--starting to get awful cold, now that you mention it--and get back on target, here. Yeah. There. Thats better. Tie that cordage if you can, keep the wind out. Now about the basin. We will find enough to get byover in those trees along the creek--what I hope will prove to be a creek--we will find game, rabbits, ptarmigans, martens, evenI can eat martens, we can live on them if we mustand we will get by. Still have the bear fat to help us along here at first, and if we start getting in trouble then I will take us down lower, down into one of those river valleys that Ive been so carefully avoiding, to snare beaver and seek for the game that comes down to the water. Ill do it, before I see Liz starve. But for now we must give the basin a try, because it sure wasnt looking like there was gonna be enough game to keep us going for long there in the last place. So. Here we are--give it a go. He looked over at Liz, swallowed the dread that had been trying to grab hold of him and straightened his back, head high as he watched the dying sun disappear into the waiting phalanx of cloud, extinguished, gone, time to head down. She nodded, fell in behind him.

 The descent begun, Einar and Liz worked their way down along a rocky spine that ran between two scooped out chutes there just below the ridge-cornice, which they had needed to break their way through in order to begin the descent. The slight spine gave Einar confidence that they were safe from any slides their movements might touch off, but he saw, also, that it would not take them all the way down, appearing to run out some five or six hundred feet lower, dumping them back out into the smoothness of the cirque wall. In that flat, grey light it was difficult to judge distances accurately, equally difficult to make out details of the slope that far below them. They would, he decided, just have to make a decision when they reached the spines end, as to whether to continue descending down the untouched snow of the cirque, or carefully make their way over to a second spiny, timber covered protrusion that split the whiteness some distance to their left, starting significantly lower than the one they then followed. The going was difficult there on the spine, snow that was mercifully only thigh-deep instead of waist-deep because of the winds scouring combining with an at-times heavy sprinkling of small, twisted timber to slow their progress and leave feet frequently trapped beneath the snow, and during one of their many pauses Liz put an arm on Einars shoulder where he stood leaning on his spear, bent nearly double, waiting for him to stop coughing so she could speak to him. Well, all we need now are a couple pairs of skis, and we could be at the bottom of this in under a minute. If I haul over one of these little dead firs, do you think you could peel us off some skis-planks, coat the bottoms with pitch or ice for slipperiness and bend up the toes by getting the wood wet and then holding it over one of our fire pellets? He laughed a bit at that, dull eyes brightening momentarily. Why, sure I could. No problem. Just rip a couple planks off of there, spit on them and polish the spit smooth as it freezes, and well be ready to go. Just as soon as we freeze our feet to the things in place of bindings, that is Actually, I had been thinking of seeing if we could get out the remains of that plastic trash bag, sit on it and glissade right down the wall here, but theres not enough of a crust. Wed just sink in after a few feet, Im pretty sure, with all this new snow. That, or get caught and buried in the avalanche wed set off. No, got to take the slow way down, today. Which means we need to start thinking about crossing that big open slope out there, and heading down the second spine. Looks like this ones about to run out. Despite the lack of sun on the new snow that hung on the steep-sloped basin walls, Einar did not trust the snowpack, the eerie feeling that prickled up his backbone at their first few steps out onto an open portion that they needed to cross in order to reach a spine of heavier timber that appeared to offer a safe descent route confirmed when he stopped to test the snow. Though reluctant to scar the slope by digging the deep pit necessary to adequately judge the avalanche potential there on the slope and thus leave a beacon for their pursuers to potentially see, Einar was at the moment even more concerned about the likelihood of their not making it across the slope if he misjudged things. By the looks of the sky more snow was on its way, and they had neither heard nor seen any signs of air activity their side of the canyon, since the end of the last storm. It was a risk he chose to take. Testing the slope up too near the ridge top would have been, he knew, pointless, as

conditions up there were likely to be quite different than down further on the slope where they needed to cross, but seeing as they had already descended the first steep hundred feet or so of the distance, he supposed they ought to be in just about the right spot for the test. Choosing a side slope, a semi-protected place between stands of trees where any slide their test might set off ought not bring down the entire basin wall but which faced the same direction as the portion they needed to cross, he headed for it, Liz following somewhat curiously. Removing his pack and leaving it near the base of one of the trees that stood nearby, Einar rested for a moment, leaning forward with his knees bent as the snow supported him, trying to get his breath. Liz was beside him by that point. You got that snow knife in your pack, the one I made from the bear leg bone? Yes, right here. Ill get it. Pulling out the blade, she handed it to him, Einar lashing it to the end of his spear. Were gonna cut out a big block here on this slope. Got to see how well all this new snows adhered to the old, see if wed be taking a ridiculous risk by trying to cross that slope out there. Better to find out now, rather than when the whole thing fractures and lets go under our weight. Dont know about you, but I sure dont need to take a tumble like that today, and end up buried under five or six feet of wet cement-snow to slowly suffocate to death, or maybe get dug out in time but with a couple broken ribsnope, definitely got better things to do today. As he spoke, Einar had been trampling a trench across part of the little slope, kicking and shoving at the snow, pushing it downhill, stopping when he had completed a trough that was just over three feet long. Another pause, the exertion of the stomping and the hurt it brought his right foot necessitating a moments rest before continuing, and Liz pulled out the deer scapula that they had saved for use as a shovel, showed it to him. How about doing a smaller test, instead. Carve out a little column, whack it with this shovel and see what it takes to collapse it That can work, but this is more reliable because the samples taken from a wider area, keeps little anomalies--wind-drifts, spots that may have got a little shade or had a clump of snow blow down from a tree and harden--from changing the results of your test. This is a little more work, but it wont take too much longer. Would have been done already, if I wasnt so worthless right now. Here. You can help. After I cut the block on one side, you can come along behind me and dig out the snow from beside it for about at foot or so, all the way back, to make it easier for us to see what the block is doing when we test it. Ill cut the other side while you do that. With both sides of the block cut and dug out, Einar pulled a length of paracord from his pocket, tying one end to a stick and tossing it over to Liz, who stood in the trench near the top of the block on the other side. Ok, now we free up the back of it. Grab the rope, and well use it to saw down through the snow. A few seconds later they had worked their way down through the back of the block, and it stood there, free but for the bottom.

Good, good job. Now I need you to put on your snowshoes, climb up there above the block, and step out onto the thing for me. Liz looked at him a bit suspiciously. Me? Are you trying to send me sliding down this mountain, Einar, meet me at the bottom so you can go at your own pace and not have someone harassing you to take a break every so often? No! You wont go far if it lets go. Might fall on your face, but you wont go far. Thats why we did the test here on this little slope where theres not too far to go. Ill do it, if you dont want to, but its gonna take a little longer for me to climb up there, seeing as Im pretty gimpy at the moment. Oh, Ill do it. I know youre not going to send me sliding down the mountain. I was just kidding. Mostly. Climbing up around to the top side of the block, she stood on the slope just above it, gingerly stepping out onto it at Einars direction. Nothing happened. Now bounce up and down a little. Real gentle, dont actually jump, thatll come later, If the snow holds up. Flexing her knees, Liz started to do some careful bouncing there on the top half of the cut block, the snow fracturing with the second little bounce and sending the top two thirds of the block sliding neatly away below her, spilling her forward to land in the heap of broken chunks that had slid. Einar helped her up. Well. Got our answer. Thing broke loose real cleanly where that new snows sitting on top of the old stuff, where it was crusted over from those sunny days. This is a definite cause for caution. No way Id ski that slope out there right now, if I had any choice. We might be alright walking it, not gonna be putting quite the strain on things walking as we would making turns on skis, but stillhardly worth the risk, since we got options. Would make sense to head down a little lower, go to the very end of this spine or even below if we have to, test again and then hopefully cross. Alright with you? She nodded. Yes. Makes sense. Here, though. Lets each have a drink and a bit of this pemmican before we go. We could use the energy. Einar was not hungry, was too worn out to feel hunger, but he took a dutiful bite of the offered pemmican, anyway, knowing that it would help him stave off the cold, which had begun to be a real problem for him since stopping to do the snow block test. The stuff wouldnt seem to melt in his mouth-about to be in real trouble here, if you cant even get grease to melt in your mouth. Better get moving again and try to warm up some--so he finally just chewed it and gulped it down with a swallow of water. The wind was growing stronger, temperatures plummeting, from the feel of things, and Einar stopped shortly after they had started down again to pull off a mitten and warm his numbed cheeks and nose, Liz doing the same. The wind was kicking up spindrift from the slope above them, driving it into their faces and keeping them constantly wet, and Einar knew that with no way to cover their faces, they were going to be having an increasingly difficult time preventing frostbitten noses and cheeks. Steering them beneath the nearby shelter of a bent-over tree that offered some measure of protection from the icy blast, he fumbled in his pack until he

came up with a chunk of bear fat, trying but failing to get it to melt in his hands. He gave some to Liz, shouting at her over the winds howling. Melt this and smear it on your face, good and thick. Ears, noseeverything. Will harden on your cold skin, then add more. Help prevent frostbite. She did as he mentioned, and then, seeing how he struggled with getting his handful of fat to melt, did it for him, rubbing it into his cheeks, forehead, nose. His hands felt like ice--no wonder you couldnt get this stuff to melt--and she pressed them against her stomach, warming them before helping him back into his mittens. As they worked, the wind had further increased, bringing in its teeth a sudden swirl of fresh snow, tiny flakes filling the air to combine with the already-rampant whiteness being stirred up from the ground to severely limit visibility. Liz wanted to stop, find shelter under a tree and wait out the worst of the wind and storm, fearing that in the near whiteout they might walk right off of one of the numerous rocky outcroppings there on the spine and find themselves suddenly sliding down the steepness of the cirque, but Einar insisted they must not stop there on the slope--even on the relative safety of the spine--with avalanche danger so high and more snow starting to accumulate on top of the already unstable snowpack. If something broke loose above them as it might spontaneously if the burden of new snow became too great, Einar had little doubt but that the resulting slide might well thunder down right over the little spine, jump up out of those chutes that lay on either side of it and seize them. The occasional group of broken-topped or severely bent trees indicated that it would not be the first time. They must continue down, must hope to find a more stable spot to cross the open slope, and make their way over to the lower spine which would lead them finally down into the safety of the basin, and must do it, he believed, before too much more snow had the chance to accumulate above them. Focused as he was on the minutia of the descent, Einar did not even notice himself slowly becoming less and less coordinated, brain growing chilled and fuzzy and limbs refusing at times to do as he asked. Liz surely would have picked up on his dangerous slide had the two of them been talking, as his speech certainly would not have been especially clear by that point, but the gusting and howling of the wind precluded any such communication and they kept on, picking their way down through the storm and the stunted timber of the spine. They finally reached the end of the spine, its jagged, rocky protrusions growing lower and finally disappearing into the smooth whiteness of the slope, and Einar stopped, knowing they ought to test the snow again, ought to try crossing the open slope, if they could. Over a minute later, having stopped still in the snow and forgotten somehow that he needed to take action on the test idea if he wanted it to happen--the thought is enough, surely? Seems like enough--Einar looked up with half open eyes when Liz put a hand on his shoulder and brushed off the accumulated snow, shouting to be heard over the wind. You Ok? Need to take a break for a minute? It took him a while to answer, the slow process of converting thoughts to speech further delayed by lips that he couldnt feel, thick, clumsy things that fumbled with the words

and finally got them out, or something like them. Nofine. Need totest snow before we cross. At which, recognizing to some degree how slow and clumsy his own motions had become, he promptly handed her the spear, snow-knife still lashed to its top. Cut block. Ill dig sides. If somehow the signs had escaped her before, Liz now had no doubt but that Einar was in trouble, growing dangerously hypothermic there in the snow and wind, and she tried to tell him, to talk him into stopping and taking shelter from the wind for a few minutes, but he angrily brushed her off, insisting that she take the spear and cut the snow block so they could cross the slope and be on their way. Instead, seeing that Einar urgently needed to get moving again, needed, most of all, to get someplace where he could be out of the wind, she trampled a short trench into the snow, cutting a narrow column into the upward slope above them, approximately a foot square on top and three feet deep. Taking the deer scapula from her pack she placed it atop the column, making sure Einar was watching as she flexed her hand at the wrist, letting it fall on the improvised shovel. Nothing. She repeated the test again, again, letting her hand fall ten times, glad when the column did not collapse. Next she bent her arm at the elbow, raising it and letting it fall on the shovel. Once, twice, and the column fractured two thirds of the way down, the top layers tumbling to the ground and leaving exposed the same sun-crust that they had seen in their larger test, above. Turning back to look at Einar, she awaited his judgment. He was shaking his head, jaw set. Not so good. Better than above butstill real questionable. Not seeing too many options, though, other than to go ahead and cross, follow the other spine down. Storms getting worse, hard to move in this wind but we sure cant keep still in it. And if we head straight down from the end of this spine here His voice trailed off as he struggled to remember what he has been going to say. Awful tired, all of a sudden. Come on. Got to focus But he could not seem to do it, sat staring at the crumbled remains of Lizs snow column and reaching out for the scattering fragments of his thoughts, fuzzy, distant, not quite within his grasp. Close your eyes for a second, rest, and maybe itll all start to make some sense again If we head straight down, what? It will be too steep? Eyes wide open again, he struggled to his feet. Rest, huh? Not now, for surereal bad idea. Ahno. Not too steep. Just that well be in danger of setting off avalanches the whole way down. Will be dangerous to cross the slope here, but once we make it over there, looks--looked, anyway, before it started snowing too hard to see--like that spine of rock would take us all the way down. Lot safer than the slope. Letswere gonna start across now, and if the slope lets go, if you hear anything up above, feel anything, feel the ground sink all of a sudden under your feet or hear me shout at all, well you take off to the side, Ok? Get over to the edge of where its sliding, and just keep going. Do not hesitate. And if it takes you, try to swim. Swim, stay on top, try again to get to the edge, and if you start to go under, you get your hands in front of your face like this, and you keep them there. See? Fists in front of your face to create an air space, itll give you some time, and I will come for you. Got it?

She did, told him so, followed him out into the deep snow of the slope, moving gingerly and hoping that he had not been able to see her fear at what he had described--swim, try to swim if you cant get to the side--but she doubted he had noticed, as it seemed to be taking all the strength and focus he could muster simply to remain standing and make basic decisions, as cold as he was clearly becoming. Please let this go well and quickly so we can get to some shelter there on the other side. Careful steps, one after another, slow, pushing into the wind and through the soft, clinging deepness of the snow, faces numb, stiffened despite the liberal application of bear fat, the weight of the snowy slope heavy on their shoulders, hanging, looming in the invisibility of the snowy distances above them, and neither Liz nor Einar said a word as they struggled across the openness, unless in prayer. The storm was growing worse, the wind increasing to an intensity that would have knocked the travelers off their feet had not they been planted in the snow up past their thighs--the slope had proven too steep for snowshoes--and Einar could feel himself growing weaker as he shoved his way through it, the wind draining him of strength and chilling him far more rapidly than he could begin to compensate for. Liz was there, was trying to work her way around him so she could take the lead for a while, and she did not appear to be doing much better than he was, stumbling and clearly exhausted. This isnt working. Einar grabbed her as she passed and they clung to each other, shivering, resting briefly, each of their bodies providing a bit of shelter to the other, but it was not enough. Winds gonna kill us, Liz. I dont know where the spine is anymore. Cant see a thing. Got todig a snow cave real quick, get out of the wind for a while. But the avalanches? He shook his head. Got to do it. Hoping werecloser to the side than the middle, will be safe, bad idea to dig a snow cave out where it can be buried, but we got to do it or pretty soon nothings gonna matter, anyway. Here. Wind drift. See it? Little deeper, little firmer than everything else. Get the cooking pot and start digging. Ill takedeer shoulder. They dug, taking turns, in and then up, knowing that there was hardly time to get it done properly and knowing also that the work would end up getting them wetter than they already were, but it hardly seemed to matter, as damp as their clothing already was. They had dry things to change into, once the cave was finished and they were out of the wind. Einars hands were not working well, the convulsive shivering that came over him shortly after stopping their slog through the snow preventing him before long from being much use when it came to digging, and Liz took over, leaving him to scrape clumsily at the chunks of snow that she shoved out, keeping them cleared out of the way. The finished product was a small cave, not large enough to lie down in but there was room for both of them to sit, pressed closely together with their knees bent and feet nearly sticking out but Liz knew that it would have to do, would at least get them out of the wind. They could, she realized, put one of the damp bear hide cloaks against the back wall for insulation, the

dry yearling hide from her pack beneath them and let it stick out a bit, lapping it up and over their feet for some insulation, and pulling her pack into the doorway to cut down on drafts. Deciding to take just a bit more snow off the ceiling so they could sit up without bending their heads to avoid contact with the cold whiteness, she shoved out one final pile of snow. Einar had been very diligent in keeping the piles cleared away, but the last one did not move, and Liz hurriedly squirmed out of the cave to check on him. She found him sitting there motionless in the snow, deer scapula pressed doggedly between his palms, apparently having lost his way while trying to scrape and pile the discarded snow as an additional windbreak in front of the entrance. He was unresponsive when she tried to get his attention, eyes closed though he remained stubbornly sitting, as if trying to decide what to do next, and Liz hurried to drag him into the wind-free shelter of the tiny cave, no easy task, with his limbs all stiff and uncooperative. She was scared, finally got all of him stuffed into the shelter and more or less curled into a semi-sitting position on the yearling hide, which, being the only thing that remained dry, she had spread as a ground cloth. His clothes were wet beneath the snow-crusted bear hide cloak, freezing in places to his body--Oh, why wouldnt you take the marten fur pants? You needed them so much more badly than I did, and I should have insisted more strongly--and she hurried to free the cloak and get it off of him. He was still, terribly still as she worked, and for a moment she was not even sure he was breathing, couldnt feel his chest rising and rubbed his arms, shoulders, was about to pinch his nose and start giving him breaths. No you dont. Einar! Wake up, you wake up! Come on. I am not losing you like this. He stirred, opened his eyes and grinned at her, looking immensely weary, a bit confused and beginning to shake furiously but otherwise very much himself. Huh? No, not lost, justresting for a second. Sorry. Im here. Goodgood job on cave, no wind He sat up a bit straighter, squinted at her in the diffused light that found its way in though the cave entrance. You Ok? Lookkinda cold. I think were both pretty cold, but its a lot better now that were out of the wind, and some dry clothes will really help, too, if we can keep them dry while we get into them in this cramped little space. Were going to be alright. She said it in an attempt to convince herself, but looking at Einar--hed closed his eyes again--and realizing that they had no way to build a fire there in the cave, nothing to help them get warm and stay that way aside from each other, the yearling hide and the wet, snow-crusted cloaks, she was anything but sure. The storm continued, winds that neared hurricane force blasting along the ridges and scouring the walls of the cirque that afternoon, ripping great streamers of powder up off of the cornices that Einar and Liz had earlier descended past and trailing them off into the grey sky to become lost amongst the swirl of snow, blowing and drifting a thin layer of snow up against the backpack that covered the entrance to the tiny snow cave, sealing its occupants inside.

It had taken a very long time for the two of them to struggle out of wet, icy clothes and into the ones that had, mercifully, remained dry in Lizs pack, the close confines of the cave--Liz kept thinking that it felt as if they were curled up inside the semi-translucent, white-shelled egg of some enormous bird or dinosaur, large, but hardly roomy enough-and the fact that they were both chilled beyond the point of being especially dexterous turning it into a major operation. The dry clothes certainly helped, though the matter of keeping them dry was to pose a major challenge, as Einar and Liz had little choice but to either sit back directly against the wall of snow behind them--not a good option at all--or one of the damp and icy bear hide cloaks that they had worn on the descent. Even placed fur-side out as the cloak was, the fur being rather encrusted with snow, the thing was not dry, their backs soon damp again as the accumulated moisture soaked through even as it was beginning to freeze, leaving Liz frustrated and more than a little scared, but unsure how to go about improving things. It hardly mattered to Einar, except as an intellectual exercise, which he was finding himself slightly less than capable of engaging in just then. He was too numb to differentiate between dry and wet, sat there shaking and huddling with Liz, knowing only that he was immensely grateful to be out of the pummeling, killing wind that had been sapping the life out of him with an alarming rapidity out there on the slope. Grateful as he was, he knew that the mere absence of the wind would not, realistically, likely be enough to save him, though it might be for Liz, as it seemed that she was starting to look a good bit better. Without a fire and some food--preferably something sugary for quick energy to re-start his exhausted and stalled internal heatproducing processes--and fast, he supposed his own chances were not looking so bright. He could feel himself growing colder pretty quickly as he sat there, even in the absence of the wind, and though Liz was doing all she could to share her own heat with him, holding him close, there simply wasnt enough warmth between them to go around. Suddenly finding it somehow quite humorous that he was able to reason the thing through with such clarity while entirely lacking the faculties to do anything about the situation, he began laughing, Liz interpreting the dry, choking sound that passed as laughter in his condition as a sign of distress, grabbing him in alarm and trying to get him to look at her. Einar, what? What is it? Are you breathing alright? Please, whats wrong? Is it the shaking? Shaking too hard to breathe right? Im trying to help, trying to get you warm. For some reason her concern only increased the situations perceived hilarity for Einar, causing him to laugh harder, but she was repeating her questions, and he figured hed better try and answer. No, breathe-breathing fine, just thinking how--heh!--if I e-end up freezingsolid here pretty soon, well you already got me most of the way buried, all yougot to do is j-just get over there on the otherspine where its safe and throw a big old rock he stopped for a moment, out of breath and searching for the rest of his sentence, which had rather inconsiderately fractured itself off and gone oozing away into the snow out of reach of his clumsy brain, yeah, throw a rock out onto the slope andstart a slide to finish covering this place up. Quick and easyjob done. No mess, no stink. Then inthousand years or so Ill resurface, just like--ha!--Oetzi the ice man, and they can wonder how I got here, dissect me to study my last meal and debate about the origin of my one boot and the

whereabouts of the missing toes more laughter, cut short by a painful fit of coughing, then silence. Liz was staring at him, and it was clear from her reaction that not only was she not the least bit amused at his idea--hed found the whole thing remarkably hilarious--but was actually very close to tears for some inexplicable reason, and Einar had to allow that perhaps he was not thinking quite as clearly as he would have liked to believe. Well I thought it was funny, anyway Gathered his thoughts, took a few slow breaths in an attempt to reduce the tremors to a manageable level, no luck, no way to control them and no sense trying, no matter, just say it anyway, you gone and upset her, didnt mean to do that Well if you dont likeidea about burying me in the cave, then I think were gonna have to have a fire pretty quick here. It was said gravely, without the tone of cracked hilarity with which he had given her the burial instructions, and Liz could see that he meant it, thought she could begin to see just a bit of desperation peeking out from behind the crazed, glazed euphoria in his eyes. Fire, yes. How about if I leave you here for a minute, just a minute, and see if I can find that other spine--weve got to be close I think--and get some little branches to burn. Ok? He wouldnt let her do it, told her there was a very good chance that she might become lost in the whiteout and never find her way back to the cave, and she knew he was right, but would have tried it anyway, had he not grabbed her arm with a grip whose strength rather surprised her, looked her in the eyes and asked for her word that she not try to go. She gave it, and he reached for the string of fire pellets around her neck. These. Yes! Ok, we can burn one right here in the cave if were careful not to catch ourselves on fireand dont you even think of joking that it would be a good way to thaw out in a hurry, because I can see you thinking it He grinned, nodded, jammed the end of his spear up through the cave ceiling to form an air hole and left it there so it could be used to knock away the new snow that fell and keep the vent hole clear. Meanwhile Liz had been carving out a small shelf in the side of the cave, just in front of her where she could easily watch the pellet. Sliding the cooking pot into the indentation as a containment device she used her teeth to free one of the cattail down and spruce pitch fire starting pellets from the length of milkweed cordage around her neck, biting it open and depositing it in the pot. Lighting it was another matter, as she discovered that he own hands were hardly cooperative enough to easily hold the fire steel and striker, leaving her to fumble with the implements for quite some time there in the tight confines of the cave. Einar tried to help, to hold the steel for her, but succeeded only in dropping it and causing it to become momentarily lost in the snow beneath their feet. Liz finally got a decent grip on it after warming her hands for several minutes against her stomach, struck sparks and on the third or fourth try got flame. Quickly tossing another pellet into the pot to give the flame some longevity, she cradled it in her hands, staring at the sizzling orange flame and holding it close to Einar so that he could benefit from its warmth. Soon they were both

benefiting, the tiny cave heating rapidly, though they were both doing a good bit of coughing, too, at the black pitch-smoke that the thing put off, and soon Liz slid the pot back onto the little shelf beneath the air hole. They held each other, then, shivering together in the warming air of the cave and taking alternating bites from a chunk of frozen pemmican--not the concentrated sugar that Einar really needed, but better than nothing--the thought entering his mind that they really ought to be trying to melt some snow over that flame for drinking water, as they were out and had been for quite some time. The other pot was in Lizs pack, though, which was acting as door and windbreak for the cave, and retrieving it would have meant letting in an icy blast of air and largely negating the benefits of the little flame, so instead he grabbed a clumsy handful of snow and dumped it into the pot, eliciting a quick reaction from Liz, who thought he had gone out of his mind again and was trying to extinguish the flame. He had tilted the pot prior to depositing the snow, though, letting it sit in the lower half while the sticky, flaming pitch globs rested in the upper, and she soon realized what he was doing, and let the snow remain. It was soon turning to liquid in its close proximity to the flames, and she added more. Keeping this up until the pellets had spent themselves, they were rewarded with a good swallow each of tepid, charred, turpentine-flavored water that seemed to each perhaps the most wonderful thing they had ever tasted, savoring the warmth it brought them as it went down. For hours the wind continued blasting the cirque outside the little shelter, Liz checking from time to time on its activities by shoving aside a corner of the backpack, and they huddled there together in the darkness, passing what was to be a terribly long, cold, damp first half of the night engaging in a ragged, drifting conversation the specifics of which neither of them were to remember in much detail afterwards, though Liz was certain that Einar had peppered it with a good bit more of his own peculiar strain of rather dark humor than she would have preferred. They grew thirsty after awhile, but were out of easily-reached fire pellets, and resorted to melting the occasional tiny amount of snow in their mouths for a bit of moisture, and though Einar kept insisting it was not a good idea, as immobile and cold as they were, Liz insisted just as strongly that neither was becoming badly dehydrated in the cold the wisest thing one could do, and the pointless but at times rather heated debate over which was worse, and why, carried them through a good hour of the brutally difficult night, keeping them both awake and therefore a good deal safer than they would have been, otherwise. A change. It came softly, almost unnoticed by the half frozen pair buried in their little snow-shelter--cocoon, tomb, who knew, time would tell--there on the mountainside, but Einar eventually picked up on it--some subtle alteration in the vibrations that he could feel coming through the snow, speaking to him of a lessening of the wind, and he wanted to go out and check, but could not seem to find the strength to translate the thought into movement. They had, over the past hours, both grown dreadfully cold despite their continuous efforts, and Einar knew their only chance lay in moving, getting the blood flowing and hopefully soon reaching a place where they could have a real fire. Finally, moving stiffly, resisting the powerful voice that urged him to stillness, insisted stillness was best, he rolled himself forwards and sprawled out into the cave entrance, sending Lizs backpack with its accumulated snow toppling over and revealing a world stark,

white, the untouched smoothness of the new snow brightly moonlit. Digging in with his elbows he dragged himself forward by a foot or two into the trampled-down area just in front of the cave--merely an inch or two of new accumulation lay on the old snow; the storm had consisted mostly of wind, it seemed--and sat up. There, just behind the cave when he looked, lay the second spine, its twisted, snow-laden little firs spiking black and welcoming up into the moon-lit, snow-sparkled sky, and Einar shook his head at the realization that the snow bank theyd dug into out of desperation had, in fact, been on the spines flank. We can get down, follow that down and make it without setting off a slide. Better get moving. Grabbing his spear and straining as he forced cold-stiffened muscles to work in unwilling concert, he stood. Toes were frozen. He could feel it. Could not feel, to be more exact, but he knew. Well. I can walk on them like that. Get us down there and to safety, do what must be done when tomorrow comes. Quickly joining Einar out in front of the cave, Liz stared up at the spine, which jutted up mere feet from the spot where they had sat huddled, her relief at finding that they did not still face a long, slide-prone slog across hundreds of yards of open slope before reaching the safety of the spine almost compensating for the sharp sense of regret that she felt at realizing that they had been so very close to the means to build a good hot fire, and had not been able to take advantage of it. Einar was anxious to move, dismissing her suggestion that they hunker down on the sheltered side of one of the spines little firs and warm themselves over a little blaze, perhaps melt some snow to ease their thirst and share some spruce-needle tea before resuming the descent. More pressing, he insisted, was the need to get down off of the cirque wall altogether, as loaded and unstable as the slopes all around them had to be, by that point. Down in the basin, when they reached it, the time would come to seek shelter and build that fire, cook up a good big pot of pemmican stew and finally get warm. Liz assented, shrugged into her pack and followed Einar as he began the climb up onto the snow-piled rocks of the spine, glad to see that he appeared to have largely emerged from the chilled haze in which he had spent the last hours, seemed to have a plan. A bit of heat, a bit of rest and food--it seemed that they had been enough to restore at least some measure of his vitality, though Liz could tell from the way he was walking that something was seriously amiss with his foot. He was not limping, ought to have been. The long slog through the snow and the subsequent hours spent huddled chilled and shivering beneath it as they waited out the storm were not, she could see, going to come without cost to him, and she hated to think of what the next few days were to bring, made herself push the matter aside, for the time. Too much else to focus on, including her hands, which had been doing alright in the cave, pressed frequently against her stomach or, at times, Einars back for warmth, but were beginning to lose feeling now that she was back in her damp mittens and had the substantial weight of the pack pressing down on her shoulders and reducing circulation. Have to keep close watch on them, stop and warm them when there is a need. Her feet seemed to be doing alright, though; Einars repairs to her boot toes had succeeded in keeping snow from entering, and though the leather had become soaked at some point in struggling across the slope, the change into dry socks, had gone a long way towards protecting her feet during the bivouac, as had the corner of the yearling hide that they had lapped up and over their feet, along with the near-constant wiggling to which she had subjected her toes in the hopes of keeping

enough blood flowing. Einar, she had no doubt, would have been able to do no such thing with his injured toes, and had been a good bit colder than she, to begin with. He was getting along alright for the moment though, and as he had indicated rather unequivocally that their first priority must be finishing the descent and reaching the basin, she followed as he worked his way up onto the spine. Starkly silver and highly visible as the slopes of smooth new snow crisply reflected the moonlight, the world was easy to navigate that night, Einar climbing up to a rocky protrusion on the spine and stopping to study the view that opened up beneath them. As he had hoped, the spine continued unbroken all the way down to the far more level ground of the basin--he could even make out in the moonlight the flat, slightly depressed area that marked the lake, a few black dots marking the tops of the small trees that grew near it on one side--providing them a relatively safe path to the bottom. Then across, up into that timber on the far side where well be well out of the path of anything that ends up sliding, and we can stop. Stay. Hopefully for the winter, and beyond. Now. Cant afford too much standing still, tonight. Better keep heading down. Which he did, the big down steps required in negotiating the steepness of the spine--much of the new snow had been torn and scoured off of the spine as it fell, leaving exposed rock in spots--posing a major challenge, as weak and uncoordinated as his legs seemed to have become. Not too far into the descent Einar lost his footing and slid, landed hard on the hummock of snowy rock just below him and struggled back to his feet, unhurt and a bit exhilarated at having discovered a mode of travel that would allow him to move a good bit faster than anything he was capable of on foot, at the moment. Might even be able to avoid serious injury, if he exercised a little caution. It is not, he told himself, voicing a caution learned from a lifetime of exploration, mishaps and near disasters in the mountains, ever a good idea to go taking flying leaps on a rocky, snow-covered mountainside like this. Youre gonna mess up a landing here one of these times and break something, or fall further than you intended and end up impaled on a treenot gonna be a pretty sight, and even if your guts dont end up hanging out and wrapped around a fir, as theyre plenty likely to do, you sure cant afford to be losing much more blood, right now. He laughed, took another leap. Yeah, maybe not a good risk, but as opposed to what? Taking so long at the descent that you get to the bottom frozen half through and unable to make a rational decision because your brains getting so doggone cold? That doesnt lend itself too well to a safe descent, either, and thats almost certainly where youre headed--ha! You were there before, when we stopped to dig that cave, and didnt even have the sense to realize it, until Liz hauled you in there and thawed you out some--if you keep moving at this ridiculous snails pace. And what about Liz? Want her to freeze, too, just because youre taking too long? Go for it Approaching the next ledge and checking to see that the drop was not too great he launched himself into space, plopping down on his rear end in the deep snow some four feet below where he had previously been standing. Watching him, alarmed at first but seeing that things appeared to be going alright, Liz picked up her pace as well, uninterested in taking the great flying leaps that Einar seemed to be set on, with fifty pounds on her back, but finding that she could do a bit of sliding to speed things up, sitting at the edges of dropoffs and letting herself slip down through the snow to land more or less on her feet in the snow beneath.

Slipping and sliding, both of them in reasonably good spirits at the speed of their progress and warmed some by the strenuous pace, they covered ground relatively quickly, Einars refrozen toes beginning to thaw just over halfway down as his body decided that it was becoming warm enough to afford to send some blood that way, once again. The pain, quickly growing in intensity, nearly took his breath, left him looking out at the moonlit world through eyes bleary with unshed tears, wishing vehemently that he might have chosen a slower pace that would have allowed the toes to remain frozen, at least until they reached a spot where they could stop, where their lives no longer relied on the decisions he made, moment by moment. But they were not in such a place, far from it, and he knew that somehow he must strive to put the hurt aside, study the terrain ahead and continue to pick out the best path, at least until they reached the bottom of the spine. The fact that any feeling remained in the toes at all was, he supposed, cause for a bit of hope, though even as he told himself so he knew in the back of his mind that though apparently the appendages might not be entirely dead, the damage had already been done; they were as good as gone. Forget it. Focus. And he did, for a while, his leaping, skipping pace slowed by the awareness of the agony that awaited him should his foot contact the ground first on one of those falls--it did, anyway, and more than once--and his concentration was affected greatly by the anticipation of those events, and by striving to avoid them. He started making mistakes, sliding once past his intended stopping point and barely catching himself at the edge of a twenty foot dropoff, floored beneath with nearly exposed rocks that almost surely would have been the end of him, had he landed wrong on them, and he stopped, leaning on a tree and holding the offending foot up as well as he could out of contact with the ground, wanting to howl or growl or cry out and tear the little tree to shreds when he inadvertently let his leg sag a bit, jarring the toes against the snow. Help me. We got to get down. Ive got to get us down from here. Need my mind back, need to be able to focus Einar could not stay still, was damp from the wet bear hide that acted as his only protection from the cold and the frequent wind gusts that still tore across the cirque that night, and knew that he must not keep still for long, could already feel himself cooling down dangerously. Liz had nearly caught up to him, and he did not want to keep her waiting so she could begin to be chilled, also, and did not especially want her to know what was happening with his foot, either, at least not until they made it down. Go. He did, a snarl ripped out of him by the first contact of foot with snow, an angry, injured sound, but then he was singing, voice hoarse, ragged, not quite sounding like himself, but singing, the songs rhythm carrying him once again down the slope, giving him something by which to pace himself, something to free his mind a bit and allow it to focus on their route and on landing well after each of his sliding steps, and then Liz was beside him, singing also, and he found himself oddly reminded of the last time he had sung that song--the one about Ole Slewfoot, the bear that had never been caught and never been treed--and finding it a bit ironic that he had then, too, been charging down a snowy slope in the dark, freezing and with little chance of making it through the next few hoursdont say that. Forget that. Back to the doggone song There they were. The bottom. Rocky spine looming dark and steeper looking than it had seemed during the descent, the snow-burdened, slide-menacing slopes of the cirque wall fading into the moonlit distance behind them as they pushed wearily across the basin, heading for the black band of timber at its far side, and rest, heat, the water they had

come to so badly need on the long descent. By the time they finally reached a spot far enough from the cirque wall that Einar knew they would be safe in the event of a slide, making their way into the timber and climbing a short distance through it up the slope opposite the one they had just descended, he was past ready to stop, barely coordinated enough to continue walking, face starting to go a shade of dusky purple that Liz could not miss, even in the pale moonlight. The concentration that he had been able to demand of himself while finishing the descent had dissipated as soon as the realization hit him that they were down and safe, its departure leaving him drained and freezing, fully aware once again of the cold and his own crushing weariness, the hurt in his foot, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he managed to keep himself going. Having in mind a rather fixed image of the sort of place he wanted to find for shelter that night and knowing from his previous observations up on the ridge top that it lay somewhere in front of them, Einar kept walking, stumbling through the timber in search of it and giving Liz clipped, two or three word answers that she could not seem to make any sense of, whenever she pointed out a likely-looking tree and asked him if it wasnt a fine prospect for a shelter. Finally, fearing for his life and beginning to be a bit uncertain about the safety of her own fingers, which she had not been able to maintain much feeling in for the past several minutes despite continuing to flex and shake her hands, she grabbed him, held on until he stopped and looked back at her. Einar. What are we doing? We need to stop now, we need a fire. Rocks. He raised an arm, gestured at some unseen destination that lay hidden by the thick, closely growing evergreens, pulled out of her grasp and kept moving. Breaking off dry branches and tucking them under one arm as she went, Liz continued following him, hoping that he would soon see whatever it was he was looking for, and wanting to be ready to build a fire just as soon as he did. The band of timber was fairly narrow, thankfully, and it did not take too long for even Einar, stumbling and slow as he was, to make his way through it, the cliffy wall of broken granite that he had sought finally looming above them, far too steep to hold much snow, almost overhanging in places. Einar pushed his way through the last little grouping of trees, dense, branches almost interlocking, that stood between them and the wall, looked up, smiled, dropped to his knees and pounded the rock with his fist. Here. The place looked good to Liz, ground in places almost free of snow between the protection of the rocks and the stand of trees that pressed up to within feet on them, and she hastily began kicking at the remaining snow, clearing it away. She wanted to get her pack off, couldnt seem to work the buckle on the waist belt and Einar saw her difficulty, hobbled over and tried to help but couldnt get his hands to do the task of squeezing the buckle open, either. Finally they got it, working together, the pack dropping to the ground and Liz rolling it up against the rocks for further protection. The wind, which had continued sweeping the basin as they crossed it, was much less there sandwiched between the cliffs and the timber, and Liz felt herself greatly tempted to curl up there beside the pack and sleep. She could hear Einar moving around, though, bumping into things in the clumsy flurry of activity with which he fought to stave off his own growing exhaustion long enough to see that they had shelter and fire,

and she forced herself up to help him, carrying her armload of dry branches over to the spot beside the rock where he was trying to scratch out a rough firepit with a flake of granite that he held pressed between the heels of his hands. Silvery patches of moonlight found their way in between the branches of the surrounding evergreens to illuminate with a wild, gently undulating brightness the rocks and the area where Einar was working, and Liz broke some of her branches into smaller pieces, dumping them onto the bare ground that Einar had exposed and heading over to one of the small firs nearby for more kindling, everything happening in slow motion despite the way she tried to hurry. Struggling to get the heap of sticks Liz had left him with set up into a rough pyramid and twice scattering the entire thing with the jerky, involuntary movements that seemed about all his hands were capable of just then, Einar finally got the thing done to his satisfaction, sitting back so as not to destroy it and fumbling at the pouch around his neck in search of a tinder pellet to get the thing going. Between the use of hands, teeth and a sharp stick that stuck up out of the frozen ground at a convenient angle, he managed to open the pouch and shake out one of the pellets--two, better do two, dont want to risk having this go bad--bit it open to reveal the dry fluffy milkweed down inside, and rolled it in under his painstakingly constructed nest of sticks. Liz wasnt there, hadnt returned from wherever she had gone, and though he couldnt say why, that seemed a cause for concern, so he went looking. Nowhere. She was gone, and it did not take Einar long to begin wondering whether she had ever been there, at all. He was pretty cold, was aware enough to know that it was probably affecting him some, and knew that he had dreamt up her presence more than once in the past, at such times. No. Here are her tracks. Followed them, squinting into the moonlight and finding himself glad that even there beneath the trees the snow was well over a foot deep, making for good deep impressions for him to follow, the way his eyes seemed to be blurring, lids sagging, all of a sudden. Could hardly keep them open. There. He saw her crouched in the snow, unmoving, head down--what are you doing, Lizzie? No. Get up!--and he tried to call for her but couldnt get the words out, fumbled his way through the snow to her. Liz had not meant to sit down, had certainly not intended to crouch there, hands full of broken kindling-twigs, staring at the moon-diamonds in the snow and watching her breaths cloud and dissipate into the frigid air, over and over, until she forgot her purpose in wandering away from the camp, but it had happened. She heard Einar coming, scrambled to her feet, the cold-fog clearing some at the sudden realization that she had been neglecting her fire-starting duties, and he took her arm, leading her back to the rocks. A struggle, then, neither of them speaking as first one and then the other fought with nearly useless hands to strike sparks into the waiting tinder, and without success, stopping to warm hands against stomachs, sticking numbed fingers into their mouths and gnawing in an attempt to restore some function. No success, Lizs fire steel falling and somehow managing to disappear in the rocks around the fire. For a time they searched in vain to find and retrieve it, Liz eventually stopping in despair and grabbing Einar, holding him, hoping their shared warmth might be enough to reverse the iron-jawed inertia that seemed to be increasingly tightening its grasp on them, mind and body alike. Einar knew better, the collective burden of long experience under such conditions, of many times when survival had been a close thing, and an unlikely one, telling him with certainty that

they would die there together if they remained still, shouting at him to act and urging him up in an act of habit rather than of will. With difficulty he freed himself from Lizs grasp, rising, shuffling his feet there on the nearly bare ground beside the rocky escarpment, stomping with his good foot and groaning almost inaudibly whenever the bad one, seriously numbed once again but not entirely insensible, contacted the ground. Hooking his elbow over a fir branch to keep himself from falling Einar kept up his slow, plodding movements, increasing their speed as he was able and praying that his efforts would prove sufficient. After a time he stopped--didnt feel any warmer, but could not seem to make his legs, cramping and cold, function any longer--hanging from the fir branch and trying to concentrate on breathing some life back into his hands. Dropping back to the ground he crawled over to the fire, took the fire steel from around his neck and clamped the striker under his foot on a rock just above the little tinder pellet. Finding it impossible to grasp the rod he clumsily wrapped the end of it in a string of cordage that he held in his teeth, creating a rough handle that gave his uncertain grip something more to work with, drawing it sharply across the striker. Sparks. But no flame. Try again. Liz revived some at the sight of the fire--Einar had, after several tries, finally managed to throw some sparks into the tinder--dragging her pack over beside it and pulling out the yearling hide. It was damp, everything, it seemed, was damp, but would still have to be better than sitting directly on the frozen ground as they currently were, and she spread it beside the flames, Einar hauling himself up onto it to join her. He had placed the fire less than three feet out from the rock wall, knowing that the rocks would act as a very effective reflector to surround them with heat when they sat between it and the fire, and he had been correct, the area already beginning to warm as they sat there huddled together, the less damp of the two cloaks draped over their shoulders, feeding sticks into the growing blaze and beginning to think that it would be an awfully good idea to start some snow melting for soup. Taking turns leaning over and breathing the steam as a pot of snow turned to water and began simmering on a flat rock beside the fire Einar and Liz slowly began warming, the process hampered greatly by the fact that they had no dry clothes to change into. They had already put on their dry set earlier in the evening upon crawling into the snow cave, so remained in the wet ones, counting on the fire to begin the drying process and wishing very much for so much as a dry blanket or hide to wrap up in, while it took place. Liz finally scraped together the strength to hang their second pair of wet, ice-encrusted clothing from a series of branches that nearly overhung the fire, first beating out as much of the ice as she could against the rock wall behind them. Einar, once finished with the duties of getting the fire going and seeing that Liz was on her way to warming up, had himself drifted off into an exhausted daze, eyes fixed on the gently swaying branches of one of the little firs just beyond the fire in a habit-driven attempt to avoid entirely wrecking his night vision by staring at the flames. Liz warmed more quickly than Einar, having, despite the last several difficult months, managed to get enough to eat so that she had at least some reserve remaining, some body fat--though she did not look it--remaining as a buffer against the advances of the cold,

shielding vital organs and acting as a source of energy, when necessary. Einar had no such benefit, his body having long ago thoroughly consumed its fat reserves and started in on the muscle in a desperate struggle to keep him going, and he felt the lack quite keenly at times such as that night. He would have had a difficult time maintaining a normal body temperature sitting still, in a moderately warm room in his condition, let alone under the present circumstances. Well. He stared into the flames despite his aversion to doing so, wondering somewhat irrationally if through looking he might be able to will himself to absorb a greater portion of their warmth, good thing I prefer the cold, had trained myself for it all of those years. Body can do an awful lot of acclimatizing and adaptation if you push it to do so, even to the point of spontaneously generating more heat than an untrained body would under the same circumstances, as well as working more efficiently and with less loss of function at lowered core temperatures. Studies have shown it, and I have certainly proven it to myself. Would have probably never made it this far without that training, though its kinda looking like the winter may still end up doing me in. Got nothing left, and there are limits, have to be limits Starting to come around though, I think, for this time. Fires a big help, and the steam even more. Inhaling steam, he mused to himself, wanting to tell Liz but seeming still unable to convert thoughts into speech, is a lot better way to warm up than just sitting by a fire would be. Fire alone--any outside heat source, actually, but especially one so intense as fire--can be dangerous when youre this cold, when your temperatures gone down by a few degrees and your circulations slowed enough that some cold blood has pooled in your extremities. Heating the extremities first can open up those constricted vessels and send that cold blood right back to your core in a hurry, possibly stop your heart or at least mess up its rhythm for a while in ways thatll give you major trouble. Best to warm up from the inside out, and as much blood as passes through the area around the lungs, breathing steam is a real good way to do that. Drinking warm stuff is good, too, especially if it has sugar of some sort it in to give the body some real quick energy for producing heat, and to help take care of dehydration if youre dealing with that, too, because you probably will be, but you dont really gain much heat at all from the temperature of the drink, even though it may feel like it. Steam is better for that purpose. So are warm rocks pressed against the kidneys, but we dont have any warm rocks, yet Got all that, Liz? Making sense? Good And he returned to gazing at the flames, having forgotten that he had not been speaking out loud and hoping Liz would glean from what he had said that she ought to be throwing some of their remaining chokecherries into the heating water to produce a somewhat sweet liquid for them to drink, for energy hope she got that, because Im all out of words all of a sudden Head drooping, Einar might have slept then had not Liz held the pot beneath his face again and insisted he breathe, seeing that he seemed to be forgetting to lean over and partake of the steam, himself. Though she had not, of course, heard Einars long-winded but silent exposition on the benefits of re-warming by inhalation, she had learned from past incidents with him and, to a lesser degree, with herself, that it was effective, and she held the pot there for several minutes, shielding her stinging hands with a damp sock as he breathed the warm vapor. After that there was no need for her to make any effort to

keep him awake, as his thawing toes did a far better job than she could have ever hoped to do. Preoccupied as Liz was with her own thawing fingers, the deep sting of returning circulation turning them bright red and making her wish to plunge them into the snow to extinguish their burning rather than keep them pressed against the warmth of her stomach as she knew she ought to do, Liz let Einar be for the time. Finally able to think clearly enough to worry about such things, he realized that he needed to deal with his left foot, check it for damage and warm it lest he risk losing toes on it, too, and he struggled off the boot and the slightly damp sock beneath, pressing the foot against the inside of his thigh for warmth. Warming, it stung, but the toes lacked the telltale white patches and stiffness that would have warned of deeper damage, and Einar was tremendously grateful. The right foot he did not touch, leaving the overboot in place for the moment, knowing that he might well lose the ability to focus on much else once he began tampering with it, and wanting to check Liz for frostbite, first. She was sitting there beside him on the yearling hide, hands pressed tightly against her stomach, rocking back and forth and appearing tremendously uncomfortable as the blood returned. How are your fingers? Let me see. He took her hands, fought to control his own shaking for a moment so as not to hurt her and squinted at them in the firelight, grunted, nodding approval. Not bad. May get a little blister or two there on your left thumb, but otherwise not bad. Gonna hurt like heck for a while here, but itll get better. Some warm water would probably help minimize the damage, just soak them for a little while. Ought to melt some more snow after we drink this pot of water, let them finish thawing in the water. I will, but you probably need it more. Your foot He shook his head. No need. Thing froze again on the way down. Even before that it was real doubtful that I was gonna get to keep the toes, but nowwell, you just go ahead and use that pot. Lets drink this water, and then Ill go scoop up some more snow and get it melting. I know how it hurts to use your hands when theyre all red and swollen like that, and for some unlikely reason, mine seem to have come through just fine. Your other foot? About like your hands. Hurts, butno permanent damage. The water was hot, was boiling away, actually, as they sat there sharing its steam, and Einar got into the pack and retrieved one of the remaining patties of mashed dried chokecherries, letting it sink beneath the simmering surface of the water. Need some sugar. Some energy. After a while they drank, Einar holding the pot to spare Lizs puffy hands contact with its too-great heat. His portion of the tangy-sweet liquid swallowed and the last of the mushy berry bits scraped from the bottom of the pot and consumed, Einar felt a bit better, was beginning to be warm enough to feel cold again and was shaking harder, which he knew was perhaps the most effective way for his body to start warming itself, now that he had the energy to do it again. Time for some stew. We could both use the nourishment after this long night. He took out the second pot, filled both

with snow and set them to heat, dumping a packet of pemmican--one of their last--into one of the pots as soon as its snow began melting. The other he gave to Liz, and she tested the water--barely lukewarm--slowly lowering her hands into it and suppressing a cry as the waters mild, liquid warmth surrounded her slightly damaged fingers, feeling to her as though it was boiling. Is this what Ive been doing to you every time I help you soak your toes? Einar! Im so sorry The stew was ready, but Einar could hardly eat it, could hardly, in fact, stand the smell, though he knew that his body was in desperate need of the replenishment it had to offer. His foot was on fire, battered, re-frozen toes screaming at him in agony as they tried to waken, to return to life, and with little success. Eat, he urged Liz, who had finished soaking her hands, dried them and seemed to be suffering a good bit less than she had at first, dont wait for me. Sick with the hurt, he badly wanted to remove the bearskin overboot and stick his bare foot down into the snow to freeze again, heap it over with snow and leave it thus preserved until he could work up the energy and coordination to do what he knew almost certainly must be done with the toes, but in doing so he feared further damaging the foot itself, and certainly did not wish to face the resulting amputation that might in the end be required by such damage, let alone contemplate living out the remainder of his life without a foot there in the harsh and demanding terrain that he had chosen as his refuge. Could be done, and if it comes to that I will do it, both the removal and, if I live though that, doing my best to adapt to life as a one-footed mountain critter, but I sure am gonna fight hard to avoid that. Would probably never survive the blood loss and potential infection from the operation, realistically, and the outlook for one-footed mountain critters is none too bright, last I checked. Crippled predators rarely survive long in the wild. They starve, get sick, depleted, and winter takes them. That, or they end up venturing down near civilization out of desperation to raid the fields or the trash or somebodys barbecue grill, and they get shot. Sure not doing that. Learned my lesson on that one. So. Cant be sticking the foot in the deep freeze just to avoid feeling the toes. Gonna have to put up with the pain for now, somehow, just think about saving the rest of the foot. With most of Einars attention being consumed by dealing with the thawing toes, it was left to Liz to watch the wet clothing she had hung above the fire, turning it periodically and seeing that it continued to dry in the most efficient manner possible. Having eaten, she was feeling a good bit warmer and more steady and thought Einar appeared to be, also, despite being unable to partake of the meal, but knew that being able to change into dry clothes would be a tremendous benefit to them both. The bear hide cloak, also, she worked to dry, the one that was not draped over them to help keep out the wind, and she alternated between letting it hand over the fire and wrapping it around a bundle of hot rocks, which drove the moisture out in great clouds of steam that froze as they drifted up into the frigid night. The work of lifting the heavy, damp-haired hide eventually became too much for her swollen hands, though, and she left it on the ground, frequently changing out the rocks that were gradually steaming away all of its moisture. That method seemed the more effective, anyway, and as soon as the hide began feeling more dry than wet, and certainly drier than the one that lay heavily across their shoulders, she exchanged them and began working to dry the second, Einar wearily thanking her for the

change. She was concerned about him, as he still felt awfully cold to the touch, even his stomach and sides where he had been at least partially protected by the hide, and she supposed that it must simply be taking a long time for his core temperature to begin coming up. He was awake, though, seemed able to form a coherent sentence when necessary and was shaking furiously, so it seemed the situation was well on the way to righting itself. Pulling several fire-warmed rocks in beneath the dry hide she crept closer to him, lay down for a bit of rest. Morning was coming, Einar could see it as a faint graying over along the eastern horizon, jagged, high with snow-glutted peaks, barely visible through occasional gaps in the shield of evergreens that surrounded them. He reached out from beneath the bear hide with a trembling hand to add more wood to the lively bed of coals that continued radiating a good bit of heat, fanning it to flame, not wanting the fire to die just yet. With the stick that he had assigned to that purpose, he flipped and rolled a fresh warm rock away from the edge of the coals, tested it with the back of his hand and quickly wrapped it in a sock before bringing it in beneath the cloak to provide them some ongoing warmth. Liz was asleep, her head against his back where he lay propped against her pack in a tightly curled, semi-recumbent heat-conserving ball, still far too cold and in too much pain with the newly thawed toes to consider sleep, himself. Liz had stopped shivering, felt warm where she lay plastered against his side and back, and Einar could not imagine how she was managing to sleep while using him for a pillow, as hard as he was still trembling at times, but she was, and he was thankful. Needed the warmth pretty badly. Had been a good deal further gone than hed realized, stumbling down that spine and across the basin and still had a long way to go before he would be anything like warm, but was headed in the right direction. Weary and hurting, but almost content, considering the circumstances, he lay his head down on the pack, rested as he watched the sky gradually begin to brighten, the first brilliant hints of sunlight bursting, after a time, up over the peaks to brush the stark blackness of the spine-timber with a living, life-giving gold. Eyes heavy, mind drifting, the regular cadence of Lizs breathing assuring him that she was well, a corner of his mouth curled up in grateful wonderment at the passing of the night, the safety of the timber, life. He slept. The fire died, finally, mornings chill creeping in around the sleeping pair, and Einar, beginning to lose ground again against the cold, stirred to pull down the second half of the split bear hide and drag it up over their lower halves for additional protection. For a time he lay there shivering and staring out at the brightening morning, wishing he had not made the mistake of moving his foot in reaching for the hide. It would still be hours, from the looks of things, before the sun would reach them there on the side of the basin, but already it was spilling in golden plenty down the cirque wall, the reflection almost blindingly bright to his bleary eyes where it reached him through the trees, hitting the grey-silver granite behind them and brightening up the entire area of their camp. The day would be a busy one, he knew, as they worked to make sure they had better shelter for the following night, got to know their surroundings a little better and hopefully set out some snares, too--and your toes. Probably have to deal with them before long, here--but for the time Liz was still asleep, he himself immensely weary, and Einar was content to go on lying there and allowing the relative warmth of the bed to thaw some more of the ice that

had settled in his bones. To which end he tucked his nose back in beneath the hide, and returned to sleep. But not, unfortunately, to the dreamless sleep that had allowed him an hours peaceful rest earlier in the morning, and he spent the next while struggling unsuccessfully to bring himself back to full wakefulness so he could make his way back through the timber and see if the wind had yet managed to drift over the rather obvious set of tracks he knew they must have left, in crossing the basin. Several times in his dreams he forced his body to carry him on the long, exhausting trip, but was never quite able to get a good look at the basin for some reason, managing only to end up colder and colder each time he tried it. The next time Einar woke it was to Lizs hand on his shoulder, gentle but insistent, and she was saying something, wanting him, apparently, to answer and growing a bit disturbed at his lack of response. A sudden realization hitting him that perhaps something was wrong--the thought that came immediately to mind was that there might have been a low overflight of the basin by someone who could have seen their tracks; the prospect had troubled his dreams all morning--he jumped up, getting his spear into his hand before hed even had a chance to lay eyes on it and using it to help him to his feet. What? Did they come? Did I miss it? How long ago? Who? No, nobody camehere, settle down and get back in under the hides before you freeze. I didnt mean to startle you like this, but I dont seem to know how to wake you without causing alarm. You were shivering again, couldnt seem to get warm, and I wanted to give you some tea. Thats all. Letting his breath out with sigh, almost laughing with relief, he sank back down on the bed, dizzy, legs cramping at the sudden use, Liz joining him and hurriedly getting the bear hide up around his shoulders Again, is it? Dont believe I ever stopped shivering. You were justsleeping too soundly to notice! Which is good. Now. How are your hands? She held out her hands for him to look at, still somewhat red and appearing a bit painful but no longer swollen, apparently undamaged, aside from a single fluid-filled blister on the outside of her left thumb. Well, they still work. And I was able to collect some spruce tips for tea, scoop up the snow and bring the fire back to life, so I guess that was a fine test. Good. Get some salve on the area around that blister and well wrap the thumb, try real hard not to let the blister break, and it looks like youll be back to normal in a few days. What about you? Back to normal in a few days, too? The question struck Einar as enormously funny, and he lay back against Lizs pack for a good while laughing and coughing and then struggling to catch his breath, mouth too dry to swallow and the dryness of his throat making it difficult to stop coughing. Liz gave him a sip of tea and he sat up, wiping his eyes and huddling down in the bear hide,

suddenly very much aware of the cold, once again. Normal, huh? Havent seen normal for so long that I doubt Id recognize it, but Im still here, and definitely intend to be the same way in a few days, if at all possible. Im just awful glad to be down off that slide slope, and back here in the timber where we can maybe start getting ahold of some fresh grubmice, ermine, whatever we can come up with, then in a couple months the elk and bighornsll start showing up again to eat the new green grass out there in the basin, and we can have ourselves a real meal, cause well probably be getting mighty tired of living on roasted spruce bark and sunshine and last years old dry grass by then, just like the elk-critters, and getting awful hungry, tooyes. Need to get some snares set out, speaking of being hungry. And pick a spot for that cabin Im supposed to build you! Liz nodded, gave him some more tea and pulled the sagging bear hide back up around his trembling shoulders. She recognized the over-enthusiastic tone in his voice, the brightness in his eyes and a sudden energy that seemed to have come out of nowhere to animate weary limbs and push him to do things he was hardly ready for, had seen it before and knew it could not last. Watching him, she could only hope that this time the departure of the exaggerated energy would not leave Einar lapsing into the half-conscious state that he had so struggled to emerge from, back at their last shelter. His foot, she was sure, had to be playing a large role in the ill-advised flurry of activity that he seemed to have planned for the day--he must know, she realized, that such tasks would be difficult if not impossible for him for a number of days following the removal of the toes, if the last time was any indication. Such thoughts had indeed crossed Einars mind. The very clear knowledge of what he was in for when the matter of the dead and soon to be rotting toes became too pressing to put off was seldom far from the front of his mind, but more powerful that morning was a genuine enthusiasm at having not only survived the night and its dangerous descent, but having reached a place that would, by all appearances, offer them shelter and food and concealment for the rest of the winter, if nothing else went too terribly wrong. The place needed to be explored, its strengths and weaknesses weighed and a location for the shelter chosen carefully, with the thought that it might serve as more than a temporary stopping place, for once. Liz was trying to get his attention, and he looked up from the little patch of ground that he had been staring at, absorbed in thought. She had reheated the portion of stewed pemmican that she had saved from the night before, and was offering it to him. If youre going to do all of that work today, then you really need to eat, especially since you didnt, last night. Have some of this stew while I add chokecherries to the tea and let them soften. The boiled chokecherries really seemed to help you, earlier. Nodding his thanks, Einar took the stew pot and ate, the hurt of his refrozen toes still pushing out all feelings of hunger, but the tremendous weakness and heaviness that met his every effort at movement telling him that he had better try and eat, if he wanted to be good for much that day. As soon as the tea was finished they shared it, also, and when Einar next tried to rise he was pleased to find himself a good bit less dizzy, legs able to

support him, if barely. Whats new? I can work with this. Now. Time to explore. Up through the timber along the wall Einar limped and hopped for several hundred yards, studying the ground and gratified to find sign of rabbits, squirrels; they would eat. The short walk had, despite his enthusiasm, very nearly been too much for Einar, his exhaustion and the battering that each step gave his damaged foot weighing more heavily on him that he wanted to admit. He sat down heavily on a bit of exposed rock in a sunny clearing some distance above where they had spent the night, on the pretense of studying the sun angle and judging where along the wall their shelter ought best be placed, so as to remain concealed at all times of day. Falling through the small, densely-grouped spruces and firs in golden patches, the sunlight had finally reached their side of the basin, and it was warm on Einars back as he sat there leaning on his spear and staring at the wall before him, and the warmth made him feel sleepy. Fighting the sleep he redirected his focus to the wall, found that his eyes had drifted closed and lurched to his feet, determined to stay awake. You just woke up, you lazy sack of bones. Lets try and stay that way for a while. Need to look around and see about some snares, decide where to put them and then get it done, find a good spot and start cutting some branches for our bed tonight, get a place fixed up for a fire and stack up some rocks for a reflector so we can get more out of the fire Liz followed as he hobbled off through the timber in search of shelter, seeing that he was hardly able to keep on his feet but knowing that there would be little purpose in mentioning the fact to him. He would eventually either realize that he needed to stop or fall on his face, and she would be there. For the moment, though, Einar was still going strong, following the rocky wall in search of a better shelter and finally finding it not fifty yards from the spot he had picked out for the night The place was well protected, hidden, a slight cutaway existing beneath the overhanging wall of granite, the ground beneath it nearly snow-free because of the density of the timber, its shallow skiff of snow barely covering the tracks--marten, ermine, and those of a small, mouse-like rodent, which indicated that its human discoverers were not the first creatures to find the place desirable for shelter. All around the trees clustered thickly, swarming up nearly to the base of the wall itself, providing protection from the wind and a good measure of concealment, also. The broken escarpment of granite that towered above the area promised exit routes and future lookout points from which to watch not only the shelter but the entire basin. The place looked good. For a time Einar and Liz worked together on turning the newly discovered shelter into a good place to spend the night, rolling and carrying out chips and chunks of fallen rock to make more room beneath the overhang and cutting fir branches to insulate themselves from the cold ground when they slept. The spot was protected well enough from the wind by the timber that naturally crowded up against the wall that Einar saw little need to bother with propping evergreen boughs around it for a windbreak, at least for that night. The rocks that loomed above the shelter did appear quite well-suited to that purpose, though, and already he could picture a wall of timbers--de-branched trunks of a number of small, dead trees--leaned up against the low-sweeping overhang in the rock and intertwined with living branches and the lithe, flexible little willow wands that he knew

they would find populating the basin when the snow receded, forming a secure, weatherproof wall to front the stone shelter. Standing with his eyes half closed, leaning on his spear as he studied the place, Einar had even installed two small windows in the wall--their panes of thinned, greased hides or deer stomach membrane to admit light--by the time Liz stopped clearing the remnants of snow and ice from the shelter floor and spoke to him, thinking he had fallen asleep on his feet. Which he very nearly had, straightening up with a start at the sound of her voice and scurrying back to the work he had been doing with the bits of rock they had cleared from the floor. Arranging them on the out-facing side of the little firepit he had scratched and thinking a bit wistfully all the time of the fine stove theyd abandoned back at the den, he created a reflector with the intention of sending a good bit of the fires heat radiating back towards the rear wall of the shelter where it would be both absorbed by the rock for later release and reflected back at them for some immediate warmth. The ceiling--if you could call it that--of the little hollowed out spot was high, seven or eight feet near its center, as nearly as Einar could estimate, and he knew that its height would put them at something of a disadvantage when it came to heating the space. He supposed, though, that if they ended up staying for any length of time and found the height to be a problem, they could always lower the ceiling by placing timbers across it, supported by upright posts, and laying branches to create something of an attic space out of the top two feet or so of the shelter. Might even be able to store things up there, who knowsbut thats thinking way into a future we may not even have here! Just get this thing ready for the night, right now. For now, that is plenty. Was mighty cold last night and is bound to be even more so tonight, now that all of the clouds have gone. The fire pit and reflector were finished, for the time at least, were certainly adequate, the job having gone quickly with the plentitude of granite pieces that the area provided, and Einar, having hardly managed to warm up from the long night and further chilled from the long period of near stillness in the icy shadows as he pieced together the fireplace, rubbed his hands together and headed out into the sun of a nearby clearing, hoping to restore some function to his limbs before helping Liz gather firewood and preparing some snares. There in the clearing he found a low boulder, wide and nearly flat-topped, which lay covered in several feet of snow there in the brilliant sunlight of the clearing, and wishing for a spot to sit down for a minute, he cleared it and spread his bear hide cloak, fur-side up, for a seat. The sun, climbing higher and radiating in brilliant fullness through the tree-gap overhead was warm on Einars back, the air still for the first time since the storm had ended, and he sat there on the hide with his arms crossed and his head bowed, letting it begin to warm away some of the shadowed hollowness from his cheeks, breathing the good earthy smells of warming rock and trees as his trembling slacked off and finally ceased under its ministrations. After a while he lay down on the bear hide with the intention of letting the sun thaw his cold, aching legs some, lying there with his knees pulled up to his chest and soon growing immensely sleepy. Warm in the sun he slept, its healing goodness seeping into his marrow and giving him a deep, restful sleep that managed to obliterate for a time even the persistent agony of his damaged and dying toes, and Liz saw him, smiled, left him undisturbed as she went about her work. Einar woke a good hour later as the angle of the sun changed and left him partially

shaded by the nearby trees, chilled very quickly by its absence. His head felt thick and muddled with sleep as he sat up and drew the bear hide around his shoulders, eyes heavy, and he pulled himself to his feet, rather self-conscious at having been caught sleeping in the daytime when there was so much work to do, wondering where Liz had gone. Scanning the nearby trees he spotted her, a flash of movement in the timber above him catching his eye and materializing into the burnished black of a bearskin cloak when he looked more closely. She had a bag of some sort over her shoulder, as it turned out, and seemed to be collecting something from the evergreen branches--bits of dry kindling, perhaps, or vibrant green branch tips for tea. Pausing to scrape up a bit of slushy snow that clung melting to the side of the rock that had served as his bed and stuffing it in his mouth to help quell his sun-induced thirst he joined Liz, limping up the slope to her. Whatve you got there? She opened the bag, showed him. Usnea. We were almost out, and I saw that there was a whole bunch of it hanging from these trees. Thought we could use it for insulation, and with your foot Yep. Gonna need a lot of it here in a day or so when uhwhen I get around to dealing with the toes. And were probably going to end up stewing and eating a bunch of it before the winters up, too. Not real nutritious, but its got some calories in it and helps fill your stomach, make you feel a little less hungry, day to day, if nothing else. Were times when I was choking down a good bit of it raw just because I couldnt have a fire and was getting kinda desperate to fill the empty space in my stomach once in a while hopefully we wont be doing that. A lot more digestible when you steam it first, and a lot less rough on your stomach, too, if you can get most of the usnic acid out before you eat it. Shuddering at the memory of the long, cold days he had spent trying to live on the bitter, sickening stuff when his situation had left him, for one reason or another, unable to pursue or obtain adequate game the winter before, he hoped very strongly that they might not sink that low, before spring came. Either way, though, it could only be beneficial to gather as much of the stuff as possible when the opportunity presented itself--was going to need an awful lot of it to deal with the aftermath of the toe removal that he was trying so hard not to think about but knew was an unavoidable part of his future--and he joined Liz in the harvest. Stopping when they had a good bagful of usnea gathered and wanting to work on the snares while there was still plenty of daylight left, Einar and Liz stopped by the shelter for a quick snack of bear fat and chokecherries before taking the lengths of cordage and wire that Liz had been employing for snares at their last shelter, seeking out the rabbit trails and marten sign that Einar had earlier discovered and getting a good dozen snares and several deadfalls set out. Liz was having a bit of trouble with her hands, fingers still somewhat puffy and tender after the frost-nip of that past night, and she had to take care not to put much pressure on the bandaged thumb as she worked with the snares. Einar, seeing her difficulty and knowing exactly what it felt like from past unfortunate experience of his own, took on as much of her snare-rigging duty as she would allow him, glad but somewhat surprised that his own fingers seemed to have escaped harm. Feet were a different story of course, the left throbbing painfully but not, he was pretty

sure, suffering any permanent damage, and the rightwell, he tried to steer his mind in a different direction every time the matter came up, knowing that if ever he gave it his full attention, he might not have strength or focus to spare on anything else, for a good long while. He ought to be soaking it, he supposed, in water infused with one of their few remaining Oregon grape roots to delay the almost-inevitable infection for as long as possible, ought also to be drinking as much of a concentrated extract of the stuff as he could tolerate without leaving his stomach so upset that he could not eat, but more roots would have to be found, he knew, if he was to do so. Better get looking. Gonna need the stuff for wound washes several times a day for at least a couple weeks after this, and taking a significant quantity internally is really my best hope of helping myself avoid dying of a massive systemic infection after I make those cuts, as far as I know. Deep as the snow was there on the side of the basin, Einar had little doubt that he and Liz could find at least a few Oregon grape plants, the way they liked to grow near and even out of rocks all over the high country. Freeing the roots from the frozen soil might, he supposed, be a different matter entirely, but that could be dealt with when the time came. He wished they could get out in the basin and stomp around some in the snow, too, see if they could come up with a few patches of scraggly little alpine willow to take bark from in order to supplement what Liz already had in her pack, but knew it would be no use. He couldnt safely use a beneficial quantity of the blood-thinning salicin-containing stuff without putting himself at risk of serious bleeding when he dealt with the toes. Too bad. Would like to, but theres no point at all in hurting less if you bleed to death doing it, now is there? Maybe it would be safe to soak the foot in a strong solution of the stuff in the days afterwards, if its not looking likely to bleed too much, but I just dont know. Also dont know if that would be of much help, but I may end up trying. Einar was well aware that the task of removing the big toe would be much more involved, more difficult and also riskier, than the others had been. More potential for bleeding, a much larger bone involvedhe shuddered again, resumed his dogged, limping walk through the snow. Liz had been watching him as he stood, jaw set and a pained but determined look on his face, staring up at the nearby peaks, seemingly lost in some rather unpleasant thoughts. When she asked him what was wrong he just shook his head and grinned at her, said hed been thinking about looking for some Oregon grapes and maybe some willow, but that there would be plenty of time for all of that on the following day, hopefully. They had plenty of berberine left for that night, and the sun was beginning to approach the high wall of silver-white peaks that reared stark and sharp-toothed beyond the timber atop the western wall of the basin. Time to scrape up some firewood and go test out that new shelter, dont you think? See just how warm it gets in there with all that above and behind us, and the fine bit of improvised masonry work I did with that reflector. Gonna be a real chilly night, looks like, but I bet you we dont even need all the bear hides over us in that place, once we get the fire going real good! It was to be a while before Einar and Liz got settled in at their new shelter and tested out Einars firepit and reflector. Not far from the spot where they had been collecting usnea Einar began noticing a number of spruces with what appeared to be very freshly damaged

bark, the sap that had oozed from the wound not even having had time to begin drying yet, and he stopped to scrape some of it up on a piece of bark for later use. The making of the fire pellets before leaving the den, along with the subsequent boot repairs, had seriously depleted their supply of pitch, and Einar was anxious to replenish it. Pitch, he had come to be convinced, was one of the most versatile and universally useful substances to be harvested from the woods, providing the base for an adhesive that worked on everything from boots to atlatl heads, fire-sustaining properties that had more than once made the difference between keeping a newly started fire going and not, when it had really mattered, antiseptic treatment for minor scrapes and wounds, waterproofing material that could turn coiled aspen bark baskets into perfectly serviceable water vessels and keep the moisture from soaking into your moccasins and the rocks from abrading them so quickly, among other things. The more they could collect and carry, the better. The more Einar studied the tree-wounds as he worked, the more certain he became that they were very recent., days old at most, it appeared, and his stomach began rumbling at the thought of a good rich porcupine stew. There were no tracks, though, nothing but the occasional hint of a buried drag-way where the wide, squatty creature had dragged itself through the snow before the latest storm, and he supposed it might still be holed up from the recent wild weather. We can come back though, later. This is definitely the critters territory. He was getting cold, the sun gone from the immediate area and an evening breeze picking up and quickly stiffening his hands and reminding him that he had better try and eat a decent meal that night, in case the toes precluded such the following day. Chilled, his pitch-gathering efforts slowing, he was just about ready to begin heading down when he heard Liz make a low exclamation, wheeling around to see what the matter might be. She was standing beside a good-sized spruce some ten yards down the slope from him, and when Einar hurriedly hobble dot her side, it was to share in her delight at the discovery of a fresh porcupine trail, unmistakable in its wobbling, wiggling wideness. Excited, his weariness forgotten for the time and that pot of steaming porcupine stew so near he could smell it, Einar began following the trail as it lumbered its way from tree to tree. The creature had stopped now and then, it was plain to see, and climbed one tree or another for a snack, but as fresh as the trail appeared, no fresh snow, even blown into it to obscure the drag marks of the quills, it seemed there was no way it could be more than a few hours old. Liz spotted the porcupine first, walking behind Einar but scanning the trees as far ahead as she could see, the creatures rounded form standing out sharp and bristly against the snow that lay behind the spruce it was munching on. Quietly picking up her pace she laid a hand on his shoulder, gestured towards the animal. Einar grinned, spoke in a hushed tone. Well! Looks like dinner. You spotted it, want to do the job? How? The atlatl? No, no need. You just grab a heavy branch--this one here will work--then get close and

thump it on the head. Thats all it takes. Youll be fine as long as you dont get within range of its tail or body, and the critter will never know what hit it. Good hard crack on the top of the head. He handed her the branch, and Liz stalked closer to the feasting porcupine, keeping the tree between herself and its head in an attempt to remain undetected. The animal, whose vision was quite poor but its hearing a good deal sharper, did hear her moving towards it through the snow, backing down the tree with as much haste as a porky is able to muster. Liz saw what was happening, stopped trying to be stealthy and dived at it, leaving Einar to watch, concerned that she was going to throw herself on top of the spiky beast as it shuffled off towards the closest tree, and he might have made a move to stop her, had there been any chance of his reaching her in time. There was, in the end, no need, Liz having caught herself in time and circling around in front of the porcupine, whose quills were raised angrily by that time, to finish it off with the branch. When Einar reached her she was standing over the motionless creature at a respectful distance, branch raised but apparently uncertain what to do next. He took the branch, stepped closer and got in another good whack to make sure the job was done before pulling a bit of cordage from his pocket and tying the creatures front legs together, lashing them to the branch so that their quarry would be positioned for being most easily dragged back to camp, its quills not working against their efforts. The quills, Einar knew, were coated with a greasy substance that had been found, upon research, to contain a broad spectrum antibiotic substance that was apparently there for the purpose of preventing infection in the critter when it poked itself on its own quills, as frequently happened in falls from trees, and as he worked, his mind wandered back to the time he had taken advantage of those properties to save himself from what had appeared a certain and slow death from infected lynx scratches and bites on his arm. The arm had grown badly inflamed, red streaks spreading angrily up towards his elbow, and his chewing of Oregon grape roots--circumstances had not allowed a fire then, as it had been in the days shortly after he escaped from federal custody after his capture--had not been enough to halt the progression of the infection. He had found the porcupine, that time, dead in the snow and badly desiccated with age, little more than bones and quills, but he had collected and taken with him some of the quills, remembering about their antibiotic coating and hoping he might be able to scrape it off and use it as ointment to treat the scratches. The infection had progressed rapidly, though, and fearing for the arm he had cut the barbs from several of the quills and jabbed them into the worst of the inflammation--unwise, he had thought, even at the time, but he had been desperate-leaving them there for a minute before removing them and bandaging the area with some usnea. The quills had worked, or something had, because he still had his arm and his life, and the memory made Einar want to be sure and salvage at least some of the quills from that nights porky for future use. He wondered if a preparation could be made from their waxy coating to treat the remains of his foot after the toe removal. Have to think about thatbut for now, back to the present! A fine meal, Liz. Several of them, actually. You did real good. For a moment, staring at the deceased porcupine there in the snow, it seemed somehow just a bit wrong to Liz to have taken advantage of a creature that could be so easily

preyed upon and lacked a means of defending itself from such an adversary as semiintelligent two-legged beings armed with tree branches, but she knew that they were hardly in any position to be making such distinctions. Food was food, their supply was running short, and they needed to eat. Hauling the porcupine back, they traveled along close to the rock wall where the snow was a bit less deep, Einar, winded, pausing to rest once along the way. Leaning on the rocks, which sloped up somewhat less than vertically in that spot, he knocked away some of the snowy covering on the granite so it would not rise so deeply around his arms where he leaned catching his breath. In doing so, he discovered a small cluster of the familiar reddish-rust holly shaped leaves that were characteristic of Oregon grapes in the winter months, and he quickly brushed away the rest of the snow to reveal several of the plants growing from a narrow, presumably soil-filled crevice in the rock. He needed those plants, needed their roots to boil up a pot of good strong berberine solution to drink and in which to bathe his foot, and began gently wiggling one of them back and forth in an attempt to free the root. No luck. It was frozen quite solidly into the ice-hard soil, and a stronger effort on his part resulted only in the plant snapping off just above soil level, sending Einar tumbling backwards into the snow. Chagrinned, he spit out a mouthful of snow and struggled back into a sitting position, the Oregon grape greenery still gripped doggedly in one hand. Clearing the snow from his eyes, he looked up to see that Liz had scrambled back up the hill to join him--she had seen him go down, and though of course no harm had been done, it had looked potentially bad from where she was--and she stood staring at him with her hands on her hips and laughter in her eyes, shaking her head. Now what on earth? Just trying to pull some Oregon grapes here, butnot gonna work. Frozen solid. Have to come back later after we get a fire going with a pot of hot water, pour it in the crack and hopefully free the roots. Not before we have us a couple pots of good thick porcupine stew, though! And he hauled himself back to his feet. Supper that night was rich and good, the fatty meat, tasting rather strongly of evergreen but even that flavor striking the hungry pair as immensely agreeable, providing them with two full pots of stew before they stopped, hanging the rest of it for the next day. Einar had skinned the creature with care after Liz, wanting to spare him the work, had managed to stick herself with a quill in the webbing of her left thumb, necessitating a pause in the meal preparations while Einar cut the barb and pulled it out for her. No serious harm done, and he knew that she would be even more careful when handling the spiny, prickly critters, in the future. The stew finished and daylight fading fast, they backtracked their earlier path carrying a pot of hot water and with it loosening and thawing the frozen roots of the few Oregon grape plants Einar had discovered in the icy crevice, finally managing to free them with much wiggling and patience, washing them and boiling up a pot of strong yellow berberine solution. He drank a good cupful of it, wanting to get the stuff circulating through his body where it could help him fight off the effects of living with the bad toes, and in preparation for living without them. That inevitable event in mind, he took time that evening, warm in the still air between the wall and his fire reflector, to

boil clean a number of the sock strips that they had been using as dressings for his foot and Lizs blistered finger, hanging them to dry in the heat of the fire when he was done. The things had become rather stiff with all the repeated uses and boilings and would not, he expected, be the least bit comfortable in contact with the raw, mangled flesh that would surely be left after his clumsy work on the foot, but they were clean, at least, somewhat absorbent and certainly warm, and could be padded on the inside with the far softer and somewhat antiseptic usnea clumps. Good. It is good. All ready. Now to rest some, if you can, because this may be the last night for a while when youll be able to do much of that Before settling in to rest, though, Einar saw that Liz had prepared a batch of her chokecherry-bear fat ice cream, warmed and rather more like a pudding, this time, and he sat with her near the fire, their backs against her full pack and one of the split bear hide pieces over them for shared warmth, enjoying the rich, nourishing stuff and beginning to grow immensely sleepy despite the hurt in his foot. Liz, too, was having increasing trouble keeping her eyes open, and when she suggested they go to bed Einar had no objections. Warm, full of the most complete meal he had managed to eat in days and bone weary he lay down with her, spine pressed against her ribs as she held him for warmth and several fire-warmed rocks pressed into the hollow of his stomach, and he slept. Outside the protection of the rocks and furs and the close, tight-knit timber that served to further shelter Einar and Liz the night quickly grew frigid, stars standing out white and unmoving in an inky sky and a slow, icy breeze brushing the treetops with its fingers as it moved through the basin on its way down from the high peaks, dancing, swirling, singing its joy to the night. There in the shelter the sleepers were warm, heard the singing only in their dreams. Morning, and Einar knew the time had come. Knew it even as he lay there wide awake and staring out at the murkiness of coming day beyond the treetops, wishing he might go back to sleep for a bit and thus return to the unaccustomedly quiet, heavy darkness that had comforted him through the night, shutting out all dreams aside from those of the mountains, of the coming of spring. You must not, though. The time for sleep is over. He had, he told himself, got a good meal in him the night before, had rested, was as ready, physically, as he was likely to be in the near future, but even more pressing was the feeling in his head, heavy, slightly feverish, that told him he was on the way to being really sick once again if he did not eliminate the source of the infection. Everything was set, berberine solution prepared and put aside, an entire bagful of usnea collected for dressings, the sock strips boiled and their stock of blood-staunching dried yarrow checked and found to be plenty. Probably. He hoped. Freeing himself from Lizs arms he crawled out from beneath the bear hides and tucked them back in around her, stopping by the fire to poke and prod and breathe it back to life, adding a few small sticks and balancing a larger piece across those to sustain it for a time. Liz saw him leave, went on lying there and let him go. Creeping into the timber that so thoroughly shielded their little alcove he got the spear under him, used it to push himself up to his feet. Dizzy, awfully dizzy that morning, and his mouth was dry, fuzzy. Snow helped. Just a bit of snow to wet his mouth, and he limped out to the nearest small

clearing, sat on a rock facing to the east so that he might greet the sun when it came, planted his spear in the ground and leaned there grasping it in both hands, head bowed, asking for the strength to do what must be done. For some time he remained thus, still, silent, but not wordless, receiving in the silence his answer. The stillness soon had Einar chilled and shaking, the frigid morning air creeping in beneath the inadequate protection of his single layer and cooling his skin rapidly towards air temperature, his core beginning to sink also as the shivering tried but could not quite manage to keep him warm. He stopped himself, held his body still, setting aside the spear and breathing his temperature back up through a focused act of will and concentration that he had used to practice on a regular basis, back--it seemed--a century or more ago before he had been required to put his entire energy towards simply keeping body and soul together for one more day while at the same time outwitting his pursuers. It worked. He was warm again. Had lost much, but not everything, and the knowledge gave him solace. The sun was near. He could see its brightness begin to frame the spruce-tops away up on the spine, molten gold, alive, and soon to reach him. I thank You She found him out there, eyes closed, hands together, knew what he was thinking and sat down on a rock at a respectful distance, close enough to be heard when speaking softly but not, she hoped, so close as to intrude on his space, remaining silent until he glanced over at her. Please let me help you. I want to help you. He fixed his gaze on the ground for a time, jaw clenched, shaking his head. Looked up, eyes intense, piercing, ice-blue and, she thought, a bit more hollow and haunted-looking than usual, too. No. I am afraid. I dontknow that I wouldnt hurt you. Dont want to hurt you, and I dont trust myself, notwith whats going to be happening. Need you not to be there when I do it. I trust you, Einar. But if you must be alonelet me be just outside here, at least, close by? Just in case you end up needing anything He nodded, would have done something more to let her know just how terribly, achingly grateful he was for her understanding, her kindness, but he could not risk breaking his concentration by allowing his mind to go in that direction. Not just then. Ok. He rose, headed for the shelter. It is time. The fire was still going strong when Einar returned to the shelter and he saw that Liz had set some snow to melt, felt bad for keeping her from putting it to its intended use by requesting that she remain outside, and he called to her. Might as well go ahead and have your tea or soup or whatever this water was supposed to be for. Few minutes shouldnt make any difference

Liz poked her head in through the close-knit curtain of fir branches. The water was for you, in case you need it to wash anything, or just to drink for some warmth. I already had a pot of tea before I came looking for you this morning. Nodding, he grunted his thanks, Liz retreating once more beyond the edge of the shelter to give him the solitude he sought, though wondering at the same time whether he might perhaps be close to changing his mind, wanting her to stay but not quite sure how to ask. She doubted it. He had seemed very certain about the need to be alone, and she sat down in the shelter of one of the numerous small firs that crowded the area, wrapping up in the bear hide for the wait, knowing that there were any number of things she ought to be doing--checking the snares, for one--but wanting to remain close enough to hopefully be able to tell in time if something was going seriously wrong. She knew that in such a case--if she believed his life might be in immediate danger--she would, despite Einars clearly stated preference, hurry back in there to assist him however she could, hoping that he might later forgive the intrusion. Waiting, praying, Liz wished she could somehow give him a measure of her own strength to aid in the task, but knew that she was already doing all she could, under the circumstances. Spreading everything out on a rock beside the fire, Einar got out his second knife, the small folder that he had taken off of one of the dead agents months ago down in the meadow, and plunged the blade down into the coals near the edge of the fire to heat. He had done nothing, aside from the application of yarrow and a good bit of pressure, to reduce the bleeding when he had removed the other toes, and had consequently suffered enough blood loss to really slow him down, in his present condition. That had not even been ten days ago, and he knew that he could hardly afford another such loss, when he had barely even begun healing and regaining his strength from the first. There was a danger, he knew, in taking the heated knife in what were sure to be awkward, slippery, clumsy hands and attempting to cauterize with it, a strong possibility that he might end up slipping or misjudging and seriously burning the flesh of the toe stump, resulting in more dead tissue to host further infection, but if it was between that and potentially losing his life to blood losswell, he would just have to make the call when the time came. Unwinding the sock strips that bound his foot and gingerly lifting away the usnea dressings, the sweet sick stench that met Einar told him that he had been correct--or perhaps even a bit late--in his timing. The toes, though they seemed not to look quite as bad, yet, as the others had at the end, were definitely in a state of moist decay that he knew could only mean one thing, at least under the present conditions. They were poisoning him, had to go. Sitting there staring at the blackened, stinking mess that the end of his foot had become, Einar fought a growing melancholy that crept in quickly and with an alarming strength, whispering to him that this was it, he would never run again, would never climb, would be lucky to learn to walk without a serious limp, after the loss of that big toe, would be all but useless. For a minute he sat there staring, nodding, head heavy, sagging, and his heart even heavier, but finally he shook his head, straightened his back and began cleaning his knife. It isnt true, he told the vile, whispering voice, scolding it fiercely and himself even more so for listening to it, even if only for a moment. His friend Willis Amell, he knew, had been missing toes and had still got along

quite well in the mountains and on the vertical spires and walls of the Bulwarks, and well known mountaineer Reinhold Messner had become the first solo climber to summit Everest without supplemental oxygen and had completed numerous first ascents in the Himalayas and Alps, many of them solo, all after losing seven toes to frostbite on one of his first major expeditions. This is not the end of anything, Einar, except perhaps of your life, if you dont get the toes taken care of. Infections gonna spread, and could very well do so quickly enough that there would be little you could do to keep up with it. Now, enough procrastinating. Get started. Youll walk again, climb again, and soon, too. Scooping up a big handful of snow from just outside the protection of the rock overhang, he packed it in behind his ankle, remembering that a similar setup had seemed to help reduce blood flow and thus bleeding, the last time, also preparing and putting loosely in place a strap for a tourniquet, in case such became necessary. Situating the much-gnawed willow stick between his teeth--should have made a new one, not sure why Ive even kept this old thing--he carefully bathed the foot with berberine and then with a bit of the remaining whiskey from the flask Liz had salvaged, waiting until the intense sting had died down a bit--well. Had hoped there would be less feeling left in in these than there was the first time, but it seems the opposite is true--before doing some exploratory jabbing and poking with his fingers and the knife, hoping to do a better job of locating the toe joints prior to cutting than he had done, the first time around. He was still suffering the consequences of that bit of inexperience, in the slow and painful healing of the mangled stubs of the first three toes to go. Believing with a reasonable certainty that he had found the joints, he made sure the second, coal-heated blade was within easy reach, and positioned the knife on the first toe--he was leaving the big one for last, expecting more difficulty with it--slamming it with a good-sized chunk of granite atop the second joint. Success, white hot splinters of pain crackling across his vision, exploding in his head, falling audibly at his sides like so much broken glass, shattered, his world temporarily shattered, but he somehow remembered to breathe, brought himself back under some semblance of control and saw the toe, severed, the job done. And saw the blood. Pool of blood, small but growing rapidly. A good bit more than he remembered from the first time, though he had to admit that his memory of that event was a bit foggy, as feverish and sick as he had been, and he hurried to pack the area with yarrow, hoping very strongly not to have to use the tourniquet, as its use might well result in further damaging the entire foot. Pressing hard on the usnea-backed clump of yarrow and giving it time to work, hoping it would work, he was about to grab the knife and start trying to cauterize things when he realized that the bleeding had slowed, and he maintained the pressure, knowing that it would be a big mistake to ease off on it too early. He wanted to be done, though, wanted to finish the job, and could not think of a way to wrap the toe so as to maintain sufficient pressure while still leaving the big one adequately exposed, so he went on pressing, glancing around the shelter with dizzy, fevered eyes for some alternative. Yes, here, try this And he jammed the yarrow-packed stump up against a protruding spur of one of the rocks that he had placed around the fire to keep pressure on the wound, a muffled groan slipping out around the willow stick at the hot stab of pain this brought him but hoping, in a half-serious way, that it might help mask the hurt of the

second cut, the larger one. Now. Do it, before you completely lose the ability to concentrate A few breaths to steady away the shaking of his hands, and he was ready, joint found, knife placed, and the rock crashed down but something was wrong, the knife hadnt gone all the way through, seemed to have hung up somehow and he knew he needed to strike it again with the rock, tried to lift it only to have the thing fall most inconsiderately and inexplicably from his hand. He was feeling terribly dizzy and quickly growing faint, too, tried to breathe it away--glancing around all the time in search of that rock--but could not, saw that the pool beneath his foot was growing and dabbed feebly at the cut with a bit of usnea, could not seem to apply adequate pressure to make any difference, time to use that tourniquet, this is happening too fastbut when he went to grab the stick and tighten the thing he found that his hands were prickling, going numb, werent working right anymore, face seemed to be pretty numb too, all of a sudden, Ok, try something elsein trouble now Again Einar, hands slippery with blood and seeming to have lost all of their feeling, struggled to tighten the tourniquet, knowing that he had to get his bleeding under control before the continuing loss put him into a state from which he would be powerless to emerge. No success, couldnt grip the stick and he figured he had better go ahead and try to cauterize the deep, jagged cut in the toe, in that case, guessed it might be his only chance and he got his hand back around the knife, meaning to stick in in the coals, as he could not seem to see the one he knew he had left there, couldnt really focus on much of anything. Doggone eyes Clumsy, he knocked over the empty cooking pot as he reached for the coals, saw that he would have to scoot to the side to be close enough to reach them and decided that he would be better off trying again with the tourniquet than going to all that trouble when it seemed he could hardly remain sitting anymore, let alone haul himself around like that. Liz heard the pot fall and go clattering off across the rocky floor of the shelter, and something did not seem right about it. She had never known Einar to deliberately make that much noise, knew that he must either have fallen and knocked the pot over or perhaps even been trying to signal her. She hurried back through the trees that separated her waiting spot from the shelter, found Einar crouched there pale and sweating with his chin on his knees and an alarmingly large stain of blood beneath his foot, one hand on the knife and the other grasping a stick that he had stuck through the tourniquet-strap around his leg, seemingly making a great but unsuccessful effort to tighten it. One of the toes was gone, but the big one appeared only to have been cut about halfway through, and was the source of most of the bleeding. Liz knew that if she was going to help she must first get the knife away from him, for a number of reasons, knew also that with the amount of blood he appeared already to have lost, she must act quickly. Please let him recognize me Which he did, at least for the moment, tried to say something but it came out all muddled and she grabbed his wrist and took the knife; it was not difficult, as he had barely been able to keep his grip on it in the first place. Lie down Einar, and let me finish this for you. He did not respond and she pushed him hard, twisting the tourniquet stick at the same time and securing it in place with a quick wrap of the deerhide strap. He had lost the willow stick when he fell, and she helped him

get it back in his mouth, grabbing the blood-stained rock that he had apparently been using to hammer on the knife and engaging in a milliseconds-long debate over whether to finish removing the toe or simply leave it as it was, treat it as a deep cut and try to control the bleeding, but she knew that it would have to come off at some point, and saw no sense in prolonging Einars agony by waiting. Carefully placing the knife--it was difficult to see just where the cut might be, as bloody as everything was, and she had to pour a bit of water to make certain she was not about to start a second cut--Liz felt a brief prickle of warning and glanced up at Einar, who had managed to prop himself up on his elbows and was staring at her with bright, deadly calm eyes in which there was no hint of recognition, appearing ready to spring at her. She knew that even in his condition he could probably end her life in very short order if he was determined to do so, armed with the knife or not, and without further hesitation she grabbed the rock, not wanting to give him any more time to gather himself for such an action. One sharp rap to the top of the knife and it went the rest of the way through, Einar sitting bolt upright and grabbing her arms in an iron grip that left her unable to keep her hold either the knife or the rock. Let go. Youre bleeding. I have to stop the bleeding. He glanced at the foot, at Liz, and all the strength seemed to go out of him as he eased his grip on her, sank to the ground. Liz freed herself from his feeble grasp, swallowed the nausea that she felt rising in the back of her throat at the sight of the severed toes, the mangled remains of Einars foot, pushing the horror of it aside as she quickly packed the area with yarrow and usnea, pressing hard. Einar was staring into the flames, shaking, waving a hand in the general direction of the fire and she looked, saw the blade of the folder stuck in the coals, red-hot, and she used a sock strip to pick it up. She knew what he wanted her to do, dabbed the blood away and touched the hot metal to the areas that seemed to be bleeding the worst, Einar drawing in a sharp, hissing breath around the willow stick as she worked, having a hard time keeping still but somehow managing it; that was a smell Liz would not soon forget and one that Einar would spend more than one long night wishing he had never been reminded of. The bleeding slowed after that, and Liz was able to manage it with pressure and yarrow, finally deciding that it was well enough under control that she could release the pressure long enough to wrap the foot. Einar looked bad, pale and cold and only half aware of what was going on around him, and she knew he had lost what in his depleted state would have to count for a good deal of blood, dragged the pack over and propped his feet up on it, covering him with one of the bear hide cloaks and easing him a bit closer to the fire. He opened his eyes at the movement, tried to sit up but she gently grabbed his shoulders, held him down. No, dont get up. You lost some blood, need to stay down for a minute. Notdone yetLiz. Got to clean away the dead stuff. Foots gonna rot and fester and end up killing me if I dont finish this. Hands areuh He growled with disgust and anger at finding that he couldnt get his hand to cooperate, could hardly even close it around the knife, let alone hope to find it useful in debriding his foot, shoved himself up into a sitting position and sat there leaning so far forward that his forehead almost touched the ground. Hands arent much good, but if I waituhthings gonna swell up

and itll be harder to get all the dead stuff off. Ill do it. He nodded, handing her the knife. Got to take all the black off, leave any of it and itll just infect whats left of the foot. I may shout and hollerjust ignore it, sit on me if you got to, but keep going till you see good pink healthy stuff, then go a little further. Gonna bleed more but he shrugged, shook his head, stuck the willow stick back between his teeth. Liz got the remainder of the dead flesh cut away and then carved out bits of living, bleeding tissue at its margins, as he had told her to do, forcing herself to ignore his stifled groans and keep at it only with frequent reminders that the longer she took, the longer Einar would have to endure what could only be a tremendous amount of discomfort, that he could end up dying if she was anything less than thorough. Finally done, she quickly washed the foot in berberine, touched the blade of the smaller knife to one area that was showing a troubling amount of bleeding, and packed the wounds with berberine-soaked usnea pads, wrapping them tightly in place with sock strips. Einar was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with a vacant look in his eyes, didnt answer when she spoke to him. She wiped the sweat from his face, made sure he was covered well with the bear hide and added some wood to the fire, scooping up some snow in the empty pot and setting it to melt. He would be needing hydration after that blood loss, she knew, but was pretty sure that plain water might do him more harm than good if he had more than a few sips, as it would further dilute his blood when he was already low on electrolytes. He had to have something, though, and soon, from the looks of him, and all she could think of was to boil a few pieces of jerky and give him the broth. She wished they had some milkweed sprouts or other greens for the chlorophyll-it being chemically somewhat close to hemoglobin, greatly speeding up the recovery time from serious bleeding--but unless there was a spot where the snow had begun melting and exposing some bits of grass or other green, growing vegetation, she could think of no way to come up with any, just then. Giving the jerky several minutes to soften in the simmering water, she checked to make sure that the dressings on Einars foot had not soaked through, which, thankfully, they had not, and checked his pulse. It was awfully fast, she thought, his breathing frighteningly rapid, and she removed the broth from the fire, cooled it slightly with a bit of snow and brought it to him, raising his head and helping him drink as much as he seemed willing to take. He thanked her, lay back down. Rolling him to his side with one knee bent so he would be in a safer position if the broth ended up disagreeing with him and coming back up, she sat there with him, repositioning his foot on a rolled up pair of pants every time his squirming dislodged it, so that it stayed propped up to reduce the bleeding. Finally she rose, tucked the bearskins in closer around him and added another stick to the fire. Im going to go check the snares Einar, just a couple of the ones that are closest here. Some marten or rabbit blood in broth would probably do you a lot of good right now. Ill be right back, Ok? No answer, and she had not really expected one, but hoped he might

have heard her, anyway. Liz left the shelter, stepped through the trees and broke into a run as she emerged out into the clearing beyond the screen of firs that served as windbreak, dashed across the open area and sank to her knees beneath a scrawny little spruce. Resting her forehead on the trees rough bark, arms wrapped around it, she knelt there sobbing and shaking for several minutes, the horror of the morning just then really hitting her. Stop it, Liz. Stop it. Youve got to get back to him. Now go and check the closest snare or two and get back in there, before he decides to crawl away into the snow, or something. She dried her face, stood, still a bit shaky, and hurried up the trail to the nearest snare, hoping for a rabbit and suddenly finding herself overwhelmingly grateful for the secure spot that sheltered them, for the knowledge that they had no urgent reason to leave it. Please let it stay that way for a whilehe needs it, and so do I. Einar wanted very badly to get up, lay there staring into the fire with the thought that if he did not get to his feet soon and make himself walk, master moving around without the toes and regain his balance, he might never find the strength to do it. Might not find it, at least, in time to be able to travel if the need should unexpectedly arise. Which it always seems to. Growing increasingly agitated by that fact, all of the frantic energy and restlessness generated by the gnawing, twisting hurt in his foot and his own shortness of breath concentrating and focusing with a single-minded intensity on the need to be up and moving, he lay there squirming and twisting, struggling for breath, held back only by the knowledge that Liz had told him she would be right back, that she expected him to be there when she returned. It angered him, this conflict, and he hoped she would show up soon so he would be free to get up and go, kept telling himself that if she was not back in the next minute, or the one after that, he would wait no longer. Didnt know if he could wait any longer, as frantic as he was feeling, and thirsty, too, a terrible thirst that stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth and made him long to crawl over to the snow bank that he could see just beyond the overhang that created the shelter, lie there and consume handsfull of the good cold snow. And I will, in a minute, if she has not come back Minutes, though, had little meaning to him, dragged by and then sped up, wove and swirled themselves together in a confusing muddle as he lay there drifting in and out of sleep, and he remained motionless, indecisive, until finally the growing chill in the shelter replaced the need to move as the matter foremost in his mind. He was freezing, knew he needed to get more wood into the fire and finally summoned the energy to turn thought into action, shoving another stick into the dying coals, but it was not enough, seemed almost as though the chill was coming from inside him, couldnt be reached by the flames. One more reason you need to get up and moveneed to generate some heat. It certainly did not help matters any that he had forgotten to pull the bear hide back up over his shoulders after stoking the fire, had dragged himself partially off of the hide Liz had placed as a ground cloth, but the matter escaped his mind, and he lay there huddling against the rocky ground, trembling and sick as the ice crept into his bones. Liz was gone no longer than ten or fifteen minutes, having found a rabbit in the second snare she checked--fresh that morning, not yet even stiff--and hurried with it back to the shelter. Relieved as she was to find that Einar had not tried to leave, she was equally

concerned when she saw how he had crept out from between the hides. She could tell that he was very cold, and supposed that was the last thing he needed, at the moment. I probably should have stayed, shouldnt have left him until he had recovered some, but I really didnt know if he was capable of doing so, without something salty and full of minerals to drink And, though she hardly wanted to admit it to herself, she had needed to get away for a minute, had felt herself about to vomit or burst into tears or in some way lose control just a bit, and she had known that she must not let him see it, must not add to the difficulty of his own situation by causing him additional worry, like that. Lizs presence brought Einar back to some form of awareness, reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing, and he pushed himself to his elbows, grabbed for his spear and tried but failed to scramble to his knees. Breathless, shaking, he crouched there with his head down, waiting for the dizziness and the roaring in his ears to clear a bit before making a second attempt. She set the rabbit down in the snow just inside the shelter, went to him. Help me. Have to get up. His voice was firm, determined, if terribly raspy with thirst. Yes, here, Im going to help you, but youve got to lie back down or youll start that foot bleeding again, if you havent already. Come on. Right here on the bear hide, and Ill cover you back up. Nono, have to do it now, not gonna walk again if I dont do it now, got to get my balance back and Unable to finish the sentence, he sank back to the ground, lay there panting for breath as Liz gave him a sip of the leftover broth, covered him and sat with him for a minute as his breathing gradually slowed. She left, then, to scoop up a pot of snow for melting. We got a rabbit in one of those snares this morning, and Im going to make some broth real quick. You lie right there and rest while I do it. Therell be plenty of time for walking and practicing your balance, but only if you make it through the rest of the day, understand? Einar nodded. He did understand, in a foggy, half real sort of way, knew that with the sort of blood loss hed seen the best thing by far would be to lie still and rest, give himself a chance to begin recovering, but the logic of that did not ring nearly as loudly in his mind just then as did the fact that every time in recent memory when he had suffered a serious injury of one type or another, the situation had been such that to stop and give himself the time he really needed for recuperation would have meant almost certain capture or death. Though he wasnt reasoning through the situation in a great deal of detail just then, the cumulative experiences of the past two years had left him with a set of hard-wired responses that simply werent content with lying there beside a fire in a fixed location when everything in him screamed to be out there working to regain his mobility. Liz could see that he was struggling with something, growing increasingly restless, but she ascribed the agitation to the pain of the foot and his ongoing struggle to get enough oxygen following the blood loss, folded a corner of the bear hide and propped his head up slightly on it. That did seem to ease his breathing a bit, though she could tell from the look of near desperation is his eyes that something was still very wrong. Well. The broth is ready. It should help a lot.

Taking a swallow of the tangy, salty pink liquid herself to check its temperature and then enjoying two or three more gulps when she realized how great had become her own need for liquid between helping Einar with the toes and all the subsequent rushing back and forth that morning, Liz took it to him, propped him up a bit farther and helped him to drink. The results of the broth were immediate, as Einar felt its effects in a lessening of his dizziness, an easing of the crushing weakness that had all but pinned him to the floor and a great clearing of his mind--though it still held fast to the determination to try walking without further delay--and he thanked Liz, would have drained the pot had she not urged him to take things a bit more slowly. Ill make more. This is only about half the blood from that rabbit, so Ill make another pot, but how about you rest for a minute and let that settle, alright? He nodded, lay down, but Liz could see that the temporary improvement brought by the mineral-rich broth had left him fidgeting and antsy to be up and moving, and probably strong enough to do so, too, at least for a little while, in stark contrast to his situation several minutes before. She shook her head--cant let him do it. This new energy wont last, and neither will he, this time, if he doesnt take it easy--brushed the snow from her clothes and set another batch of snow to melt. Setting the half-emptied pot of broth within easy reach and checking to make sure the bleeding from his foot had not resumed, she lay down with him, hoping her presence might help ease whatever it was that seemed to be making him so unwilling to keep still. Lying there she talked, went on and on about anything that came to mind in the hopes of keeping his attention, but mostly she talked about the cabin he had said he wanted to build her, once they reached a spot where it seemed reasonable to stay. Pausing frequently to give Einar sips of the broth, thankful that he had finally stopped shaking and seemed to have calmed down some, his breathing and pulse edging down a bit closer to normal, she reminded him in detail of the sprucelog walls that he had said the cabin was to have, the light-admitting windows of stretched deer stomach, a rock stove for cooking and heat and perhaps even a sleeping loft, eventually Several minutes later she stopped, realizing that his breathing had changed, slowed a bit; he was asleep. Liz stayed with him for several minutes more, the nearness helping keep him warm and allowing her to keep a close watch on his condition, and when at last he seemed to be sleeping soundly she slipped out of the bed, returned to the fire for a few warm rocks to wrap up and slide between the hides with him. All right. Time to turn this rabbit into stew, and scrape the hide so well have it to use later. Sleep did not last long for Einar, the hurt of the missing toes jarring him awake after a few minutes, ripping him from the middle of a rather vivid dream that had started out well enough, the cabin described by Liz as he dozed off materializing before him in great detail, backed up, as it turned out, beneath the very ledge under which they now sheltered. A good place, and secure, plentiful water no more than fifty feet below in the little snowmelt creek that trickled its way cold and sweet and hidden through a bed of rock-interspersed spruce duff, fed through the summer by the melting snow banks away up on the basin wall and providing numerous watering spots for the deer and elk and bighorns that inhabited the high country during the warmer months, as well as a host of

smaller game, and he turned from the creek and stared up at the sheltered little cabin, hidden from the air in its rocky little alcove, in amazement. Home. The place was home, and it was his, and Lizs, the two of them having built it together through the early part of the spring and secured it against the next coming of cold weather and the coming ofof a child, and soon, he realized, seeing Liz there in the doorway, their child, and for the first time the contemplation of such a possibility brought him joy, rather than dread, and he went, hurried up through the timber to meet her. He never made it to the door. The chopper was on top of them almost before they heard-how?--it, rotors pounding the air and kicking up a blinding spray of dust and spruce needles, roaring in their ears; they had been discovered, footprints in the late spring snow or the mud, even, giving them away and turning their refuge into a death trap as the enemy moved in on the ground with a speed that left them no way out. Fire and death and the smell of burning flesh as Einar fought them with explosives--pre-placed, effective, but not enough, there were too many of them--and atlatl darts and finally, desperately, with his spear, leaping on one of them with the intention of disarming the man so he might himself obtain a better weapon or two to carry on the fight, to give Liz a chance, he had to save Liz, had to give her time to get out, cover her as she went, if she would go, you must go, listen to me, you must, for both of you, but it wasnt enoughjust wasnt enough, and the smell was still there when he woke, the odor of charred flesh hanging faintly in the air, but doubly vivid and fresh in his mind. He was confused, sat there rocking back and forth as he tried to sort out the horrific melding of memory and nightmare and premonition that had made up the dream--he wanted to pick it apart, sort out the pieces, understand it, but wanted even more to forget the whole thing--scrubbing his face with his hands in a desperate attempt to get that smell out of his nose, out of his head, but without success. Liz was there, then, kneeling beside him and trying to assure him that there had been no helicopters, no low-flying aircraft of any sort that morning--he had been mumbling about them in his sleep, shouting at her to take cover--that they were alright, were safe, that he could lie back down. It took a long time but finally he was able to do so, spear at his side and knife concealed beneath the bear hide, and Liz stayed with him, making sure he got some more of the blood broth. She wanted to ask him about the dream but did not, having learned that it was usually a mistake to do so; he would talk about such things if he wanted to--which he seldom did--in his own time. The stew that she had started was nearly ready, then, and she added some bear fat--rabbit being very lean that time of year, almost entirely without fat--and a few chokecherries, bringing the pot over to Einars bed of bear hides and sharing the meal with him. The way his foot was hurting he could not manage much of the stew, but even a few bites of the good rich stuff went a long way towards making him feel a bit warmer and more steady. He sat up then, leaning on the pack and raising himself only a bit, as his head began splitting and his heart doing strange things whenever he tried to get too upright, the ensuing dizziness leaving him without a clear idea of where the floor was. Not good. Keep drinking that broth. Youd be in a real fix if you had to get up and cover ground right now, wouldnt you? Huh. What were you thinking earlier, with those grand plans to go out and walk a couple miles just to start getting your balance back? Cant even sit up straight. Have toah!doggone

footwish I could stick it down in the snow till it gets numb for a while, just for a few minuteshave touh He lost his train of thought for a minute, his entire leg seeming to burn and cramp with the hurt radiating up from the toes, and Liz watched him, wishing she knew how to help. Yeah. Have to drink as much of that stuff as I can today, see if I can beat the dizziness down some and hopefully manage a little walking tomorrow, because this sure wont do. Wont work at all. Sitting up was not working particularly well, either, at the moment, the dizziness returning and his head and hands feeling awfully cold and numb all of a sudden, and he rolled to the side off of the pack, getting his head back on the ground just in time to avoid blacking out. Liz was urging him to sleep again, covering him up with the hides and bringing him another warm rock for heat, but he just lay there staring into the fire, turning this way and that in an attempt to find some relief, the remains of his foot throbbing and aching terribly, echoing in time with the stabbing between his eyes, a result, he knew, of the blood loss, and one that ought to subside after a day or so. Which at the moment seemed to him like an awfully long time, and he wished very strongly that he might be alone so Liz would not feel a need to try and do anything about it. He was not alone, though, and Liz saw his struggle, wanted very much to keep him from descending into the delirious haze that had gripped him for a time after the removal of the first toes, nearly ending in disaster when he mistook her intentions in cleaning the toes and came--she later realized--to see her as his captor, as someone who stood between him and freedom. Which was, she knew, a very dangerous place to be. He couldnt have willow, though, because of the risk of resumed bleeding, and in its absence she was not sure how best to help him, and she would have gone about her business and let him be as he seemed to prefer, had she not been so concerned that she might come back to find that he no longer recognized her, possibly even looking at her as a threat that must be eliminated. So, she sat with him, offering sips of broth when he seemed awake enough to take them and working to keep some warmth in his icy hands, occasionally pinching a spot in the webbing between his thumb and index finger that she had often seen him use to relieve minor pains of one sort or another. It seemed to help some, allowed him to relax for a few moments now and then, and for a while she spoke as she sat there, describing to him about several more ideas she had thought of to improve things around their soon-to-be cabin, how they could dig out a small area near the creek once the snow left and line the resulting depression with rock slabs to create something like a springhouse, where meat and other food items could be kept fresh during the heat of summer--he had smiled a little at that, wondering if she realized that as high as they were, there was hardly such thing as the heat of summer--maybe even building it a stone roof to keep out scavengers but still allow water to flow through underneath, and though Einar nodded and agreed that the springhouse sounded like a great idea, Liz eventually fell silent. She could see that he was disturbed by her mention of the cabin, his face growing dark and the tossing and fidgeting worse, and she supposed such talk must be making him feel badly that he was not able to get up right then and start working on the place. The day wore on, a pale winter sun moving across the clear sky and providing a temporary if slight warming between what promised to be two bitterly cold nights, and Liz began thinking that she ought to take her leave to check some of the other snares on

the chance that one or more of them might contain an edible critter of some description, which she was certain would be claimed by scavengers if left overnight. Einar was lying there in the same half-asleep state in which he had spent most of the early afternoon, and she was glad that he had finally decided--or been forced by circumstances--to stop fighting to rise and move around. The stillness should have at least minimized the additional bleeding, even if he had been prevented by the gnawing hurt from getting much real rest. Several times she had checked the dressings to make sure they were not beginning to soak through, and before heading out to take a final look at the traps before evening came she glanced at them again, saw that a bit of blood was beginning to ooze through in one place and bound a clump of fresh usnea in place to stop it. She wanted to change the dressings and wash the foot, but knew that to do so that soon after the operation could mean disturbing whatever clots had formed to halt the worst of the bleeding, and Einar could hardly afford another episode of bad blood loss, at that point. Tomorrow I will change them. He had groaned and twisted away from her touch as she bound the fresh usnea in place, before returning to full wakefulness and propping himself up on the backpack. Sorry about the grumbling. Didnt mean to growl at you like that. Still leaking? Just a little, nothing too serious. And youre not grumbling. I just wish there was something more I could do to make this a little easier for you. I know its been pretty rough today Responding with his best attempt at a grin, he sat up, grabbed the pot that held the remains of the broth. Nah, hurts less than the frostbite didor it will, in a day or so Im hoping. Anyhow, Ive seen worse. She shook her head, smiled at him. Well, Ive no doubt you have Hey, I need to go check the rest of the snares, if you think youll be Ok alone here for a while. It wont take me long Ok alone? He growled, sitting up straighter and glaring at her, what does she think I am, some sort of helpless crippled critter that cant fend for itself for a couple minutes? Ha! Now whatever would give her that idea, the fool girl? Ok alone? Of all thehuh. Guess I been doing way too much moping around today, giving her the wrong idea. Thats got to change, for sure. No denying, thoughshes really gone out of her way to keep me breathing, these last few hours. Guess I ought to try and let her know I do appreciate itsomehow. His eyes softened, a hint of a smile twisting one corner of his mouth. Yeah, Ill be just fine. You go. Maybe therell be some supper waiting. Liz went, first securing from Einar his assurance that he would not disappear while she was gone, and she believed him when he insisted he would stay put. Despite the difficulty he was having with the toes, the persistent restlessness and his obvious distress on being wakened by a dream from his brief nap--I do hope that isnt going to start happening again every time he sleeps--he seemed to be holding his own for the most part against the confusion and delirium that she knew waited to claim him. He said he would

be there when she got back, and she believed him. Watching Liz disappear through the firs Einar lay there for a minute, rolled to his stomach and half-crawled, half dragged himself over to the spot where Liz had left the rabbit carcass sitting in the snow for freshness, carrying it back to the fire. The spiky porcupine hide sat rolled up just inside the entrance and he paused to stare at it, thinking about the antibiotic qualities in the waxy coating on the quills and wondering if he might benefit from scraping each of the quills and trying to collect it, mixing the results in with the cottonwood bud salve with which he intended to treat the foot wound as it began healing. Might help. Sitting propped up on his side against the pack, curled partway around the fire for warmth, he cracked the rabbit bones and some from the porcupine and put them in the pot of snow Liz had left to melt, wanting to have some broth ready when she got back, on the chance that she found all of the snares empty. She was working hard, harder than he was able to at the moment, and he figured, as cold as it was out there that day, the least he could do was to have some hot food waiting when she got back. Was the most he could do, too, it seemed, judging by the overwhelming dizziness that came over him as he stirred the heating broth, a sudden bitter coldness at the back of his neck a blurring of his vision as he collapsed back onto the ground beside the fire. Well. Lot of good you arebetter tomorrow. Gonna do better tomorrow, gonna walk And he slept, waking a few minutes later to fumble with the broth pot and slide it back far enough from the fire so that it wouldnt boil dry, just managing to drag the bear hide up over his shoulders before passing out again. The snares were empty, all of them. Liz saw few signs of game at all as she walked the circuit; it was as if everything, aside from the single rabbit she had secured earlier, had remained sleeping, not thinking the brittle, frigid sunlight of the day worth venturing out in, and she supposed the cold must have pushed them to take refuge in their dens and burrows. The discovery, though not entirely unexpected, scared her some, left her wondering just how long it might be before they were left to boil usnea for their meals as Einar had mentioned doing the previous winter, if the cold snap continued. And she wondered just long Einar could practically be expected to live on such fare in his current condition, if and when it became necessary. Silly question. Seems he can live reasonably well on cold air and snowmelt water and the occasional grub worm or bit of spruce bark when he has to, and hes always reminding me that hes seen worse thanwhatever were going through at the time, but right now he really needs good, nourishing meals on a regular basis if hes going to recover from this and start getting stronger like he needs to do. Help us, please, to find enough And in answer the thought came to her very strongly that they would have to go down lower, a few thousand feet lower where there was more game to start with, but she doubted he would be willing to consider such a plan, as Einar had not shared with her his previous thinking on that matter, his resolve to seek out the bounty of a nearby river valley, before he saw Liz go as hungry as he had last winter. Down in the valley, the searchers were growing anxious about the coming of spring. The snow was beginning to melt from some of the south facing slopes, breezes that could

almost be described as warm swirling restless and promising along the river, and it was nearly calving time on the ranches that lined the highway where the valley opened out a bit up towards Clear Springs. Spring, as those who knew the area were well aware, was still months away in the high country; after above average snowfall that winter the ground would be covered well through the end of May, and that was if there was not another big dump or two, as was more common than not in March and April. The agents knew that as the snow diminished, they would lose the one advantage theyd thought they had over their fugitive--that of the snow, the cold, the barren harshness of winter in the high country. The winter weather, they knew, would have to be making his life more difficult, constricting and slowing travel and making his tracks far easier to spot if he did happen to venture into their search area, which he hadnt seemed to do for quite some time, much to their dismay. Pursuing what had seemed like a sensible strategy after the disastrous series of avalanches that had claimed the lives of so many agents when their high canyon camp was buried, they had studied the area closely, mapping out what appeared the best winter water sources and the migration paths of the larger game, the spots where the elk wintered and waterways that were large enough to potentially keep from freezing over and thus offer easy fishing opportunities. Those areas they had monitored, setting up remote camera and sensor-equipped surveillance stations, but had seen nothing of interest. The fugitive had, from all appearances, simply vanished into the thin, cold air after the avalanches and the destruction of their camp. There had been sightings--potential sightings--of clues, anomalies, patterns in the wilderness that did not appear quite natural, including the time when a spotter had noticed an odd, trampled-looking effect at a snowy cattail marsh, seeing no elk or other tracks that would have explained the sighting and thinking it worth a second look. They had made a second flight two days later, but had seen nothing to warrant going in on the ground, and after thatnothing. Not a clue, not a sign; he was gone. Many had wanted to believe their fugitive dead at that point, a victim himself of one of the slides he had started--though his body had never been found--or perhaps of the bitter, crushing cold that had followed the lifting of the storm after the last slide, but they knew better than to assume such. He had surprised them before. Some agents wanted to send out ground teams again to scour the high country, but the Agent in Charge refused, uninterested in losing any more of his men to the hazards of terrain and weather that made those mountains appear so forbidding to the uninitiated, not infrequently taking the lives of even experienced backcountry skiers who happened to make a simple miscalculation or two in judging the slide potential of a slope before heading across it. That danger, the AIC knew, was only increasing with the spring conditions that prevailed in the mountains, and he ruled out any further ground searches, unless there were solid clues that needed further investigation. He was, unlike his predecessor Toland Jimson, a cautious, deliberate man. For the time, the searchers had to content themselves with continuing to watch the monitoring stations in the hopes that something would show up. The agent in charge was hopeful. Winter had been long, would not be over for many weeks yet, up high, and everyone was aware that the first and only time they had got their hands on Asmundson, it had been early in the spring, also, when hunger and cold and the stresses of trying to make it through a long, exhausting winter in the high country with inadequate supplies and preparation had apparently got the better of him, and he had

made his way to the valley in search of something to eat. The AIC was a patient man. He could wait. Time, the subjects past history and the weather were on his side, as far as he could tell. Another big snow, the third in a series that had rolled through in recent weeks, was predicted for that weekend. Liz did not want to return empty-handed, continued exploring through the timber that followed the creek-path even after she had checked the snares, hoping perhaps to see a grouse or ptarmigan or to find some sign of martens or other small predators that might indicate to her a favorable location for setting up a deadfall or two. She had brought along the rabbit gut for the purpose of baiting such a trap--the other internal organs had all gone into their stew, as she knew they could hardly afford to waste any edible part of the creature, at that point. Finding nothing to indicate the recent presence of marten or ermine, she finally settled on a protected area beneath the heavy timber along a section of rock wall and set two deadfalls, anyway, building cubbies of evergreen branches to ensure that any animal that came along would have to brush past the trigger stick before reaching the bait. The two traps were not much but were something, at least, added just a bit to their chances of taking some game over the next days, and to her chances of getting ahold of another few furs to scrape and soften and sew onto the bottom of the marten and ermine pants she constructed while at their last shelter. The garment was warm, was proving to be a tremendous improvement over traipsing around in the deep snow and wind with a single layer of polypropylene or, worse, cotton, as they had been doing before, and she was especially glad to have them now, to help keep Einar a little warmer as he lay immobile in the shelter and very prone to becoming dangerously chilled after his blood loss. She had left the pants with him, glad when he did not make a fuss and insist on sending them with her, as he had in the past. As weary as he was and as distracted as he had to be by the hurt of the foot, hard as he tried to keep the fact from her, she doubted he had even realized he was still wearing the garment. Thats best, because he sure doesnt need to be wasting his energy arguing with me over silly things like that right now, but I would have insisted he keep them. Hes going to have a hard enough time doing any healing just dealing with the way that foot is hurting him, and it would really help if he doesnt have to be fighting the cold too hard, at the same time. I dont have all that far to go, and there will be a good warm fire waiting for me when I get back, so I really didnt need the pants on this trip. Now if only I was bringing something to cook over that firewell. Well have a good stew for tonight at least off of the leftovers, and maybe by tomorrow something will have found its way into one of these snares. On her way back Liz paralleled the big meadow, making her way through the lower edge of the timber that lined the creek-path and exploring the vast whiteness of the basin, stark and empty but for the tops of a few stunted, wind and snow twisted trees that protruded here and there from the snow where some rocky little outcropping thrust its way up out of the sameness. Those little tree islands, she supposed, might conceal ptarmigans or other small creatures that could provide them with a meal, but she doubted Einar would want her tracking the place up to reach them. We may not have much choice here in a few days, if these snares keep turning up empty. Though I really dont know why I would

think game is any more likely to be found out there than it is here, where the timber is so much heavier She sighed in frustration, turned back up into the trees. Pulled frequently from a light, exhausted sleep by the gnawing in his foot--felt like the toes were cramping up now, too, the missing ones, and he knew that was to be expected, knew it would take the nerves a while to realize that the toes were no linger there, but was finding it to be a good bit worse than it had been, the first time around--and by a persistent thirst that he could not seem to get rid of, Einar kept the fire going. Lying there beside the flames, he added snow to the broth pot from a pile he had dragged over from the entrance until, slowly, the pot was nearly full of melted snow and simmering rabbit and porcupine bones, stirring in bits of bear fat now and then and leaning over to breathe its steam whenever he felt the cold beginning to get the better of him. The times when he was awake to notice it happening, at least. More often than not he simply woke shaking and freezing from yet another brief nap to drag himself over closer to the fire and cover up with the bear hide as he huddled over the coals, warming. During one such incident, more fully awake than he had managed to be previously--frequent sips of that bloodbroth really seemed to be helping with his ability to stay alert for longer stretches--he thought to wonder how long Liz had been gone, looking out and seeing that the sun had gone from the treetops. It had still been up when she left, shining on the narrow slice of the spine that he was able to see through the trees from where he lay, and Einar supposed that at least an hour or two must have passed. The sky was still clear but there was a change coming, a not quite definable differentness that he could feel in the air around him, confirmed by the way the treetops swayed and jerked restlessly, betraying a slight but growing breeze. A storm was coming. He knew the signs, knew that if the coming storm followed the pattern of recent weeks they might be in for a good two or three days of heavy snow and violently gusting wind, weather in which it would be unwise to venture any further than they had to from shelter. He saw that they had nearly used up the firewood that Liz had gathered earlier and wanted to do something about it, but knew very well that hed be doing neither of them any favors if he started himself bleeding again. So. Figure out a way to get out there and gather some wood without busting loose those clots againwhich probably rules out anything that involves standing, at least for today. Too bad we couldnt have just sewn that thing shut to lessen the problems with bleeding, but with all the infection that was in there, would have been a real bad idea, even if it had been possible. Which it wouldnt have been. With all we had to cut away, wounds too wide to stretch the skin over it, by far, and Im not about to go cutting some skin off the back of my leg or something and trying to graft it on thereheh. Real bad idea, out here What would we have used to sew it up, anyway? Deer sinew? He shuddered at the thought, picturing how the stuff would have likely cut and chafed at the skin edges as it dried, and found himself almost glad trying something like that had not been an option. The wound would need to be left open for a time, he knew, so it could be cleaned and monitored and hopefully prevented from becoming infected again, and thenhe supposed it would heal over, eventually, though the area would probably always be something of a mess, and he wished he still had some hounds tongue to make a healing, comfrey-like wash for it, which would have encouraged and sped up healthy cell growth.

Well, we dont. And thats enough of this. Back to the firewood. Aware that much of the dry wood that was easily accessible in the area consisted of dry, dead branches in the undermost parts of the little firs and spruces there around their shelter, he knew that it ought not be necessary to stand, even, to retrieve a useful amount, draped one of the bear hide cloaks over him and carefully eased his bad foot into the bear hide overboot, began scooting towards the edge of the sheltered spot. Lacking the strength to hold his leg up away from the ground for long at a time he solved the problem by crossing the ankle of his injured foot over the non-injured one to keep it somewhat elevated and protected, and dragging it along with him. The marten fur pants kept him dry as he scooted along in the trail Liz had left through the snow, stopping at the trees he passed to break off as many dry branches as he could reach. Hed taken along the deer hide--stiff almost to the point of brittleness and useful, he figured, for a sled, if he ended up finding that much wood-and unfolded it on his lap, piling it with sticks and branches as he went. No more than a minute or two into his firewood expedition, Einar began growing terribly dizzy again but he fought it--could really use Your help here, not gonna go too well if I pass out in the snow right now--lowering his head and taking big breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heart, but nothing was working, and he finally allowed himself to lean forward and rest his crossed arms on the good-sized pile of sticks he had collected, laying his head down for a minute and thinking of little aside from his own breathing, the rush and roar of his heartbeat in his head. Well. Better make sure you havent started bleeding bad again, becauseit kinda feels like it. Which he had not, much to his relief, but the faintness would not go away, and he decided to try and work with it as well as he could, finish gathering as much wood as he could haul in one load. Finally, the deer hide stacked high with branches and a sharply bitter wind gaining strength and beginning to chill him almost to the point of immobility even under his cloak he got himself turned around with some difficulty and headed back to the shelter, laughing at himself when he saw how little distance he had covered on his trek. Fifteen, twenty yards maybe, and youre all wore out. Well. At least you made yourself somewhat useful, and nowoh here comes Liz, so youd better scoot faster. Shes gonna be a little aggravated to see you out here like this But it was too late, she had already seen him. As Einar had guessed, Liz was not particularly amused when she discovered him floundering around in the snow outside the shelter, clearly very cold and appearing to be having some difficulty staying awake. He had thought himself to be getting along surprisingly well, all things considered, and was reasonably proud of his load of firewood, but Liz apparently did not see things the same way. She didnt say anything though, simply grabbing him under the arms a bit more abruptly than he might have preferred and speeding up his slow, scooting progress for the shelter. Once inside she helped free him of his burden of firewood, staring at him for a second and shaking her head before helping him prop up on the backpack near the fire and stoking the coals with several of the dry sticks he had collected. Well, it looks like you came back here with more than I did, this afternoon. The snares were empty. All of them, and I didnt see too much sign that anything had been stirring out there, either. Except for an ornery, pig headed old furry critter of some sort--looks a

lot like a mostly starved bear but hasnt got half the sense of one--that clearly doesnt seem to understand the meaning of stay in the shelter and rest! Now let me see that foot. Are you bleeding again? I certainly wouldnt be surprised if you were, jamming it into the overboot like that and dragging yourself all over creationI thought you said youd be here when I came back! Quiet for a minute, worn out from the exertion of hauling himself through the snow and breaking off all those branches and genuinely a bit befuddled at the strength of Lizs objection to his activities, he tried not to smile, seeing that she was taking it all very seriously. Iwas here. Am here. Storms coming, figured I might as well see how far ahead I could get on the wood gathering. Thats all. Wasnt trying to go anywhere. Not surprised about the snares though. Never warmed up at all today, critters just decided to stay holed up, most likely. She nodded, unable to refute his reasoning but still angry with him, yes, I had guessed that about the snares, eased the overboot off and undid the top layer of sock dressing with which she had bound his foot, relieved to see that the blood had not yet soaked through the top layer of usnea; nothing catastrophic, then, but no thanks to you! Watching Liz and sensing that he was still in some sort of trouble, Einar kept quiet while she wrapped the foot back up, wanting to cry out when she cinched the final sock strip down around the foot to hold the dressings in place but managing to avoid it. She was done, then, and he sat there catching his breath as she unloaded the firewood from its deerhide sled and broke the branches into serviceable lengths. Made you some soup. He finally spoke up, indicating the pot on a rock near the fire. Nothing fancy, but if youre cold from being out there in the wind Bustling around for a minute more, not quite through being irritated with him yet, Liz finally sat down and grabbed the pot, took a long breath of the steam and tasted the thin broth, smiled up at him from behind the raised pot and offered him a drink. Yes, I think were both pretty cold from being out there in the wind. Thanks for the soup. And its good that you got the firewood. Youre right, you didnt really leave, you were here when I got back just like youd said you would be, butI had hoped that you would actually rest. Sleep. Let yourself start recovering from this morning, if you could. I was, he wanted to tell her, thats exactly what I was doing, in the only way I know how, but he kept quiet, nodded, and she continued. The weather does seem to be changing, though. Ill go bring in some more wood right after we eat. If theres going to be a storm, dont you think we ought to do something to close off the front of the shelter a little more, so the wind doesnt gust in here too much and get snow all over our bed and everything? It doesnt look like much ever accumulated in her so far under the overhang and with the firs to protect the place, but we did have to scrape some snow aside, and it would be a shame for everything to get wet because we didnt put up a snow shield of some sort. Yep, good idea. If we could cut some little firs, live ones, and stick them in the ground

out there just where the overhang ends, prop them up against it and weave some branches in between them horizontally to help hold everything in place, that ought to make a fine wind and snow barrier and keep this place pretty cozy through whatever storms coming. That quartz-head axe I made a while back ought to be decent for chopping those trees as long as you choose real small diameter ones, but even quicker might be to just put some pressure on them, bend them part way over, and use that tension to make the most of a few quick chops with your knife. Or with mine. Its more suited to the purpose, and Ill send it with you if you like. Guess Id better sit this one out, cause I dont want to get clunked in the head with that rabbit stick of yours, and I know Id be inviting just that if I insist on coming along Oh, youve got that right! Dont you even think of leaving this shelter again until youve got warmed up and had a few hours sleep. That, and drunk another gallon or two of broth so your blood can start building back up. I heard you talking to yourself earlier about how you want to get up and try walking tomorrow, and how do you think youre ever going to manage that, if you dont take things a little easier, today? Ill get those trees. Several of them. But first lets finish eating, and then Ive got something to show you. While Liz had found the snares empty and had not come across any ptarmigan or grouse she could take on her way back up through the timber, she had stumbled--quite literally-across a mostly-buried thicket of mountain rosebushes, gathering as many of the remaining rosehips as she could access in a reasonable amount of time. They were, it seemed, quite soft when she thawed one in her hand and she thought they smelled slightly fermented, too, but supposed they still ought to contain useful vitamins and would still be a valuable source of sugar, so she had gladly carried back the two hands full of the small orange fruits that she has been able to harvest. Spreading the shriveled rosehips out on a rock, she showed them to Einar. I dont know if theyre still good for anything, but the tea seemed to do both of us a lot of good last time, so I brought them. There are more where these came from I expect, if we want to dig them out or wait for the snow level to go down a little. Crushing one of the rosehips between his fingers, Einar smelled it, popped it in his mouth and grinned at her. Fruit! Just what we needed, even if it isnt quite fresh. Yeah, we can still use these. Been too cold for them to rot, just a little fermentation going on here, if anything, but theyre still good and sweet and ought to make a fine tea. If there are any left by the time were ready to make tea And he snatched up two or three more. Hey, are you planning on eating them all right now, or what? Here. You can have half of them if theyre tasting good, but lets use the others for tea, some for tonight and the rest to save. Einar laughed at that--almost--for the first time that day, keeping several of the rosehips Liz had given him but pouring the rest back on her rock. Nah, you keep them. Id end up with one awful case of the runs if I ate all those in a sitting, and they Id have to drink two gallons of broth every day rather than one, just to start catching up. So the rose hip

supply is safe, at least from me Good! Ill make us some tea after dinner tonight. Now. Its starting to get dim out there, and Id better hurry up and get those little firs if were going to put up this snow shield before dark. Dont go anywhere! And she shook the knot-ended rabbit stick at him threateningly and with a ferocious look in her eyes that left Einar unsure just how serious she might be about using it on him, but not feeling especially inclined to test the matter. She returned a while later dragging three small firs, none more than eight feet tall, behind her, leaning them up against the overhang, tossing a big armload of loose, bristly branches into the shelter and returning for more before the darkness that was settling over the basin became complete. While she was gone Einar--the effort taking all the energy he could muster; he was tremendously weary, the foot hurting terribly, despite the semicheerful attitude he had tried to maintain with Liz--scooted over to the growing windbreak and began weaving in the extra branches, filling in gaps as he wound them in between the slender trunks of the little trees and wrapped them around and through their boughs. Darkness was just descending as Liz returned with the second load of saplings, the wind beginning to lash the nearby treetops and the first few hard, dry flakes of snow beginning to fall, driven nearly sideways by the gale. As the evening wore on, Einar and Liz were both to find themselves very glad of the additional wind protection offered by the newly-added screen of saplings and branches, the brutal gusts that tore and scoured across the basin finding their way in through even the naturally dense shield of firs that encircled the open end of the shelter to chill them as they sat close to the fire. Several times after she had thought the job done Liz got up to re-arrange a branch or two, weaving it in more tightly to block one draft or another and scurrying outside to hastily kick some snow up against another portion of the wall that seemed to be admitting a good bit of air, but before long the blowing snow took care of that problem for them, plastering the interwoven barricade of saplings and branches and all but sealing it off. The fires smoke--most of it--still found its way up along the ceiling of overhanging rock and out the wide gap they had left between rock and tree-screen, keeping the air in the shelter mostly clear and breathable. Waiting for a second pot of broth to begin simmering to readiness by the fire--they were re-using the previously boiled rabbit and porcupine bones, lacking anything else--and shivering as the newly protected shelter started retaining more heat, they held each other close for warmth. Einar was barely able to keep himself awake and Liz, too, was quite worn out after the long day of tramping through the snow that had followed the tense moments that morning when she had found him nearly passed out with his toe halfway off and a big pool of blood beneath, and had needed to finish the job for him, unsure how he would react but knowing that he was in immediate danger if the bleeding was not stopped somehow. It had been one of the most difficult things shed ever been faced with doing, as far as she could remember, but he seemed to have come through it more or less alright, though very weak from blood loss and at times appearing to be in a great deal of pain still, and as she sat there with her arms around him and her face buried in his hair--you ought to have your hat on, you knowyoud warm up a lot faster with your hat on--she gave thanks

that she had somehow found or been given the strength to do it, prayed that his recovery would be quick and without further complication. They were content then with each others company for a time, curled up in the warmth of the fire with the wind blasting through the trees outside, allowing the cares of the day to ease just a bit. Einar, though, was not able to enjoy the reprieve for long, as after a few minutes of stillness he found himself feeling once again the full effect of his missing toes, squirming and twisting and finally taking his leave of Liz to crouch trembling on the far side of the fire, staring into it and struggling to restrain himself from pounding on his bandaged foot with a rock in an attempt to ease the hurt, or at least change it. Sparing the foot, he slammed the rock into a larger slab that made up part of the floor, its impact throwing shards of granite and splitting the slab. Liz did not follow him, was reluctant to disturb him at all but finally scooted a bit closer, concerned that he was going to harm his hand with his repeated slamming of rock against rock. Einar. Here, give me that rock, let me help you, how can I help you? Unwilling to release his hold on the rock, he did stop beating it against the ground for the moment, clenching it instead in his fist. Bent wrong. Doggone big toes bent straight up and back over the top of my foot, I can feel the tendon tearing but I cantahcant get it straight He had raised the rock again, appeared ready to bring it down on the offending foot with a good bit of force, and Liz took his hand, eased his fingers open and tossed the rock aside. Grabbing both of his hands to keep him from getting ahold of another rock she held them tightly, pressing them between her own. No, no Einar, its gone. The toes gone I know, I know, itsbut I can still feel it and Im telling you the durn things bent clear backwards. You betteruhbetter get away from me, dont touch me right now, Ok? Which she did, releasing her hold on his hands and hurrying back to the fire, where she grabbed the pot of simmering broth, knowing that she had to try and distract him somehow, and quickly, before he did the foot any further damage in his attempts to straighten out the non-existent toe. Broths ready. Here. Taste it for me and tell me if you think it needs some of those rose hips. Its a little thin since this was the second time we boiled those bones, but once we add some bear fat it ought to be a pretty good meal. Here. Taste. You know, weve got one packet of pemmican left and a bag of chokecherries, too, but I was trying to save those as a backup in case were ever out traveling for some reason or get stranded for longer than we had anticipated during a storm, but we can go ahead and use the pemmican tonight, if youd rather That was enough; she had his attention. No, save it. Smart to have a backup if you can. Never know what can happen, and there were sureuh doggone toe! Sure wish shed leave me be so I could try and straighten it out, but I cant let her use up all the pemmican, so sure were some times last winter when I wished I had been able to put a little something aside, just came clean

to the end of my rope, was freezing and way beyond hungry and didnt see how I was gonna keep going without a bite or two of something. I did, butyeah, save the pemmican. Well do alright on that broth, tonight. And yes. How about adding a few rosehips? Help the taste some, and that orange pulp would be pretty good to eat, mixed in with the broth and fat and marrow bits in there. It had worked, her plan; the toe was no longer foremost in Einars mind as he sat there breathing the good, warming steam from the broth, helping Liz scrape the seeds out of rosehips and drop them into the pot. It did not take long and, the task finished, Einar glanced up gratefully at Liz. Thanks. Needed that. What? Job to do. Get my mind off that toe for a minute. Its a little better now. Good. But Einarthe toe is gone. I dont see how it can hurt like that when its gone, so it must just be the stump Oh, sure it can hurt when its gone. Nerves are still there, and theyre all torn up and confused about the missing pieces, and send all sorts of messed up signals to my goofy brain. Happened with the other toes too, but for some reason not nearly this bad. Got to convince some part of my brain that the things really gone I guess, and then maybe itll stop getting all bent out of shape and making me feel like somebodys tearing my foot apart like this. Guess if its still happening in a few days after things start healing over, Ill try and find a way to convince myself of that. I remember hearing about somebody whod lost a hand and had terrible cramps all the time in the missing handwell, they set him down at a table and had him lay both arms out flat, set up a mirror between his arms so he couldnt see the damaged one, only the whole one and its reflection. Then when the missing hand started to cramp up theyd have him make a fist with the whole hand, and slowly unclench it while he watched himself do it in the mirror. Well, it tricked his brain somehow into thinking hed finally been able to unclench the missing hand, and the cramps went away. I dont know for how long of course, and we dont have a mirror, anyway, so I guess Im just gonna have to imagine it, and see if my brain will believe me. He stopped, staring at the ground as another wave of pain gripped his non-existent big toe, twisting and pulling it back over the top of his foot again. Well. Easier said than done, maybe. Well see. Einar was quiet then, completely worn out, very nearly falling asleep where he sat until Liz brought him the pot of finished broth, enriched with bits of bear fat and tasting faintly of half-fermented rose hips, a fine meal, but not nearly enough of one, and Liz dreamed of bread as she ate, loaves of bread fresh and hot out of the oven, steaming as you cut into them and releasing the most marvelous yeasty alive odor, the pieces spread with great lumps of butter--or perhaps even bear fat--and apricot jam before being eaten... Einar dreamed only of being able to keep down his portion of the meal, swallowing the nausea that came along with the twisting and gnawing in his foot and crouching there with his chest on his knees as he ate, breathing slowly and keeping his eyes averted from the fire,

whose dancing and jumping seemed to be making it more difficult to suppress the queasiness. He managed it, just barely, finishing his portion and helping Liz break up some of the firewood and pile it within reach of the bed before curling up on the deer hide with his back to the flames, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Liz joined him, checking to make sure the dressings on his foot had not soaked through and getting the two of them covered with the yearling hide and the drier of the two split bear hide cloaks, wishing that their current shelter contained the good dry heaps of duff that the last one had. The added insulation to pile around and over them would have been a help; the night was turning bitterly cold outside, frequent tendrils and wisps of the icy wind finding their way in through the loosely woven, mostly snow-plastered front wall of the shelter to dance over the fire and pry at their coverings. They were reasonably warm, though, lying curled up together near the fire with its heat radiating off of the back wall and ceiling of rock, and it was a good thing, too, as hungry as they both remained after their meager meal of broth. Einar woke hungry, stiff with cold and plagued with a headache that no amount of broth could quite seem to shake sometime in the dim hours early the next morning, foot throbbing and promising worse as soon as he got up and moving, but despite the discomfort he lay there smiling into the darkness. He had slept. Good, sound, quiet sleep without memorable dreams that had come to him after many hours of lying there half awake and hurting as the fire died down the evening before, and he was terribly grateful, lay there taking in great breaths of air so cold that they caught a bit in his throat--no wonder I cant quite seem to move my legs, its really freezing in here--and pressing himself closer to Liz, who lay warm at his back, breathing softly, her arms around him. Though he could tell that the dizziness and weakness of the past day would likely return rather quickly and in full force as soon as he rose and tried to demand any useful movement from his weary limbs, he felt wonderfully relaxed at the moment, refreshed in mind and soul if not in body. Cold, though, too cold--he hastily tucked his nose back beneath the bear hide, beginning to shiver--and he knew that he must soon move, get the fire going again so he could begin to warm up. So they both could, as he felt the tension in Lizs body, as well, the growing tremors that were trying to warm her in the frigid morning, and he realized to his chagrin that she had given him the more generous portion of the bear hide coverings, by far. No wonder youre cold. Shouldnt have done that. He could feel her ribs, too, sharp and clearly defined where she lay pressed against him, knew that her face had been appearing progressively more hollow over the past days, her eyes sunken, shadowed--he knew the feeling all too well--and it pained him to realize the extent to which the conditions were affecting her. Got to find more food, Lizzie, for both of us. Still got a lot of winter to make it through before the snow starts leaving, and the occasional porcupine or rabbit is just not going to do it, especially as we start to run out of that bear fat to supplement things with. Were gonna have to go down lower, arent we? Down and look for a river or a big creek thats not quite frozen over, and hope to find us some wintering elk or deer, trap some beaver and set snares for the smaller game that shows up at the water. I dont want to do it sure dont want to do it, rivers been nothing but trouble for me since this search started and I dread having to spend time down near one while its still going on, but

Squirming, he tried to share the hides more evenly with her, but it was difficult to do, the way she was hanging onto him. Ok then, time to see what happens when I try to get moving, I guess. Dizziness, that was what, and it knocked him flat on his back on the cold hard rock floor, disoriented, holding himself rigid against the re-awakened hurt of his mangled foot. Alright, a little worse than I expected, buthey, breathe, why dont you? Helps when you remember tobreathe. Right. Better. Now, roll over and try it again, and make sure you keep the ground under you this time. Yeah, keep the ground in its place. Liz was awake by that point, her sleep having been fairly light in the morning chill, and she sat up and felt around for Einar a bit frantically, her first thought being that he must have got up and gone outside in the storm for some reason known only to him. She found him quickly, though, crouching, to her relief, mere feet from where she lay, and she hurriedly scooted over to him, draped one of the bear hide cloaks around his shoulders. Its weight unsteadying him again, he sank back to the ground--aw, now whyd you have to go and do that?--where he lay catching his breath as she poked around in the fire, finding some still-glowing coals and coaxing it back to life. By the time Liz had urged a few flames out of the coals, dull, reluctant, starved for fuel and hungrily attacking the brittle spruce sticks with which she fed them, Einar had got himself sorted out one more time and raised up on knees and elbows, the heavy bear hide cast aside as he fought to keep himself upright. Shivering his way over to the fire he sat there with Liz, kneading purple hands back to life as the flames grew and began to pierce the frigid hold that the night had gained on the shelter. Liz left the fire briefly to scramble over to the entrance and scoop up a pot of snow for melting, pulling a bear hide section up over their shoulders and covering their knees with another. Well, you were right about a change in the weather, thats for sure! Its freezing out there! And in here. Way below freezing, actually. Are you alright? Here, let me see your hands. They look pretty cold. Eh, theyre fine. I sleptpretty good. Pretty warm. Good night. Yes, I could tell, because you actually kept still for most of it and didnt go jumping up and scrambling for the door every time the wind gusted in the trees outside. That told me you must either be having a very good night, or be dead, and I was so worn out myself that I decided Id just wait and find out which, in the morning. He laughed--knew it wasnt true, had been aware of her checking his pulse and rearranging the hides many times during the early part of the night--surprised at her sudden finding of humor in the situation but heartily approving. Huh. Wasnt too sure how itd turn out myself, at least for the first half of the night. Sorry to disappoint you, butstill here. Was just getting up to work on the fire, but you beat me to it. Well, I heard you crashing around out here and had to get the fire going so I could see what you were up to. And it was getting a little too cold to go on sleeping in here, anyway. Yes, itll get that way when you end up piling all the bear hides onto one person during

the night like you did. Next time keep some for yourself. Im kind of an arctic critter anyway, dont mind doing a little freezing now and then. Youre no such thing, far as I know, though youre doing awful well out here for not being, but you better keep some of the covers from now on. I wasnt so bad off Yes, you were, though Im sure you wouldnt have recognized it, as tired as you were when you finally flopped down last night, and I certainly didnt want to wake up this morning to find you frozen solid, or whats left of your foot frozen solid Ok. I wont do that anymore. Maybe we can just pile some hot rocks around the bed next time, and keep us both a little warmer. Now, how about some rosehip tea? Ive just about got it ready. They shared the pot of tea, listening to the wind whistle through the rocks overhead, singing and sighing among the little trees that surrounded them, and Einar, curious, finally crept to the opening at the front of the shelter and stuck his head out in the hopes of being able to determine how much it had snowed in the night. Well over a foot, from what he could tell in the still-dark morning, and when he returned to the fire his hair and beard were plastered with snow. Emphatically shaking his head--and regretting it the next second as a wave of dizziness almost spilled him to the ground--he shook free most of the snow, wrapping back up with Liz in the bear hide. Good bit of new snow out there, and looks like its still coming down pretty hard. Shelters all covered over, snow stuck to that fir branch wall several inches thick from what I can tell, wind blowing straight at it and packing the snow in. Wed have been dealing with some major wind gusts all night if you hadnt built that thing. Good call. Have to take another look when its light and we can see more than a few inches out into the woods, but it sure feels like this storm may be here to stay for a while. Doesnt seem to be winding down. Figure were in for a few more hungry days before the critters will really start getting out again. Were down to the one packet of pemmican, arent we? Yes, just the one. And we have a little jerky, just a few strips of it, three of the dried chokecherry patties, a handful of dried serviceberries, some lily and spring beauty roots that you had set aside in that little rawhide bag, and maybe five pounds of bear fat. Thats it. Einar thought he heard a bit of fear in her voice as she said it--he was right, but the fear was for him, not for herself, as she sat there wondering how he was ever to begin recovering from his blood loss and the impact of losing the toes, on such limited rations--looked up quickly at her and smiled. Well, thats not bad. Lets save the pemmican and try to use the jerky real sparingly, see how we can do on bear fat and some boiled up usnea for a couple days here, add some of the berries into each batch for sweetener and a little starch. Weve got lots of usnea. And something else we can do once this storm calms down some is to go out and cut some good sized patches of bark out of some of the bigger spruces around here. Not enough to kill the tree, just a patch here and there. I roasted that stuff last winter, just crisped it over a fire to turn it into something a person can actually chew, and I ate it. Pretty sweet, seems a little starchyanyway, its something. Kinda kept me going for a while. Well do alright. But he spoke with a good deal more confidence than he felt, knowing that

neither of them possessed the kind of reserve that would allow them to live well or for particularly long on such fare, especially once the bear fat ran out. Well probably be heading down before the week is out, if the situation doesnt change much in the meantime. He shook his head, poked at the fire. Want to avoid that, please, we really got to avoid that Einar lost track of time then for a bit while staring into the fire, preoccupied with his hopes that they might find a way to avoid what increasingly seemed like an inevitable excursion to lower ground, and trying at the same time to breathe his way through a particularly vicious cramp in his absent big toe. It was over, finally, the tendons having been ripped loose after much effort on the part of whoever or whatever was so terribly twisting and bending the thing--so it felt--and he let his eyes fall closed, head down, getting his breath back. Liz, who had been worried about him but had also learned better than to break his concentration when he seemed so focused on something, put a gentle hand on his leg. Foots bad? Not so bad, notquite as bad as yesterday, I guess. Better change the dressings though. Think the worst of the bleeding ought to be over by now, and the things gonna start festering if that old blood stays in there for too long. Good thing its cold in here, or I guess it already would have Liz melted another can of snow as Einar worked to unwrap his foot, going slow lest he start it bleeding again. As it turned out he neednt have worried too much, as the wounds showed little inclination to begin bleeding, showed, he thought, fewer signs of life than he would have liked, but there was no obvious sign of infection, either, and he supposed the cold night must have left him with less blood flow to his feet, in general, explaining the way the foot looked. Easing the last of the usnea loose with the help of some barelywarm berberine water, he dabbed some salve onto a fresh pad and sprinkled it with a bit of the bright yellow antibiotic solution before pressing it into place, lowering his head against the blackness that welled up before his eyes at the pressure, split with bright flashes of light. Well. Not as bad as what I had to do yesterday morning, for sure. Just get it done. Liz wanted to help him wrap the foot and he let her, leaning back on the pack and staring at the fire-flickering ceiling as she worked. He had her bind the foot up tight, but not so tight as to limit circulation to the area, which he knew was critical if he wanted the wounds to begin healing. It was beginning to get light outside by the time they finished, a light that seeped pale and hesitant and grey through heavy layers of cloud and falling snow, and Einar grabbed his spear--he had to do it, had to get started--crawled to the low entrance that Liz had left when weaving the front wall of the shelter. Heading out for a while. Wont go far, just be right here in these trees in front of the shelter. Time I get back on my feet, start working on my balance. Liz wanted to stop Einar from leaving the shelter, could hardly stomach the thought of him stomping around out there on his mangled foot in the storm, as he seemed determined to do, but knew she must let him go. He had insisted from the first that he intended to be up and walking the day after removing the toes, and it was, she supposed,

for the best, as long as he did not start bleeding again. The longer he sat around, she knew, the weaker his leg--both of them, actually--would grow and the more difficult would be the process of getting himself going again, complicated as it would be by the changes to his balance. So she watched from the entrance as he pushed his way through the drift of snow that had accumulated against the front of the shelter and hauled himself to his feet to stand there swaying and shivering in the wind, and she insisted that he wear the wolverine fur hat, since he had protested that the bearskin cloak was too heavy and would probably keep him from standing at the moment, let alone doing any walking. Einar accepted the hat, turned and limped through the screen of small, close-growing firs that stood in front of the shelter. Movement proved to be excruciatingly difficult for him that morning, the weakness of his second significant blood loss in so many weeks combining with the pain of putting any weight at all on the raw, inflamed flesh of his foot to make him wonder after the first step or two if he could possibly manage to take even one more, let alone walk any useful distance. He did it, though, setting his jaw against the hurt and pushing forward step after step as he negotiated his way around firs and spruces, trying to keep the shallower snow beneath the heaviest of the timber but still finding himself at times sinking past his knees in the grabbing, exhausting whiteness. With the storm had come a cold front and temperatures were frigid that morning, the air catching in his throat as he began breathing a bit harder with the effort of walking and little gusts of finely powdered, wind-driven snow blasting him in the face and finding their way in beneath his the single layer of clothing he wore on his top half to melt on skin that was already nearly numb, and if he had possessed any concentration to spare on the matter, Einar would have wished very much that he might have been able to stand up beneath the weight of one of the bear hide cloaks. As it was, though, he hardly felt the cold, his entire attention being consumed by the immense effort that each step seemed to require. After traveling no more than ten or twelve yards he turned around, headed back in his own tracks, frustrated with his lack of strength and with the pain, but satisfied for the time simply to be making any forward motion, however slow and cumbersome. Liz, watching as he struggled back towards the shelter, could see that it was far more painful for him to push his way through the deep snow with the damaged foot than it would have been simply to take careful steps on level, snow-free ground--this is ridiculous. How is that foot ever going to heal if he insists on breaking trail with it like that--and she determined to do something about it, wanted to trample and level a path for him through the trees so that he could focus on getting his balance back and perhaps finish his walking sessions a bit less desperately exhausted and hurting than he appeared to be at the moment. To her dismay, though, he did not end his labors upon reaching the firs, turning instead and beginning a second repetition of the course, grey faced but with a steely determination in his eyes that told her nothing would have been accomplished by questioning his decision. Three times Einar repeated the sequence, and would have tried for a fourth--five had been his original, arbitrary goal--had not his legs begun to betray him so badly. He could hardly keep to his feet by the time he reached the far side of the third circuit, shaking and straining and hanging onto the spear with both hands just to remain standing, and he had to rest against a tree for a minute, sinking to his knees and leaning on it, before he could find the strength to finish. Many slow, brutal steps later he

arrived dizzy and shaking at the dense growth of evergreens that separated him from the shelter, and knew that it would be foolishness to push himself further, just then. Hed done what he had set out to do; he had walked. That was it, then, the end--at least until the next time--and he brushed his way through the fir-screen and walked into Lizs waiting arms, allowing her to give him a bit of help as he stumbled back into the shelter. Inside, relieved to be out of the piercing wind but too beat to remain sitting by the fire where Liz had deposited him, he collapsed flat on his back on the floor, grinning at the ceiling through purple lips with a weird, triumphant intensity. Seeing that Einar was starting to shake uncontrollably as he cooled down from his exertion, Liz helped him up onto the deerskin ground cloth and tucked one of the bear hide cloaks around his torso, adding a couple of warm rock to help keep his temperature from falling too much farther. The walk had cost him, had drained away all of the meager strength he had been able to muster and had left his foot aggravated and hurting worse than it had since shortly after the removal of the toes, but it had been worth it. He had walked, knew now that he could do it, had proven to himself that as long as he was willing to pay the price, he ought to be able to regain both his balance and his strength, work himself back to the point where he could once again move through the rough terrain of his mountains with something approaching his former ease and ability. Awful long way from here to there and its gonna be one rough trail to walk but Im used to rough trailsonly kind I know, really. And itll get easier as my blood builds back up and Ive got a little more energy to work with, and as the foot healsbetter check the foot now I guess, make sure Im not bleeding out or something because Im not sure Id notice right now that I was feeling any different, before it was too late, worn out as that little walk left me Liz had already thought to check, though, was easing off his overboot and inspecting the dressings, which showed pinkish where the foot had inevitably oozed with the use, but there appeared not to have been any serious bleeding. Einar thanked her for checking, sat up, resting his chin on his knees and rubbing hands that had grown stiff and immobile despite his mittens. Well. If I can do that two, three times a dayfour, even, may be able to get somewhere. He shivered, accepted the pot of tea she was trying to press into his hands. Little chilly out there. Storms pretty well entrenched, too, looks like. May bewith us for a while. Yes, it does look that way. But weve got plenty of firewood here for this morning, and Ill go get some more soon. I guess theres no real point in going to check the snares today, is there? None. Nothing will have been out on a night like that last one. We canstart some usnea boiling, use it later in soup, and later if the snow slacks off or you just want to get out for awhile, we can try roasting up some spruce bark like I was talking about last night. Add some bulk to things. The usnea takes a while, usually needs a water change or two before you get enough of the usnic acid out to make it really palatable, though like I told you, there was a time when I was eating an awful lot of it raw, just to have something in my stomach. We dont have to do that, can boil it. The water we boil it in

would make a great wash for my foot, since that usnic acid is pretty strongly antibacterial, but its gonna be hard to save it, since we dont have a third pot. Guess I need to get started on making another coal burned bowl to replace the one we had to leave behind in the den. That would give us more options, for sure, and maybe keep my mind off this doggone foot, too. Toes arestarting to cramp up pretty bad again. The missing ones. She watched him for a minute in silence as he struggled to get the hurt under control but decided to step in, as she was coming to see that--though most times he clearly would have preferred to be left alone--distraction of one sort or another seemed to be the most helpful thing for him, when he was feeling pains from the missing toes. Here. She collected several of the larger aspen chunks that she had dragged in earlier for the fire, spreading them out in front of him. Would one of these work for a bowl? It would be a long, shallow bowl, but could hold about a quart of that usnea water if we got it deep enough. He nodded, picked up one of the split logs. This one. Ill start on it. In a minute, justa minute or two. Doesnt feel like I have quite enough extra breath to do any coal burning, just now, but give me a minute, and And he sat, sagging, resting, head down, breath coming hard, until Liz took him by the shoulders and guided him to lie down. He did not resist, asleep before she could even get him covered up. Sitting there beside Einar as he slept Liz kept the fire going and started a pot of usnea boiling, pulling coals from the fire and starting work on the aspen log. Directing a constant stream of air onto the coals that she had placed neat the center of the split log, she watched them smoke and begin to bite into the wood, creating a ring that started as black and then went to orange as the heat increased, growing and finally growing black again as the coals expended their heat and died. Time for new ones, but first I need to scrape out the charred stuff. Staring into the flames as she scraped, Liz listened to the wind mourn through the rocks outside, slamming the trees as it passed, and she dreamed, thoughts turning to summer, to long, warm days in the high country, the drone of bees and flies in the still, sunlit air, of working with Einar--she glanced at him, face gaunt and mouth a thin white line as he struggled even in sleep with the hurt of his foot, please get better Einar, please live-picking berries and drying venison on great racks in the sun, preparing an abundance for the winter to come. Working, they would rest occasionally from their labors, lying among sweet, soft meadow grasses dotted with lupines and fireweed and the countless other alpine wildflowers whose lives were as brilliant as they were brief in the short high country summer, and they lay watching the clouds together, watching how the wind gusted across the grass and painted it with flowing waves of light, the warm, spicy scent of sun on spruce needles carried to them from the nearby woods She shook her head, sat up straighter and roughly brushed away the tears that had for some odd reason welled up at the vision. Back to work. Einar stirred, sat up and looked at her strangely, seeming almost to have heard her thoughts. The snow did not stop. Had not stopped when Liz ventured out an hour later in search of enough wood to keep their fire going through the cold of the day, and still had not let up

when Einar finally managed to scrape himself up off the shelter floor and head out for his second walk. It had taken a while, sleep trying repeatedly to claim him as he lay there watching Liz work on the coal-burned bowl, and he had at times given into it for a few minutes here and there, always awakened after a moment or two by his foot, and kept that way by the knowledge that he was overdue for his second walk of the day. Going, finally, he discovered that Liz had worked on his trail when she went out for firewood, apparently going over it many times until she had trampled out and packed a good wide path for him. The continually falling snow had already begun to fill it back in here and there, but the advantage was still tremendous, allowing him to focus on the placement of his foot and on getting a feel for what his balance was going to be like without the toes, instead of having his entire attention consumed with punching and pushing his way through the deep snow, as had happened the first time. As helpful as the good trail was, the fact that he did not have to work as hard also caused Einar to become chilled far more quickly in a wind that had not calmed down any since that morning, and which seemed to him a good bit colder, too. Still, he managed to pace out his three limping circuits of the little path, adding a fourth in at the end out of sheer orneriness and because he figured that he might as well get as much out of the expedition as possible, seeing as he was already bone-cold and crusted with snow and wouldnt likely end up too much more so, by remaining out there for the extra ten minutes that it would take him to walk the path one more time. The foot still hurt with each step, but so great was the relief of no longer having to use it as a blunt instrument to force his way through snow drifts that he could almost set the fact aside for the time. Almost. What he could not set aside was the immense weariness that seemed to be weighing him down even more heavily than the first time he had gone out that day, and though he was sure the walking would have to be helping some with his balance, he highly doubted that it was strengthening his legs at all, as he had hoped. Not likely to, either, until you get ahold of some better food sources, and put on a little weight so your body doesnt have to keep eating itself just to go on functioning, trying to keep you warm enough to stay alive Well. This is good enough, for now. It is enough. And its sure a whole lot better than yesterday, when you could hardly sit up for more than a second at a time without starting to black out. Just keep at it, keep going. And he did, making a fifth trip out to the end of the path and back before hauling himself through the door of the shelter, the snow falling just as hard as when he had started. Liz met him just inside the shelter and helped him into his dry clothes--maybe you have no business at all going out there until youre able to hold up under the weight of the bear hide cloak. Did you ever think of that?--leading him over to the fire without a word and sliding a pot of rosehip tea in his general direction. He sat there for a good while just thawing out from his time in the wind and snow, taking an occasional sip of the tea and thinking about the ongoing storm, about what it meant for their hunting and snaring prospects over the next few days; a cheerless but necessary subject. Realizing, once he had warmed sufficiently to begin noticing such things again, that Liz seemed to be unusually quiet, he looked up to find her huddled on the other side of the fire, arms wrapped around her knees and the usual lively spark missing from her eyes. In fact, she looked near tears, and he couldnt understand it--she wasnt usually an especially emotional person, a quality which he admired in her--figured the extended lack of enough

food must be really starting to get to her, as it had him, from time to time. It could really change a person, he knew. Rising stiffly he scooted a bit closer. HeyLiz, you alright? Im trying really hard here Einar, I am, but I dont think Ill ever have as much antifreeze in my blood as you do. Im having some trouble with the cold today. Just cant seem to get warm, even with the fire He looked at her, knew she must be pretty bad off, as she was not one to complain about every little thing, retrieved a generous sized chunk of the remaining bear fat and handed it to her. Here. Eat. Itll help. Youre hungry, thats all. Hard to stay warm when youre hungry. She took a small bite, restrained herself with difficulty from consuming the entire portion in two or three ravenous bites, set it aside. That sure does help. Thanks! I thought I was doing real good getting by on a few bites here and there like you always seem able to do, but somethings gone wrong these last few days and Ive just been so hungry I was hoping thoughI dont want to use up all of our food. What did you do last winter when you didnt have much to eat? Heh. Froze, mostlybecause often as not I couldnt have a fire, either. Exercise works best of all, just get out and keep yourself moving, pick a hill to climb or move some rocks, pile them up or something--sitting around immobile hour after hour is really gonna get you when youre cold and got nothing to eat--but exercising like that gets a little rough when youre short on food and youre using up energy you cant replace. No way to win that one, over the long term, but Ive had it get me through a real rough night or two from time to time. Pulling the bear hide closer around her shoulders, she took a gulp of the tea he had handed her. Well, I guess I just need to hear some more about all that training youve mentioned doing, to get yourself conditioned for things like this. And then I need to go and try it. Really didnt sound so good before, but Im beginning to think you must have been right. The more a person can adjust, the better, and youve definitely got something that I dont have, when it comes to putting up with these conditions. So, tell me. Now? Why not? Becausethe time to start that kind of training is not when youre already half frozen and on real limited rations. Too late. Got to justfocus on keeping ourselves going right now, stretching what little we have until we can get ahold of more. Later. Ill tell you later, when theres more to eat. She nodded, retreating further into the bear hide, and Einar could see that the conversation had not helped matters much. He was at a loss, terribly weary himself and not feeling especially quick-minded, but knew he had to try

and do something to improve the situation for her. Well, Id try and help you get warm, but dont think itd do much good, just now. Probably be counterproductive, after all that time I just spent hobbling around in the wind out there. You know, though, since we do have a fire you canalways keep hot rocks close to you, wrap them against your sides or lower back near your kidneys where a lot of blood passes through. I did a lot of that last winter when I had the chance, even slept leaning back on a couple of rocks just to keep my blood a little warmer for the hour or so that the rocks release heat, would keep one pressed against my side sometimes in the daytime when I was sitting around working on something. It helped a lot. Got to be careful though, because its real easy to burn yourself. Ive still got some scars on my back from where that happened, and the rocks dont even have to be all that hot to do it. When youre real cold, pretty hungry like we are, and your body temperature is lower than it maybe should be, theres less blood near the surface of your skin to carry the heat away and distribute it, so you burn real easy. I learned pretty quick to wrap the rocks in something--bark, sock, anything--but sometimes was so desperate for the warmth that Id just go ahead and press the rock straight against my skin. Cant even feel yourself getting burned most times, cant feel the warmth at all, when your skins so cold, but you sure do feel it later when you warm up. Not worth it. The idea sounded good to Liz, and she hurried to make it happen, puzzled that she had not thought of it sooner, as many times as she had used heated rocks to help Einar thaw out. Oh, Ill be careful! Thats why youve always been so insistent that I wrap the ones I was giving you, then. Can I bring you a few rocks, too? Youve got a lot less fat on you than I do, and youve got to be just freezing He shrugged. Nah, Im Ok. Too tired to notice it much anymore, I guess. Lot warmer in here than it was out there in the wind, anyway. Liz did not at all like the sound of that, brought him a good hot granite chunk wrapped in a sock and insisted he take it before joining him in the bear hides with a well-wrapped fire-rock of her own, and they were both soon doing a good bit better after a shared pot of broth, the result of the third boiling of the rabbit and porcupine bones. There couldnt be much nutrition left in the bones to extract after all that boiling, he didnt suppose, but at least it was something, and Liz had added a few dried chokecherries to it for sweetness and substance. Not gonna be enough. Dont you see whats happening? Youre dragging her down with you, and shes starting to have a pretty hard time living with it for one reason or another. Not like her to be so glum and tired. Now, you got a little of that bear fat left, some pemmican, jerky, a bite here and there of dried berries, and you know thats not gonna last you long in this weather. Face it. Theres not going to be much game up here right now, snows too deep. And probably nothing at all for the next few days, after this snow finishes dumping on us. Theres a reason the big game all goes down lower when the snow starts piling up, and its the same reason that the tribes who used to live in this area would do it. Not enough to eat up here to sustain a couple of half-starved human critters until the snow starts melting out. Now thatd be fine if it was just you-you get along more or less alright on raw usnea and sheer stubbornness and the

occasional squirrel or rabbit, and if not, wellyoud just write it off as the price of freedom and go to sleep knowing youd run a good race, but you cant do that to her. Time to go, head down while you still got some fat and a little jerky left to give you energy for the walk, seek out a little river valley where you can get a good trapline going, eat better and pass the rest of the snowy time. Then when things start melting outwell, we head right back up here and build that little cabin backed up to these rocks, and thats where we stay. He rolled over, faced her, shaking his head to silence the voice that was screaming at him to stay away from the rivers, whispering of the disaster that awaited if they sought out the bounty of the valleys and reminding him what had happened the last time he had, near desperation after a long hungry winter, tried such a thingwhat else can I do, though? I dont know what else to do. Its time to head down, Liz. Give me a day or two more to get this foot in line, and well go. Head down? Liz was not entirely sure what he meant. Down where? The valley. A valley. Someplace where therell be more game. As I remember, theres a pretty good sized creek--might almost call it a river--down to the south of us by a few miles, and you can reach it by dropping down out of this basin and following one of the drainages out of the high country. Not an easy trip right now with all this new snow but I figure we better do it while we still got some food left, something to give us energy for the walk. Spend a couple weeks down there trapping, eating, getting a little stronger then head back up here and get settled in, start working on that cabin we keep talking about. Liz stared at Einar, didnt know whether to whoop for joy and go dancing out into the snow or throw her arms around him, so glad was she that the idea--the most sensible idea in weeks, the best thing by far for both of us!--had come from him and without any prodding on her part, but she ended up doing neither, seeing the way he started at the ground, something approaching defeat in his eyes. It was clear that he didnt want to do it, had make the decision only because he had come to believe there was no other to be made--or because the hurt of his foot and the weakness that had come in the aftermath of his blood loss were sapping his usual determination and resolve, just a bit--and she hated to see him that way. Maybe we should wait a few days, see what things are like after the storms over--there are bound to be more rabbits, another porcupine, maybe--think about it, pray about it I have been, for a real long while. It is time. Dont know that I could do it just yet, but give me one more day to practice walking and drink broth and get my blood volume back up, and Ill be ready. Maybe the snow will still be falling, cover our tracks so we dont leave a trail back up to this placethat would be real good. We can work today to put together a sled of some sort, drag it along and use it to haul the pack once we get down to slightly more level ground, so you dont have to do all the hauling. Should be able to carry more, work harder down there where the airs a little thicker, too--we both should,

but especially me, since itll be a few weeks before me blood has something like the normal oxygen-carrying capacity again. Thats true, Im sure its true, theres got to be more to eat down there and we could both use more to eat, for sure, but I know how youre struggling with the toes right now, and would hate to see you make a big decision like this just because youretired. He looked at her strangely. Are you trying to convince me to stay? What would you do if you were here by yourself? Ha! He shook his head, shrugged, gave her a twisted little smile. Hard to say. Likely as not Id be frozen solid under the snow right now, without any decisions left to make. But if I was still breathing, yeahId probably stay. Stuff myself with usnea and spruce bark and prowl the timber with whatever strength I had left, looking for a rabbit, grouse, anything that might give me the energy to keep going for another day or twospend my nights lying curled up in some spruce duff shivering and freezing with my belly button pressed up against my backbone, too worn out to stay awake but too hungry to really sleep, entertaining myself with hallucinations of food for hours on end, get up and repeat the next day, on and on until the snow started melting. Then thats what we should do. I can do that. I can even help you pass the nights by providing very detailed descriptions of all sorts of different foods--complete with recipes and vividly illustrated ingredient lists--to fuel your hallucinations, if you like. Youll be smelling food, by the time Im done. Youwhat? And he laughed a little, despite himself, Im already smelling food, have been for months. You surely are the oddest human critter I ever did have the benefit of making the acquaintance of, and I cant tell you how much I appreciate thatbut no. Im not asking you to do anything like that with me. Were gonna go down there like any sensible person would have done months ago, and eat. Live. See spring come in a month or two. But Im here, Einar. Im doing all of this with you, and theres no need--and no way, really--to spare me from the realities of it. You try so hard at that, I know you do, but I knew what I was signing up for, and if you would have stayed up here, then thats probably what we ought to do. At least for a few days. We can re-think it after that, see if the snares start filling after the storm moves out and if things look different to you as your foot heals up a littlemake our decision then. One day. Well wait one day. Any more than that, and the decision may be out of our hands, because were gonna start running real low on that bear fat as cold as it is right now, may not have the wherewithal to make the long slog through the snow down to the valley if we let ourselves get too far behind on eating. That, and the firell start looking even more tempting than it does right now as we lose our ability to produce enough heat, and well find ourselves wanting to do nothing but lie beside it and sleepIve been

there. Real rough, trying to turn things around after you pass a certain point. Not impossible, just less likely to happen, I think. I want to get us down lower before it comes to that. Liz nodded, crawled over to the entrance and scooped up another pot full of snow to melt for tea. Rosehip tea sounded very good to her at the moment, and she hoped a few good swallows of it might help ease some of the strained hollowness out of Einars voice, help encourage him to stay hydrated as he must do if he was to have any chance at making the walk he was describing. She was still not sure what to think about the whole proposal-they needed to be down lower, needed access to more game to help Einar heal from his injuries and to keep her from ending up nearly as weak and worn out as he was, in a few weeks--she could feel it happening, knew her body would soon begin consuming itself if they couldnt get ahold of more food--but at the had picked up on things that hinted to her how very much he dreaded leaving the mountain fastness that had consistently offered them sanctuary if not much in the way of easy resources that winter. She did not want to be the cause of his making a decision that he would regret, but did not want to go too far in questioning something that he seemed to have thought through and set his mind on, either, and was at a loss as to what else to say. The snow had melted, and she threw in a few rosehips, offered him the first swallow of the tea which he gladly accepted. Now. Its time for me to go out and walk again. Last one of the day. Who knows? Maybe Ill stumble over a real confused ptarmigan that decided to spend the day wandering around in the storm instead of holed up somewhere, and be able to snag it for dinner. Better take that bola with me, just in case. And Ill peel us some spruce bark on the way back, show you about roasting it. His third and, he was pretty sure, last walk of the day completed, Einar knelt in the snow beside a spruce, resting his head against it for a moment and fighting back an overwhelming urge to sleep before brushing off the newly-plastered layer of snow from a section of its trunk and tracing out a rough rectangle with his knife. He cut through both the outer layer of bark and the inner and pried until the rectangle of bark came loose. A task, he knew, which would be far easier in a month or two when the sap was really running, or even on a sunny day when the moisture beneath the outer bark was not frozen so hard. It worked, though, and he hobbled from one tree to another, securing four good sized bark strips before heading to the shelter. Liz had been going to join him to see how it was done, but he had seen no sign of her as he finished the last of his slow, dragging rounds on the trail, and had not wanted to call for her, thinking she might have decided that she would rather stay inside out of the wind. It was alright; there would be plenty of other opportunities, he had no doubt, for her to see how to harvest spruce bark. Wouldnt blame her much if she wanted to stay inside right now, anyway. Wind is pretty vicious out here. Just hope shes Ok. Not acting like herself lately, but then, expect I havent been, either. Rising with the help of his spear after cutting the last of the bark strips, he resumed his stiff-legged shuffle for the shelter, glad that he had stuck to his resolve to get in several good walks that day but, having completed them, finding himself tired beyond measure, thankful that he had nowhere he must go that evening. Despite the awful weariness that dragged at him and several times threatened to send him sinking to the

ground to sleep right there where he stood in the snow, Einar was encouraged at the indications he had seen that he would be able to regain his balance fairly quickly as soon as the pain and swelling went down some and the wounds began to heal over, allowing him to develop a gait that would let him cover ground with something like his old speed. Have to keep working at it, keep pushing. Never know when I might need to fall back on that ability to move quickly through this terrain, and things arent gonna be right until I get it back again. For the time, though, all he wanted was to crawl inside and get warm, maybe swallow a gulp of tea or two, and sleep. Better take care of this bark first though, separate the inner layer before it starts drying out and getting harder to do, and roast it up so Liz will have some to eat tonight, along with that usnea mush shes cooking. Might even try some, myself. Seem to remember it being pretty tasty. Liz was asleep, or nearly so, when Einar finally dragged himself back into the shelter, and she stirred from her crouch beside the fire, jumping to her feet in alarm as he pulled shut the tangle of fir boughs that served as a door and standing there for a second looking a bit dizzy before hurrying to help him into one of the bear hide cloaks. Oh! I must have fallen asleep, and I was supposed to come help you with that spruce bark. Im sorry! Why sorry? Looks to me like you were just sitting here watching the usnea to make sure it didnt boil dry, and see? It hasnt. Thats important. Not so good when your supper goes dry and burns up, especially when this stuff takes half the day to prepare, and wed never have time to get another batch done before sleep time. Looks about ready now, all gooey and gloppy and less stringy than it was at first. Have you tasted it yet? No, but I will. Ill admit that it has not smelled especially appetizing as it boiled downI actually had to stick my head out there for some fresh air a time or two because it was starting to make me a little sick, but Im sure it will taste and smell better, now that its gone through those two water changes. I saved you some of the water, here, as much as I could fit in this half-done bowl Ive been working on. Hope itll be enough to do some good as a wash for your foot. Yes. Good. Thanks. Stuff does kinda smell as you boil it--thats the usnic acid coming out--and thats why its best when you dont have to eat too much of it raw. Acid eventually aggravates your stomach, gets you to feeling like you cant possibly take another bite of the stuff, but you do, because its all there is... That water ought to be great for the foot, though. Igot some of that spruce bark here, and in a minute Ill show you about separating the layers and roasting it, but firstuh He stopped, staring into the flames, his capacity for stringing words together seeming to dissipate all of a sudden as the warmth began loosening up cold-stiffened muscles and setting him to trembling violently. First you need to get warm! Yes, I see that. Come here, let me get some of that snow out of your hair. That will be a start. The storm just isnt letting up, is it? I do hope that was your last trip out there for today. I understand why you have to do it, but you seem

to be coming in frozen a little worse each time, and you need to give yourself plenty of time to warm up thoroughly before night comes, Ok? He nodded--oh, yes, I am donebut this is just the normal state of things for me these daysIll come out of it in a few minutes--grabbing the sock-wrapped hot rock she handed him and pressing it to his chest as he rested, chin on his knees, in front of the fire. Several minutes later the warming process was well underway, and he hauled the rectangles of bark over to the fire, ready to prepare them for eating. The part youre after is theinner bark, just like on a willow, the part that carries all the water and nutrients. If you let these strips sit around for too long, itll be a lot harder to peel that layer off, but right now it should go without too much troublelong as theyre thawed out, that is. Good. Looks like they are. See how this whitish inner layer is a little slippery, looks kind of wet? Well, itll be a lot stickier with sap in a month or so when the tree comes out of being mostly dormant for the winter, but you can use the bark any time of year. Just stick the knife in here between layers, and peel. Breathing slowly in an attempt to lessen the shaking of his hands, he stripped the inner bark from one of the rectangles he had cut, handing the next to Liz so she could try one, too. As Liz worked to peel the remaining rectangles, Einar cut the inner bark into thinner strips no more than an inch or two wide, knowing that they would roast more quickly and evenly, that way. Next he chose a hot, flat rock--the one Liz had been setting the pots on was perfect--flicking a drop of water onto it to test the temperature and, watching the water dance and sputter as it turned to steam, began laying the prepared bark strips across it. The shelter was quickly filled with the wonderful, warm scent of roasting spruce as the strips shriveled and browned, releasing their moisture. Looks just like bacon, doesnt it? Spruce bacon. Spruce bacon? Lizs face lit up with a hint of a smile. Well, Ive heard of turkey bacon, and Canadian bacon and even veggie baconbut spruce bacon? No Veggie bacon, huh? Whats that? Oh, you dont want to know! But I have an idea. And she dropped some tiny globs of bear fat onto the rock griddle, rubbing the bark strips in the melting fat and flipping them over. There. Whats spruce bacon without a little fat? Looks like theyre ready now. Can I try one? The result of their experiment was a stack of crispy, crunchy, slightly spruce-pitch flavored snacks that reminded Liz just a bit of toasted tortilla strips, and completely lacked the fibrous, difficult to chew qualities that she had imagined when Einar first suggested adding the stuff to their diet. Struck with an idea, she used one of the strips to scoop up a glob of the blackish, jelly-like mush that had resulted from boiling and reboiling the usnea--enhanced with a few serviceberries which she had thrown in during the last boiling in the hopes of covering up the lichens insipid smell, which she had really begun to find nauseating--and enjoying the snack rather more than she had expected,

from the looks of it. Thats really very good! It tastes like theres got to be some starch in this bark, a little sugarso between that, the usnea and the bear fat weve got left, we ought to be able to eat pretty well until the storm lifts and the game comes back out, dont you think? He nodded. Well enough, for a few days. Assuming there was much game here in the first place, to come back out. With their stomachs full of usnea, spruce bark and bear fat, Einar and Liz faced that night a bit warmer than they had the previous one, listening from beneath the bear hides as the wind pounded the rocks outside, enjoying the respite from their hunger but neither of them feeling particularly inclined to sleep. Einars restlessness stemmed from the fact that he had just finished changing the dressings on his foot, soaking the old ones free with some of the usnea water--they had stuck badly where the wounds oozed during his walks--and washing the area with berberine before packing it with fresh usnea, he knew from experience that it would take a good while for it to settle down and allow him to rest. Though the area was raw and swollen after the exercise, the wounds still open and somewhat discolored around the edges, they did not appear to be getting infected, a fact for which Einar was unspeakably thankful and which he knew he must work hard to maintain, lest he find himself very quickly in a situation for which there would be little remedy, under the present conditions. Liz could tell he was struggling a bit with the foot, wished there was something she could do to help, but as tired as she was probably would have been asleep by then, regardless, if not for her hunger. The supper had seemed to fill her at the time, had certainly been more bulky than the broth--bones boiled for their second and third time--that they had been living on since finishing the meat of the porcupine and rabbit, but it had not seemed to last long once she ate it, and she was hungry again, lay there curled against Einar trying to keep him warm, and her mind off of the hunger-cramps that seemed to be twisting her stomach inside out. Liz wanted to talk with him, ask him how a person was supposed to manage, how he had, when the hunger grabbed ahold of you and started twisting like that, but she knew that he had to be even worse off than she--she would have easily been able to count his vertebrae, if she had tried, right through the two layers that he was wearing, and it seemed he was always cold, anymore, though he probably wouldnt have admitted it, and she knew that it was because of his lack of food--and in light of that, she was ashamed to complain about her situation. Stop it, then, she told herself. Just let it go, and sleep. But she could not, mind wandering continuously and most aggravatingly back to the chunks of rendered bear fat that sat in their deer-stomach bag near the top of her pack, the single envelope of pemmican, and the little bag of deer jerky that they had saved. The pemmican, especially, seemed to be calling to her. What a wonderful combination of protein and fatonly thing that sounds better is fried chicken--wow! Fried chicken! That wasnt even something I ever ate, before, but it sure does sound unbelievably good right now--and there isnt any of that around, so And she caught herself right on the verge of slipping out of the bed and heading for the pack with the intention of devouring a good half of the pemmican, rebuked herself and buried her head beneath the bear hide,

crying tears of shame and silently begging him to forgive her for what she had been about to do. What are you thinking? You know he wants to save that stuff, and if anybody needs to be eating it right now, its Einar, who hasnt been able to eat nearly as much as you have these past few days, the way that foot is hurting him. I think you ended up with way more than half of the porcupine, and I know you got most of the rabbit. He had no more than a few bites. Now. Sleep. They both slept, eventually, a restless night of dream fragments claiming Einar and leaving him to wake frequently to the sound--mercifully dissipating every time he opened his eyes, but real nonetheless, at the moment--of rotors pounding the air, shaking the ground, fevered images dancing before his eyes--Lizwhat are you doing out there in the middle of all that? Back in the treesget back in the trees!--and leaving him to grab for the atlatl in his sleep--knife was already in the other hand--and roll away from Liz to stand vigil at the door, listening, straining his ears in the silence until the shivering and puffing of his own breath began to drown out all other sounds, real or imagined, telling him that it was way past time to seek once again the warmth of the bed. Liz had not stirred, and for that he was glad, eased his way back beneath the hides and curled up with his back to her, trying to stay out of contact until his shivering slacked off some and he could be sure of not waking her. Several times he was similarly awakened until, sure that his restlessness was going to interrupt Lizs own sleep, which she seemed to need more badly than usual, that night, he took one of the bear hide cloaks and retreated to a spot near the entrance. Crouching there with one knee drawn up to his chest for warmth and the other leg out straight in an attempt to keep the weight off of his bad foot, Einar passed the remaining hours of the night, dozing occasionally but for the most part wide awake and staring out into the wind-tossed darkness, knowing that he was to have a decision to make at the end of the day to come, and praying that he might somehow have the wisdom to make the right one. Lot to lose, either way. If it was just me I know Id stay, go into hibernation or as close as I could get to it, do my best to work a trapline and hope to come up with enough small critters to see me through until things started melting out a littlelearned my lesson last winter about getting impatient towards spring when the bodys run down some from a long winter of not quite enough, heading down to the valley like one of the mangy deer you sometimes see scarfing up the new little shoots of grass out along the highways soon as the snow starts to go, ribs sticking out and their hair all thin and falling out in big patches, and theyre just as happy as can be down thereuntil a semi comes along and splatters their guts all over the road. The waitings always hardest right near the end of a thing, right before things start to change, real easy to lose your nerve and bolt, then, and I know better than to do that but the question is of course, what exactly are we almost at the end of? The snowy season? Is this the last storm, maybethings gonna start to turn around after this? Not real likely, because by my figuring, were probably in the last week or so of March right now, with what is typically one of the two snowiest months coming up stillin which case the only end were probably looking at in the near future if we stay here is the end of our lives. Just not likely to find enough up here to sustain us, if the snow keeps up the way

its been going. Well. Looking at the bright side, Id probably be the first to go in that case, and then Liz could follow the example of the Donner party and probably do just fine till things started melting. They say that starving peoples bodies store fat in the bone marrow, have a much higher percentage of fat in the marrow than better fed folks, some last desperate attempt on the part of the body to hoard a little fat and keep itself goinghmmwonder if that might be part of the reason it takes me so long to get my blood built back up after a lossmaybe the fat-storing marrow starts crowding out the red blood cell-producing marrow as starvation progresses. I wonder. Probably means my bones are getting more brittle than they should be, too. Not so good. But, I ought to remember to tell Liz about the marrows tendency to store fat like that, might influence her decision in the right direction if it comes to Donner Party time He let his head rest on his knee, mind drifting for a while, was shivering pretty badly and finding existence a bit easier when he did not try to think. Remaining still for what seemed like a very long time, near sleep but fighting the urge to give in to it, knowing what awaited him there, he finally raised his head with a start, swiped a numb hand across his eyes. Donner party, huh? What are you thinking? Shed probably never do it, and besides, youre not stranded here. Just go down. Eat. Live. Nothing says you have to put yourselves at risk, go anywhere near where other people are likely to be. The helicopter and the meadow--he shuddered at the thought-theyre just a dream, and you know it. Doesnt have to go that way. Just head down to that little valley a couple thousand feet lower--you know what a huge difference a couple thousand feet can make, this time of year--and do what you need to do. It seemed, half awake as he was and growing terribly cold, like the answer he had been waiting for, and Einar finally let himself sink to the ground, curling up in the bear hide and closing his eyes in sleep. Thank You. Liz woke when the light of yet another pale, stormy day began seeping into the shelter-will it ever stop snowing?--sitting up suddenly at the realization that Einar was no longer there beside her and squinting into the dimness in search of him. She saw nothing at first, no sign of him, and wondered for a moment whether he might have gone out already for his first walk of the day. It would not have surprised her at all, as determined as he seemed to work on getting his balance back, strengthening his leg and learning to get around without toes. The fire was dead though, cold when she held a hand over its remains, and she knew that if Einar had simply been unable to sleep and risen before her, he almost certainly would have built up the fire and got some snow melting, as was his usual habit when they were able to have fire. Never far from her mind was the memory of the last time Einar had wandered off in the snow that night at their last shelter, sitting up in the rocks for reasons he had never quite explained to her until it had nearly been too late, before somehow making it back to the shelter and creeping exhausted and half frozen into the bed, and she searched for him, fearing that he might have decided to do something similar in the night. Which he had not, at least not deliberately, and she soon found him there by the door where he had finally drifted off to sleep, curled up in a ball with his knees pressed against his chest, hands tucked under his chin in an apparent attempt to draw himself as much as possible beneath the protection of the single bear hide cloak that had served as his only covering, that night. Einar did not respond to her words

or to gentle shaking when she tried to wake him, and Liz dragged the yearling hide over him, hurried to get the fire going again, digging down in the coals until she found a few that still glowed a dull orange, tossing in some small spruce twigs and fanning them to life. He still had not stirred, and Liz struggled to drag him closer to the flames, taking a quick step back when the motion brought him rather suddenly to wakefulness. They crouched there staring at one another for a few tense moments as Einar got his brain sorted out and realized just what it was that had awakened him, smiling at Liz and sinking unsteadily back towards the ground when he realized that there was no immediate threat, his eyes nearly closed. She was having none of it, grabbed him beneath the arms and tried to prevent him from lying down. Hey, now you stay awake! Come on over here by the fire. What were you thinking flopping down in the icy rocks over there where the wind was creeping in around the door? Look at you! Youll be lucky if you dont end up with some frostbite there on your cheekbone where it was pressed against the ground all night. Do you have something against warm beds, or what? Einar shook his head and grinned at her a bit confusedly--yeah, on occasion I dowhy do you ask?--shrugged himself free of her grasp and rubbed stiff hands together, crawling back over to the door in search of the atlatl, which had been left behind when Liz dragged him. Was justsitting here listening to the night andfell asleep I guess. Seems itmust have got pretty cold last night At Lizs urging he rejoined her by the fire, atlatl by his side, and they were soon sharing a pot of rosehip tea, weak, as they only had a few of the shriveled orange fruits left and she was trying to stretch them as far as possible, but warming and good, nonetheless. Liz sat there watching him as he drank, remembering how close she had come while he slept the evening before to raiding their meager stash of pemmican and jerky, and devouring who knew how much of it, and it seemed to her that she must tell him about it, but she waited. Later. Listening to the night, were you? Well, what did you hear out there? All I heard was the wind in the rocks, and my own stomach grumbling from time to time. He nodded. Yep, me too. Wind in the rocks, treesstomach doesnt seem to grumble so much anymore, but thats probably not a good thing. Did a lot of thinking last night though, and Ive decided it really is time to head down. Wont be for long, and well have to be real careful not to track up the open areas too bad in case theyre watching, flying over and comparing photos, or anything, but we ought to be able to do it safely for a little while. Come up with a temporary shelter, do some trapping, maybe even a little fishing if things look alright down there at the creekthough I dont want us spending too much time near the water if we can help it. But there ought to be beavers down there, muskrats, add to our food supply and give us the furs too. The furs ought to still be pretty good this time of year. Could use some more warm clothes, thats for sure! And he edged a bit closer to the fire, still shaking from his chilly night hours spent curled up in the rocks.

Liz was delighted with the decision and the fact that he seemed to have made it without undue urging on her part, as she wanted the trip to be his choice, if they ended up going, as she knew how reluctant he had been to seek lower ground, and she turned away to keep him from seeing the tears she felt welling up at his announcement. Silly, its nothing to get all weepy about, and no, you dont need to be telling him about the pemmican, because you didnt actually do anythinghe might never trust you around the food supply again if you let on, and it certainly would make him feel worse about our situation, which is not what you want to do. Good, Einar. I think that sounds really good. Do you want to wait until the storm is over, or No. Its still snowing real good out there, and seems to me we ought to try and take advantage of that, let it cover our tracks just in case something goes wrong. Wouldnt want them being able to track us back up to this place, because I dont know about you, but Im sure hoping to spend the summer here Well need a few hours to get ready, and then wed better head out, if were gonna do this. In anticipation of the descent, Einar took off his overboot and studied it critically, wondering how it might be modified to protect his right foot from impacting every protruding rock and fallen tree that existed beneath the snow cover, as it had been on his practice walks before Liz had trampled out a trail for him. The snow-crust, even, was proving to be incredibly painful to the healing foot when he happened to relax his concentration even slightly when it came to foot placement, and he knew that he could not devote the necessary attention to sparing it on the long descent, as it would have left room for little else. The best solution seemed to be the creation of a protective shoe of some sort that would prevent him jarring the healing area against every obstacle in his path, and the first idea that came to him was to cut down his old leg cast--monstrous, heavy creation of cordage and pitch, but it had served its purpose well--and use the lower section of it as a foot protector. Would work, but Im not gonna be able to bend my ankle if I do that, and I really need to be able to bend the ankle if I want to work on improving my balance and learning to navigate with this modified foot. Seems that some sort of a basket might be the best way to protect the thingbasket that just went over the area where the toes were, kept things from smashing into the healing area. Weve got lots of willow shoots here, and it shouldnt take me too long to put something like that together, I suppose. Cant quite picture how its gonna attach, though. Easiest it seems would be to make it a cage that goes around the outside of the overboot, but I can just picture how fast itll get all packed up with snow, snow and ice accumulating in the weave of the basket, and before long the doggone thing will weigh ten pounds, and Ill hardly be able to walk. Doesnt sound like a great option. Wonder if I could put the thing inside the overboot? Would have to pad the stump really well, but its already padded pretty good with these gobs of usnea Ive been packing it with, so that should be no problem, and would eliminate the trouble of the basket icing up. So. Better get started. While Einar chose willow shoots for the construction of his foot protector, Liz got to work on the sled he had mentioned the previous day, agreeing that it would be a very good idea indeed for her to be able to drag the heavy pack at least part of the way instead

of carrying it. Choosing a number of the thicker willow sticks for a frame she began thawing and softening them over the fire, thinking to bend them and lash them together, perhaps stretching the stiffly frozen deer hide between them to hold their cargo. Einar made fairly quick work of weaving the protective basket with which he intended to stiffen the toe of his overboot to keep from bashing his mangled foot into everything he walked past, keeping close to the fire and working nearly overtop the flames at times in an attempt to keep his hands flexible as he worked with the soaked willow shoots. Starting as he would for a larger basket by forming a cross of four slender willow shoots--two in one direction and two in the other--he had woven in piece after piece, adding more cross-sticks as he went and making the finished produce just wider than his foot. When it was finished he tucked in all of the rough ends that stuck out, knowing that they if left they would surely find their way into contact with the raw flesh on the front of his foot at the most inopportune times during the decent, which he really wanted to avoid, if possible. Rounding up a good sized handful of usnea, he packed it into the toe basket, overlapping the rim with thick pads and securing them in place with wraps of cordage to prevent their slipping for as long as possible. Alright, time to try the thing out, and he carefully slid it into the toe of the overboot, struggling a bit to get it pushed all the way down in and settled into place. Looks good, but now for the real test A bit reluctant but knowing that he must take the step, he eased his foot back down into the overboot, taking in a sharp breath as his bandaged toe area contacted the dense usnea pad in the protective basket. For a moment he thought he wasnt going to be able to take it, wanted to jerk his foot back out to reduce the pressure on it, but he waited, breathing, head down, and after a minute or so the hurt began subsiding to something near its normal level, the new arrangement putting little more pressure on the injury than had the usnea sponge bandage hed been wearing all along. Can do this. Makes the foot some heavier, but at least I can still use my ankle, can keep the foot warmer than it would be in the cast, and the basket ought to protect the thing from too many sudden jarrings and impacts along the way. It is an improvement. Looking up from his work finally, Einar saw that Liz had been using her time well, choosing two long spruce poles and laying them parallel to each other on the shelter floor with the space of approximately one and a half feet between them. Between the poles she had lashed a frame of willow shoots to form what looked almost like a ladder with some vertical shoots woven in for further support, to the topside of which she was busy affixing the deer hide. He watched for a minute as she used one of his bone awls to make small, precise holes at regular intervals along the edges of the hide and string cordage through them, firmly attaching it to the underlying frame of sticks. The way she was lashing the hide to the frame left numerous areas where the outer rails were exposed to create easy tie-down points for the gear the device would be required to carry. Pretty good thinking, Liz Looks like youre building a cross between a travois and a pulk, there. A travois and a what? Are you making things up again?

Again? No. I said pulk. Comes from a Saami word for the sleds they used to hitch up behind reindeer and even sometimes skiers to haul gear. They used sticks for traces instead of ropes, to keep the sled from creeping up on you and running over your skis on a downhill, attached the human-pulled ones to a harness around the waist, one stick on each side. That looks like what youre doing here, only yours is made so the sticks will drag at the back like a travois, instead of just attaching to a sled. Good idea. Sled would have been harder to control on the real steep slopes weve got to descend, but those dragging sticks will dig in a little and help slow it down. Oh, yes! A pulk. Mountain Rescue had those to use in the winter, but I never got to try one out. I was hoping that by doing it this way, we might be able to put the pack on it right away, and drag it all the way down. Probably, Einar nodded. Main problem may come in if we have to end up going through some real heavy timber and cant pull the thing through it, but youve kept it good and narrow, so that will help. If things still get too tight, you may have to carry the pack for a bit and Ill drag the sled, then we can load it up again on the other side. We ought to be able to avoid the heaviest timber for the most part though, especially since its snowing so hard and will help cover any tracks we do leave in semi-open areas. Here. Ill help you finish lashing the hide on. Figure we can roll the yearling hide up and stick it under the pack to help keep the snow out, so well have something dry to curl up in tonight. Cold as it is, we probably dont have to worry about snow melting on the pack and soaking in, so no need to cover it. They carried on in silence, then, finishing with the work of securing the hide to its frame--flexible because of the use of the willow, and Einar, thinking it perhaps a bit too flexible, reinforced it by lashing a stout willow diagonally across the bottom between the spruce poles--and standing back to inspect the finished product, satisfied. As they worked, Liz had been tending a pot of broth, bones boiled for the fourth time and the results enriched a bit with bear fat and blood and a few of their remaining chokecherries, and they sat close together beside the fire enjoying it, relishing the warmth and strength it brought to weary, cold-cramped bodies, a noticeable if temporary lifting of the haze that had been increasingly creeping over their minds as one day passed into another without an adequate supply of food. Liz hoped very much that a time would soon be coming when such experiences would not be quite so rare and treasured, when they could finally begin to reverse the toll that the winter had taken on them and prepare to face the coming spring--because it is coming, I know it is, even though I havent seen sign of it yet!--with renewed energy and strength. Einar, eyes dark as he stared into the flames, a growing unease stealing over him that would have bordered on panic, had he not deliberately held it in check, just hoped that they would find themselves alive--and free--to greet the spring. There was nothing more to be done. The sled had been completed, pack and gear securely lashed to it and the fire put out, bear hide cloaks donned and bits of cordage tied around their waists to help keep the bitterly gusting wind from finding its way so easily beneath their garments--Einar doubted his ability to carry on for very long under the

weight of the split bear hide cloak, but at the insistence of Liz, who told him hed be frozen half to death before the got down out of the basin, without it, he had agreed to try-and the time had come to leave. He kicked a final clod of dirt over the dying coals of their last fire, placed a rock over that and limped towards the entrance, stopping just before he reached it and sinking to his knees there in the dim light that filtered its way through the screen of fir boughs. Liz watched as Einar knelt there in his own quiet way, leaning heavily on his spear and bowing his head as she had often seen him do before setting out on what promised to be a difficult journey, and she joined him, asking, for her part, that they might be allowed safe travel, the finding of food in the valley and, if Youre willing, I sure do hope we might be able to return here to this basin after weve got some trapping done, finally settle in somewhere and be done with traveling and running for a while. But if notall I ask is the strength for both of us to meet whatever comes. They were certainly going to need it. The timber immediately surrounding the shelter was too thick to allow for either the use of the sled or snowshoes, so they set out on foot, Liz wearing the pack and Einar, at his insistence, dragging the sled, which, when empty, could be turned on its side if necessary to allow for easier passage through tight spots. Progress was difficult for him while lugging the sled and struggling to manage his balance in the deep snow, at the same time, but he had hated the thought of Liz having to do everything, and knew he would be able to manage with the sled. Liz had insisted on breaking trail, though, and he had not objected to that. The newly modified overboot, while so far working fairly well to spare his foot from the painful jarring that he had grown so tired of on his practice walks, was cumbersome and a bit heavy, and he could tell that it was going to take some getting used to. Down through the timber that lined the side of the basin they traveled, finally reaching the basin floor and stopping in the shelter of a spruce grove to strap on showshoes before starting out into it. As deep as Einar knew the snow was going to be out there, he was certain that travel would be easier for them out in the open where they could use the snowshoes than it was in the timber, where he could see that Liz was sinking up past her knees in new snow with every step, struggling as she made a path for him to follow. She was dragging wearily despite the obvious effort she was putting into breaking trail, and Einar was concerned for he, knew their situation seemed to have been taking an especially heavy toll on her in recent days and could not figure why, but wanted to do what he could to help. Food is what she needs, its pretty obvious to see. Body gets to a certain point and just has trouble adapting any furtheryou know the feeling, youve run into that wall more than once as I remember. Youre probably there right now, and would realize it, if this foot wasnt taking so much of your attentionboth of you need to eat. But for now, best thing you can do for her is to get her out of this timber and into the clear where she can drag our gear instead of lugging it on her back, get up on the snowshoes so she doesnt have to be sinking two or three feet deep at every step. Itll be easier that way. The thought of leaving tracks in the open on the edge of the timber concerned him some,

but as hard as it was snowing and gusting, he expected all sign of their passage would be erased before dark that evening. The basin was large, far longer than it was wide, and for some time they trudged along through the snow, heads bowed and eyes stinging as they pushed into the wind. The travois was largely a success; Liz was finding it a far easier way to carry their gear than the pack had been, requiring less effort and greatly reducing the difficulty of breaking trail through the deep snow. The ends of the spruce poles did dig into the snow fairly badly, though, requiring Einar at times to hurry up behind her and hoist them out from a spot where the crust had collapsed especially badly, leaving the sled to founder and drag Liz down. It was and quicker progress than they had been able to make in the timber, but still exhausting, and Einar soon found himself very grateful for the toe-protector he had built into his overboot, as between helping Liz and struggling for enough breath to keep himself going, he had little attention to spare on trying to protect the foot. The snow was coming down so hard, blown nearly sideways in great sheets by the wind that barreled down from the surrounding ridges, that the first indication Einar and Liz had that they were approaching the edge of the basin was a sudden change in the angle of the ground, a steepening, an increase in the small, stunted firs whose tops they had been studiously seeking to avoid lest their snowshoes become maddeningly entrapped and spill them face-first in the snow. Einar, though in back, noticed the change first, shouted ahead to Liz only to have his words snatched away by the wind and scattered uselessly among the tiny, fine snowflakes that filled the air and caught in his throat as he struggled to catch his breath. Got none to waste on shouting, thats for sure But he couldnt seem to catch up to her, couldnt even see her, as a matter of fact, and really wanted to remind her that they needed to be keeping more to the right side of the basin as the space between high, rocky ridge narrowed and the danger of being caught in a slide increased, should the cirque wall on the left let go. Studying the image of the basin that he had fixed in his mind from the two times they had stood high atop the ridge observing it, he looked back, squinting into the snow and hoping to catch a glimpse of the spine, but he could see nothing. Dont need to see it, I know were near the end of the meadow, in here where things start pinching off and the trees close in again. I can feel the change underfoot, grounds getting rougher, I think were already walking on the start of the boulder field thatll be our route down to the next band of treesprobably have to take off the snowshoes soon. Gonna start getting steep. Struggling to pick up his pace he tried his best to catch up to Liz so he could stop her and discuss their route, but no matter how hard he pushed himself, he could not seem to get close enough to see her, let alone pull up beside her and get her attention. It was not like her, putting so much space between them. He had, in the past, often found himself a bit aggravated at the close attention she gave him while traveling, stopping often to ask if he needed rest, water, when he had wished only to be left alone to manage things at his own pace, but all he wanted at the moment was for her to stop so he might have some chance of catching up. The bear hide cloak, though warm and very welcome against the ravages of the wind, was weighing terribly heavily on him--this is ridiculous, Einar. Surely you cant actually be this weak. Got to be able to carry fifteen or twenty pounds of bear hide without collapsing under the weight, or youre just about as good as dead, out here. Now

get moving!--slowing his pace and leaving him to shuffle along in a silent rage on the snowshoes, wishing he could discard the hateful thing right there in the snow and continue without it. He could not, though, knew that facing the storm without protection would mean death to him, and fairly quickly, as stiff and chilled as his limbs already were, the old familiar feeling of cold-enhanced exhaustion beginning to squeeze him around the middle and make his breathing labored, less efficient. He kept walking, as it was the only thing to do--assuming that stretching out face-down in the snow for a good long sleep was not an option, which it isnt, dont even let yourself start down that path, get it out of your head, sounds way too good right now--stumbling along at as fast a pace as he could force himself to maintain. After what seemed like a very long time, but couldnt have been, because the terrain had not changed very much, Liz suddenly materialized out of the storm ahead of him, cloak coated with blown snow, head down as she tried to shield herself from the wind, and he very nearly ran right into the travois, before he realized what he was seeing. He stopped, made his way around the snowplastered lump that represented the extent of their possessions, and stood beside her, fighting for breath. I think weve come to the end of the basin, Einar. Any idea where we should be headed, from here? Other than down Yeah. ItsweI think we need to head over to the right so we can Doubled over by a coughing fit, he stood with his hands on his knees, head down, until he could breathe again. So we can stay clear of the runout of that steep slope over on the side we originally descended when we came to the basin. I dont know exactly what its like here below us, never been here before, but if its anything like similar basins Ive been in, were gonna see some steep rock right down there, probably treeless, then well head into the timber again and have our choice of several different chutes to descend. Be good if we can stay out of the chutes because they usually get pretty steep and the sledll be awful hard to deal with. Best will be if we can find a good long timber slope where the trees arent too close together, go ahead and pull everything on the sled for as long as we can. Probably have to give up on the sled eventually, but maybe not for too long. Well do our best to pick a route that keeps us out of the heaviest timber. Liz nodded, straightened up and started walking again, but Einar took a few quick, shuffling steps after her, grabbed her arm. Wait. Bear hidegot to stick it on the sled. Too heavy. Can hardly move with this thing on me. Liz shook her head, took off again, shouting over her shoulder at him. No. You would freeze without it in this wind. Try for a little longer, you can manage. Its all downhill from here. Well, thats for sure he wanted to grumble, shook his head, would have chased her down and insisted she wait while he tied the cloak to the sled, but found himself once again unable to catch up. One step after another, then. This will end, one way or anothernow quit your whining, and see if you cant move at a more reasonable pace, here. Got a ridge to descend, critters to trap, stew to cook

 For several hours they worked their way down through one snowy, timber-filled bowl after another, managing to avoid having to travel in any of the chutes and, for the most part, finding themselves able to choose routes that allowed for the use of the sled. Whenever the terrain required Liz to take the pack on her back for a while Einar hauled the sled along, struggling it over snow-covered boulders and occasionally stopping when it became jammed between close growing trees, Liz sometimes returning to help him free it. The work was exhausting but they were making progress, and though Einar continued to feel like he was having a hard time getting enough air--thanks, he knew, to the fact that his blood had still not had adequate time to recover its normal oxygen-carrying capacity-he was more or less able to keep pace with Liz, though the task required of him something close to his maximum effort, and he knew that he would not be able to keep it up indefinitely. Nor would he have to try, as Lizs pace was noticeably slowing, and sometime in the late afternoon he finally overtook her. She was dragging like hed never seen her, stopping every few feet and looking around as if wondering what she was supposed to do next, and he was worried, hobbled up beside the sled the next time she stopped. Brushing the snow from the pack, he loosened one of the cordage ties that bound it in place, digging around in the pack, too worn out, himself, to explain to her what he was doing when she asked. He found it, finally, the thing he had been looking for, pulling out the last remaining pemmican packet and handing it to her. Eat. She took it reluctantly, bear hide mitten dropping clumsily to the ground, tried to give the little packet back to him. No you wanted to save this. Ill be alright. Justawfully tired all of a sudden. For now. I was saving it for right now. You take it, eat, and keep it with you under your coat where itll stay soft, eat a little whenever you get to feeling this way, whenever you stophere. Im gonna tie the bag to the pouch-string around your neck. Keep it close for you. She ate, taking a bite and letting the stuff soften in her mouth before swallowing. Ill do it, but only if youll eat too. Youre a lot further behind on food than I am, and its not right that I should use all of this up. I dont know whats wrong with me, somethings not rightIm sorry. Now--your turn to eat. Nah, Im fine. Dont need it. Of course you need it. Here. Taking the lump of pemmican she was holding out to him and sticking it in his mouth just to keep her from handing back the entire packet and refusing to eat any more, Einar took a small swallow of water to accompany the taste of food, yeah, I need it, need it awful bad, should have done this soonernow we better get moving again, because I see that were both starting to shakequite a wind weve got going, today. As he stood there, Einar had been untying the cordage wraps around Lizs waist through which the sled poles had been secured, and by the time she realized what he was doing and tried to object, the job was already finished.

My turn to pull the thing for a little while. You didnt think you were gonna get away with keeping me stashed here at the back of the line the whole time, did you? Time for me to break trail for a bit. Easier said than done, as Einar discovered shortly after tying himself in to the spruce poles and starting off down the slope of snow and relatively open timber, as the travois was not only a heavy burden in his present condition, but pushed and shoved at him from behind, spilling him several times on his face in the snow before he worked out a routine that seemed to mitigate the problem some--plant the spear, lean into it, step, step, plant it again, a bit further down, and so on--and he found himself very glad for the travois-sticks that dragged in the snow behind the sled, acting as brakes. Without them, he supposed he would have been shoved right down the slope by the burden, and no wonder, as he knew it must weight a good bit more than half what he did. Which shouldnt be a problem for you, but He glanced back to see Liz plodding along behind, pale faced, tired, and looking relieved to be out of the lead for a while, so he kept at it, plowing ahead for a good hour before Liz finally took him by the shoulder where he knelt resting in the snow, talked him into eating a bite of pemmican and helped him to stand, insisting that she take the sled again. Einar was in no shape to object, sank back to the ground and lay there trembling in the snow as she freed him from the cordage wraps that held the spruce poles, barely able to keep his eyes open. Liz, feeling terrible that she had allowed him to wear himself out so badly, was about to do her best to load him onto the sled along with the pack and drag him for a while, when he stirred and hauled himself heavily to his feet. A fortunate occurrence, as stillness would have been a very dangerous thing for him at the moment. Darkness. It crept over the slope and in beneath the timber with soft, subtle feet, bringing with it a lessening of the storm, a rift in the clouds, and before the dimness could grow complete, a bright half moon was pouring its light through the newly opened sky. In wordless agreement the two travelers kept moving between the spruce-shadows, navigating by moonlight, hard, silver, cold, neither of them sure anymore exactly what the goal was supposed to be for that night, but just as certain, somehow, that they had not yet reached it. Open ground ahead. The steep slope of a snow-filled bowl, spare, stark and wind-scoured in the moonlight, its slope polished free of the new snow by a peculiarity of the surrounding terrain that made it a channel for the wind, a tale told clearly by the few twisted, almost horizontally-growing firs there at its top. Liz stopped at the edge of the timber, fell to her knees, and Einar could see, even through the haze of hurt and exhaustion that had gripped him for the last several hours, that she was not going much further. But he had an idea, freed her from the travois and balanced it precariously at the top of the steep slope, crouching there as he studied the ground below them. Avalanche danger, he figured, ought to be minimal, as scoured as the bowl appeared to be. In the moonlight he could see that there was nothing at the bottom--no exposed rocks or nearby trees--to prevent them from having a safe runout, coming safely to a stop Go for it. He got Liz onto the sled, positioned himself behind her and told her to keep her feet up on the poles and lean back, because they had to keep the poles in the front out of contact with the snow, grabbed her and held on, rocking the travois a time or two until it teetered over the edge and started down. Hope I havent just done us in, here. As the sled hesitated for a moment there at the top, Einar had time for a brief flash of thought to

the effect that the majority of fatal mountaineering accidents in any given year were the direct result of uncontrolled glissades went wrongbut it was too late, they were moving, moving awfully fast, actually, and had somehow got turned around backwards, were spinning, the willow frame skittering down wildly across the icy surface of the bowl. The ride grew faster as they picked up speed quickly on the icy slope, and somewhere near two thirds of the way down Einar began to doubt the wisdom of the whole thing-just how well can one really judge whether a slope has a safe runout or not, by moonlight and with your eyes blurring as his had been, after all?--tilting unconsciously forward at the thought and bringing one of the spruce poles into disastrous contact with the snow. The sled flipped, then--jumped, actually--flying into the air and spilling its occupants rather unceremoniously onto the snow, where they impacted hard and began a series of violent tumbles and rolls that would take them to the bottom of the bowl. Einar got himself turned over onto his stomach at one point and tried to self-arrest by digging fingers and feet into the slope, but it was too icy and he kept sliding, hitting an unevenness where a rock jutted up near the surface and tumbling again. That last tumble ended with Einar flying what felt like eight or ten feet through the air and landing hard on the icy snow, bad foot slamming into the ground, a stifled scream--swallowed before it cleared his throat--at the impact, as white hot shards of pain splintered upwards from the foot to encompass his entire leg, silence as he struggled to get his breath back, and then laughter, wild, crazy relieved laughter as he saw that Liz was alright, was crawling towards him across the moon-silvered snow. They met and clung laughing together there in the moonlight, tears running down their cheeks to freeze in hair and beard and clothes, and then they were quiet, worn out, Einar still grinning that weird, wolfish, terribly outof-place grin that Liz had so often seen from him at times when things seemed near their worst, eyes sparkling as he hauled himself to his feet and began working to right the sled and assess the damage. Which, surprisingly, there was very little of, considering the circumstances. One spruce pole had broken near the end and had been left a foot or so shorter than the other, but their gear was all there, still, lashed in place as it had been, and Einar was quite glad be able to retrieve his spear, also, stuck in the snow some twenty yards above where they had come to rest. He hurried up to it, breath coming hard, used it for support as he stumbled back down to Liz, falling on his side and sliding the last few feet. Whew! That was quite a ride! Guess weve come about as far as we need to, for tonight. Time to hunker down and see if we can get some sleepwarm up a little, finish the trip down to the valley in the morning. Looks like its all timber from here on down, so we wont have to worry too much about tracks. Not that we didnt leave a big old gouge in the snow sliding down the way we just did, butit was worth it! Einar hobbled over to the sled and started to hitch himself up, then, but Liz stopped him, seeing that he was limping badly and in obvious pain after slamming his foot into the snow in the crash, took one of the poles and handed him the other, and together they pulled their possessions into the timber. As the exhilaration of the snowy ride began to wear off, both Einar and Liz found themselves dreadfully weary, sore and stiff and chilled

almost to the point of immobility, and it was with great relief that they finally settled on a spot to spend the night, a tree-sheltered bit of ground offering shallower snow and ample dry branches for a small fire. They worked together to get a bed prepared and the fire ready--with the ending of the storm, the night promised to be clear and achingly cold-struggling into dry clothes and huddling together beneath the yearling hide as the flames climbed up through their little pyramid of dry sticks. Warmth, shelter from the wind, and they were soon sharing a pot of soup, hot and somewhat nourishing if weak, composed of the remainder of the pemmican and a good handful of dried chokecherries, grateful tears as they slowly came to realize that their labor was through, for the day. Einars foot hurt terribly, but he was very nearly too numb with exhaustion and cold to give it anything beyond a passing notice, sinking to the ground in a weary heap as soon as the meal was done and snow melted to refill their water bottles, Lizs arms around him as they dropped off quickly to sleep. The night was cold, and they were cold, too, as soon as the fire died down, huddling as they were beneath coverings that were not quite dry, and Einar woke sometime in the night to free a stiff hand from the yearling hide and poke at the remains of the fire in search of the rocks he had stuck into it, finding one, still quite warm, and bringing it into the bed for a bit of added warmth before sleeping again, knowing that he ought perhaps try and stay awake to bring the fire back to life, but unable to do it. Back up at the shelter in the basin, a porcupine, hungry, out browsing for a meal of tree bark after being holed up during the storm, shuffled her way into the snowless interior of the shelter. She was interested--in the endless quest for salt that often led members of her species to chew and destroy boots and other leather gear--in the scent of sweat and of blood that lingered in the shelter. Exploring, she found the spot where Einar had bled in the dirt after removing his toes, nosed at the ground. Morning was a smear of brilliance on the Eastern horizon, the pure, crystalline light that brushed the sky above the ridge-trees appearing almost greenish through the crisp clear air, prying at Einars unwilling eyes until finally it got them open. Lying there squinting into the brightness, he was momentarily confused about his surroundings as he took in the taller trees of a significantly lower elevation than that at which they had spent the previous nights, the distant sound of water, suppressed, burbling and dripping as it wound its way between shelves of snow and ice. He remembered. The creek. We must have been lower than we realized, when we finally stopped last night. Doesnt sounds like the waters too much farther below us. The thought alarmed him some, the realization that they had just spent a night in a very different and, to his mind less secure place, without having taken the time and effort to observe it first and decide that it was alright. And, worse, theyd had a fire, a careless, sloppy thing built right there on the surface without any special effort to conceal it, the feeble efforts of two badly exhausted and half frozen individuals to warm themselves and keep alive through the night. Well, it worked, because here you are, pretty chilly it does seem, but more or less alive. Dont know that you could have done much better last night if youd tried, as worn out as you both were,

and I dont know about her, but you sure werent even seeing straight there near the end, let alone being sharp enough to really take in all the details of this place and make a good decision about its safety. But from here on youve got to pay more attention, got to assume youre in enemy territory here, until you prove otherwise to yourself. Awful low it looks like, awful close to one of the biggest waterways in the area, though its not all that big, and you know that increases the chances of seeing someone, of being seen He closed his eyes to block out for a moment the increasing brightness in the east, tucked his head under the bear hide, its dampness turned overnight to ice, and shivered as he breathed the slightly warmer air that had been trapped beneath it. Too much. It was all too much, and he wished he could go back to sleep, but knew that he must not. Liz lay warm at his back, but he could tell from her own trembling and the way she held him so tightly that he could barely move his own arms--it was making him uncomfortable, and he was beginning to feel an urgent and growing need to get free--that her night had not been anywhere near warm enough, either. Got to stop doing nights like this, at least until we get some more meat on our bones. Just not gonna wake up, one of these times. We should have stopped sooner last night, come up with some shelter before it got dark and we ended up so doggone near dead on our feetnot sure why we thought we had to keep going, this time. Habit, I guess. Well, he pulled back the ice-crusted cloak, head emerging again into the bitter morning air, past time to stop moping around here. Got toa muffled groan as he rolled to his stomach, rose, feeling the full effects of his tumble down the last third of the bowl, the cold night that had followedgot to go take a look at that creek, see if I can figure just where we are this morning. Using the spear for support as he hobbled to the edge of the timber for a view--feet were awfully cold, and he supposed hed better have a look at them when he got back, see if anything needed thawing, after that night--and stood staring down at the valley, snowy but green in varying shakes, spruces and firs beginning to show a bit of their spring growth as temperatures warmed down at the lower elevations. They had stopped, as it turned out, on a large, timbered rocky outcropping no more than a few hundred yards above the creek. Which might make somewhere in the area where we spent the night a good spot to set up camp, actually, because we dont want to be sleeping right down there beside the creek. Would scare the game some, and its almost always colder down near the bottom of little valleys like that than it is up a ways on the slope, too. Especially if youre right near the water. Something bothered him, though, as he studied the timber where Liz still lay sleeping and thought of the prospect of establishing a temporary camp in it to serve as a base for their trapping operations along the creek, a prickle of warning somewhere in the back of his mind that would not allow him to come to terms with the idea. Face it, Einar. Youre not gonna feel comfortable with anything until you get yourself way back up into those mountains and far from anything that resembles a major creek. Now. This looks like a fine spot, and youre already here, so might as well scout around and see if you cant find a decent place for us to settle in. But the voice wouldnt leave him alone, nagged at him, and he knew what it was saying. Too close. This is too close to your basin, right here at the bottom of the most natural descent route that leads down

from itand back up to it. If you stay here and your camp ends up being discovered, youll never be able to go back up to that basin. And even if it doesnt get discovered while youre here, you know youre always gonna be wondering, all summer long as you get set up there in the basin and build a more permanent shelter, whether you really were as thorough as you could have been in cleaning up all sign of this temporary camp, wondering if somebodyll come across it during the summer, some backpacker or Forest Ranger, and see something you overlooked, bones with knife marks on them, a place where you broke off some branches for firewood, and report it, end up leading searchers to the is spot and so the drainage that leads straight up to your basin. It would eat at you, the uncertainty, would contaminate that place up there until finally youd end up having to leave, and probably just as you were really getting settled in and established up there, too. He shook his head, scrubbed an arm across his face. Alright, then Plenty of reason not to stay where we are! I did ask Looks like wed better head up or down the creek by a few miles, at least, before setting up camp and getting started with the trapping. Not do anything that could end in leading them up to our basin. It all made sense, was clearly what they needed to do, but as he stood there shakily on one foot, starting down the valley and thinking of those extra mileswell, Im just not sure I got them in me, right now. Want tosleep, just curl up under a tree and go to sleep for a few daysknow thats not what I ought to want, but I sure am gonna need Your help if Im supposed to avoid it. For several minutes more he remained there, head down, leaning heavily on the spear as the sun crept up through the spruce-ranks that stood stark and black on the opposite ridge, first illuminating their tops with a soft light and then bursting through them with a brilliance that brought Einar out of his daze, and he straightened up, raised his face to greet the day, absorbing those first rays of sun as if they could in some way substitute for the food he did not have, the touch of warmth feeling like life itself after long chill of the night. Better go collect Liz now, take a look at the map and decide which direction were heading, because the sooner we can get started, the better. Really need to eat, put our focus on getting more food. Returning to the tree beneath which they had spent the night Einar found Liz sitting on top of the spot where their fire had been as if in hopes of drawing some lingering warmth from the ground, huddled in the yearling hide with only her eyes and nose sticking out, and looking a bit less than fully awake as she studied the map. He saw that she had already oriented it to the creek, and was trying to pinpoint their current position. Mind if I join you? Kinda chilly out here this morning. She held open the hide and he hurried to lower himself creakily to the ground beside her, pulling the fur tight around his shoulders and making no objection when she sought to rub some warmth back into him. Not much warmer in here, Im afraid. I would have got the fire going again but didnt know if youd want us to have one this morning. I see that were almost down to the creek. Yes. Got real close last night. Better wait on any more fires until we have a chance to

do some looking around, get a sense of this place. You were looking at the map. Figure out where we are? She showed him a spot on the topo where the creek curved in a manner similar to what they were seeing below them and Einar squinted at the map, wishing they had one in a larger scale than that provided by the badly worn and yellowed National Forest printout that represented their only map. Well, better than nothing, but Im sure not seeing very clearly this morning. Looking like we better get a few rabbits or squirrels or another porcupine real soon here, if Im gonna be good for much of anythingcome on, concentrate. No, I dont think were down that low. Little hard to tell on this map, but seeyes. Here. Heres the basin, so just follow the drainage down from that, andyep. Were up a good five or six miles than that spot you were showing me. Right about here. And he indicated a series of closely-spaced, sharply curved topo lines that looked like a reasonable representation of the bluff that they had slept on. But Id like us to get down to an area closer to where you were looking, just because it seems like a real bad idea to go setting up camp here so close to our basin. If something goes wrong and we end up having to runwell, Id like us to be further from it so they dont end up there, in the search for us. Liz was nodding, staring at the map and tracing the course of the valley with her finger to the place where it opened out into the valley that held the highway and, a number of miles south of that point, the town of Culver Falls. How far would you say it is out to the highway from here? He squinted at the map, shook his head in an attempt to clear the blurring spots from his vision. Ohfifteen, seventeen miles, maybe. Far enough. I dont aim to get us any closer than ten or twelve miles to the highway by heading down the creek a little, so we ought to be alright, this time of year. Have to be careful though, because Ive got a real odd feeling about this whole expedition. Kinda wishing wed found a way to stay up there in the basin. But here we are, so we better work on getting settled somewhere, find or make some good shelter, and get a bunch of traps and snares set out. She nodded again, didnt say anything more, but Einar could tell that something was on her mind, and it seemed to him that she was paying an awful lot of attention to the section of the map that contained the highway, town, her friend Susans mountainside cabin. Dont even let your thoughts head in that direction, Lizsome things are just not part of our world anymore. Half an hour later they were well on their way down the creek in search of Einars definition of a safe distance from the basin-drainage, keeping above the valley floor by a good hundred yards in order to avoid the rougher, rockier ground down near the water, the willow groves that would have significantly slowed their progress. Already Einar was beginning to notice a few encouraging signs here and there, a series of squirrel tracks that ran between a low-sweeping branch and an area of disturbed ground where the creature had apparently been accessing its winter stash, rabbit droppings beneath the shelter of a raspberry thicket, and once even the unmistakable soft padding prints of a fox on a snow-

covered log. There was hope, and Einar--body still close to failing him but mind significantly more buoyant he had found it that morning--walked with a bit less drag in his step as he helped Liz navigate their way through the timber with the travois, walking with the spear in one hand and the atlatl in the other, and making sure Liz kept the bola within easy reach in case an opportunity should arise to secure some supper. Down there near the creek, a good thirty yards upslope of it in the dark timber, they finally found shelter, a snag of last years wind-dropped evergreens looking like home to Einar and Liz having no objection, being herself more than ready to stop. It was only with difficulty that they had manipulated the travois in through that tangle of trees, closegrowing, the ground beneath them dim and shaded, thick enough to bewilder an elk and pretty near hang him up in the branches, Einar had said, and he had liked it, had felt safe there, and they had stopped. Better still would have been a rocky overhang such as they had left behind in the basin, stone walls to reflect heat and provide them even more protection from aerial detection than was offered by the heavy screen of trees overhead, but the area was not conducive to such geology, and the trees would have to do. There was work to be done, and plenty of it, before the sky again dimmed with evening--an occurrence which looked to be no more than five or six hours in coming; they had spent a good deal of time slogging through the timber along the creek before Einar became satisfied that they had put enough distance between themselves and the basin-drainage-but before beginning, they sat together on a log that had been kicked free of its snowburden, badly in need of a few minutes stillness. Hunger was a thing almost beyond feeling for them that day, their weariness serving to block almost entirely the twisting and gnawing that had so plagued them of late, but nonetheless it loomed over them, their need, shadowing faces and threatening imminently to strike them down and render them unable to go on, and huddling there on the log, they tried to placate the beast with little nibbles of pemmican and jerky, tiny lumps of bear fat left to melt in the mouth, but it hardly seemed to be helping, the menace only growing larger in their minds. Einar knew that a time had come when they must push ahead nonetheless, do their best to silence the screaming, pleading protests of the body, and overcome. There was nothing else to do. The place was familiar to him, he had been there, but Lizher face worried him, the desperation he saw written there, for it looked greater than that which he felt in his own soul, and he did not know how to help her. (Though if he could have seen his own face through her eyes, he would have realized that she was seeing the same things written there) They didnt talk about it, sat silent as they rested, and if Liz had been looking closely, she would have seen something else in Einars eyes, too, a little spark behind the glazed dullness that had crept over them that morning, the trial-hardened will to keep moving, doing, dimmed, perhaps, by his present exhaustion, but also deepened. He rose, hobbled stiffly over to the shelter-spot and began clearing the snow from in front of it so they could crawl in without dragging too much snow along with them. There beneath the tangle of deadfall was an area of nearly snow-free ground, deep deposits of spruce duff not quite dry but certainly not so dampened by the melting that had already taken place at that lower elevation as to be frozen solid in the cold of that day, and he

scraped and brushed at the crusty snow that covered it in places, dug down into the deep, spruce-scented stuff and began working to create them a bed. The shelter would be small, not a thing one could stand comfortably in and walk about, but consequently it would also be warm, the low ceiling and close walls conserving their body heat and keeping it from dissipating so quickly into the frigid air. The place would make a fine, if temporary shelter, and there was room out front of it for a little fire, the spot largely shielded from falling snow, should they see any in their time there, by the interlocking branches of the three or four spruces whose trunks grew in tight half circle around the entrance to the windfall. Liz was still sitting there on the log with her elbows on her knees, when he finished, dragging himself out from beneath the windfall after having scooped up some of the duff that lay well over two thick on parts of its floor and packing it into the walls, holding the insulation in place by breaking off branches from the fallen trees above his head and jamming them as stays, and he crawled over to her, hauled himself back up onto the log. She jumped, nearly falling forward into the snow, and Einar realized that she had been asleep. Im sorry, sorry Einar, I didnt mean to fall asleep, I know youve been busy and youve got to be more worn out than I amI dont know whats wrong with me. Here, let me help, what can I do? He laughed, pulled her gently back down on the log beside him and fished another lump of pemmican out of the nearly empty pouch around her neck, pressing it into her hand. No problem, its all done. Pretty tight in there anyway, no room for two to be working at once. Gonna be a real nice snug spot that ought to go a long way towards keeping us warm at night! About the other thing, thoughI highly doubt theres anything wrong with you that hourly infusions of protein and fat every day for the next few months wont cure. Liz supposed she agreed with him on that, though cure was not exactly the word she would have used for it, no cure for what Im pretty sure Ive got, but a regular supply of protein and fat sure would be a help, if Im right She looked at him strangely then, wondering about his comment, and if he could possibly have meant it the way it sounded, wondering if he suspected. Unsure, she wanted to use the opportunity to bring up something that had been a nagging question in her mind ever since the day after they had reached their last shelter up in the basin. Studying his face, though, the almost carefree ease with which he carried himself, even as he sat there shaking with cold and exhaustion and clearly favoring his right foot as if it were hurting him a great deal, she decided against it, at least for the time. He really is in his element here, right here in this freezing wilderness with almost nothing left and starvation staring us right in the face, isnt he? He looks almost happy at the moment, in his own way Goofy guy. No need to complicate things right now, I guess. For somebody with his life experiences--not that Ive ever been able to get him to talk about them, but he doesnt have to, for me to know at least part of the story--and the grim determination thats never very far from the

surface with him, he sure does come across as almost childlike and innocent when it comes to certain thingsincluding, apparently, this one. Well, that will have to change some, but it doesnt have to change right now this minutebetter let him enjoy this new shelter for a while. Sounds like it must really be something, from what hes saying. She got to her feet, joining him at the entrance to inspect their new home. It really did look cozy, though small, almost like a den that a fox or coyote or other small furry critter would create, and she liked it. Their gear dragged into the shelter and arranged as well as possible in the small space, Einar decided there was time to get some snares set out before dusk fell, carrying the supply of partially tangled cordage and wire that had served as their latest batch of snares out to a spot where the sun broke golden and warm through the timber, kicking the snow off of a rock and settling himself on it to sort and straighten the materials, preparing eight snares for that afternoon. The sun was warm and good on his back as he worked, and he set aside the bear hide cloak--it was quite damp, anyway, and not providing him all that much protection--and let the sun seep into his bones for a while, finding himself nodding with sleep as he tried to twist wire for the snares. Wont do. Wake up. You got to set these out before dark, if you want much chance of eating tomorrow. Liz had joined him on the rock, was helping to prepare the snares and he watched her for a minute, seeing how proficient she had become at the task over the last weeks and thinking once again how glad he was that she had the skills she would need to take care out of herself out there, if need be. Finishing with the snare preparation, they headed down to the creek, snares slung over Einars shoulder, Liz carrying the figure four trap triggers that she had brought along from her trapline at their last shelter, hoping to find a place to set a few of them up, and finding down near the water many hopeful signs of the presence of game. The did not, though, as Einar had been hoping, come across a grouse or ptarmigan that they could take with the bola for their supper that evening, or even a rabbit or squirrel for him to try his atlatl or Liz her rabbit stick on. He did retrieve a small handful of fat, whitish-yellow grubs from a spruce stump, damp and mostly frozen, down near the creek, and knew they would make a most welcome addition to jerky shreds and the small square of their nearly exhausted bear fat supply that would otherwise be making up the evening meal. They had done what they could for the day, would check the snares in the morning, and if they turned up emptywell, guess Im gonna be looking for a good tight curve in the creek where it looks like some silt would have gathered, break the ice and dig up potfull of that glop for us to boil up. Would be mostly mud, but people have lived on such things for a while, when there was nothing else. Lots of organic matter in that siltdead bugs, fish droppings, old rotted plant partsbe a lot richer in a pond or lake or swamp, but theres bound to be something, even in this creek, if I can find the right spot. It was to be another long, hungry night for the two of them, but not without cause for hope. The size constraints of the new shelter and the fact that it was constructed entirely of dead, fallen evergreens and heaps of needles from the same trees meant that a fire could

not be built inside it, a fact that Einar had been aware of when he chose the spot. The fact, much as it dismayed Liz, fit with his intention keeping their fires to a minimum until he got a better feel for the area they were in. They would not, after all, require flame for melting snow to produce drinking water, with the creek so close by, and he was hoping that they might be able to get by with a small fire each evening to--hopefully--boil up some soup, make tea and heat rocks to help keep them warm as they slept. It would be a temporary arrangement, the lack of access to fire at any time they wished for one hopefully being made up for by the fact that they would be eating better, their bodies more easily able to maintain a normal temperature. It was a good theory, but required the presence of that extra food to actually work, and they had not, as yet, seen any of the hoped-for food. As it was, they huddled around their little fire at dusk that evening, heating water for spruce needle tea and working hard to get the bear hide cloaks to dry out before bedtime, turning them this way and that as they hung suspended over the fire. The job was not going to get done in time and they knew it, the heavy, thick fur taking a good while to dry out, and Einar volunteered to stay up and tend to them until the drying was complete, but Liz could see that he was dead tired, and not wanting him to fall asleep at the task and lie there freezing as the fire died, while she herself slept snug and unaware in the shelter, encouraged him to consider his work done for the night and come to bed. He did not argue, but knew that he must first tend to his foot, which had been somewhat neglected during that day of scouting the creek and trying to get a trapline established, and was feeling none the better for it. Wasnt looking so good, either, when he finally got the sock strip unwound and removed the blood-crusted usnea pad with the help of some warm water. The bleeding had not been too significant, just enough to thoroughly cement the pad in place and make its removal a difficult and less than comfortable task, but the foot was not looking too healthy, the edges of the wounds black and shriveled and giving little sign that it had begun to heal over. He warmed the remaining berberine water by submerging the bottle briefly in the pot that Liz had by the fire, washing the wounds with some of it and wishing he had access to a good supply of hounds tongue so he could make a poultice for the thing, and some water in which to give it regular washes. The plants high content of the cell-growth stimulator allantoin, the same compound that made comfrey such an effective healer, would have gone a long way towards encouraging the wounds to begin scabbing over and starting towards healing, he knew. But, there was no finding such things with the ground several feet deep in snow. The washes with berberine water would have to do, would be enough, he hoped, to prevent further infection while the foot began to heal. Looking at it, though, he could not help but feel a bit discouraged at the lack of any obvious progress in the days since losing the toes. Sitting there glumly for a moment he finally shook his head, chuckled silently to himself and began the process of getting the foot bandaged back up for the night. Well, what do you expect? Youve put an awful lot of miles on the thing these last few days, and Id say its doing pretty well, for all youve asked of it. And at least it didnt start bleeding on you again. Wouldnt have been going much of anywhere I dont believe, if youd lost much more blood after that first day. The task was done, and it was past time for some sleep. Liz helped him collect and wrap

the seven or eight rocks which with he had surrounded the little firepit, distributing most of them around the interior of the shelter to add some warmth and leaving one apiece to press against backs or sides or between hands that night, as needed. The fire out--Einar had insisted that they not keep one going all night there in the new place until he came to know it better--they crept into the shelter and got themselves situated as well as possible beneath the yearling hide, pulling one of the still-damp fur cloaks over it for additional insulation and tucking the other into the branches above the shelter entrance to act as door. The arrangement left them snug and out of the wind, and they might even have been comfortable, as much care as Einar had taken in preparing and insulating the place, had they not been so terribly hungry and by consequence cold. Still, they managed to get some sleep, Liz finding it more readily accessible than Einar, who lay awake for a long time listening to the night, the unfamiliar but pleasant sounds of the seeping and gurgling down among its banks of ice, the wind sighing in the trees overhead, its pitch and quality differing in some not quite definable way from the tree-music of their little basin. All else was silence, good, reassuring silence, but something still bothered him about the place, the lowness of it, the proximity, he supposed, to the creek and by default, to the populated areas of the larger valley into which it spilled. After a time he joined Liz in sleep, his night filled with hunger-dreams, visions of deer and rabbits and a good, greasedripping bird of some kind, grouse, ptarmigan, he couldnt tell through the dream-haze, roasting and crackling over the fire, so close he could touch italmost. They were good dreams in their own way, helped to make up in small some measure for the others that were not so good, the ones he tried hard to push aside and forget as soon as he woke, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the images, no time for distractions now, we got snares to check! Breakfast that morning was as cold as it was small, meager bites of jerky and the previous nights boiled usnea eaten slowly as they sat there close together in the shelter striving to rub some feeling back into limbs numbed by the chill of the night, and after a bit of discussion they split up, each heading in a different direction to expedite the job of checking all the snares. Liz headed up along the low rise that held their camp, Einar descending to the more level ground just above the creek to check the snares and deadfalls they had set there. Empty. Everything was empty, and though he knew that the outcome was nothing out of the ordinary for a wait of one day, that it by no means indicated that the area would not turn into a fine supplier of food, given time, the discovery hit him hard, left him limping along with a heavy heart, for he knew that Liz had been counting on their having something substantial to eat, that day. Well, maybe shes having better luck up there. Please, let her find something On the chance--and he knew that it was a pretty good chance--that Liz found all of her snares to be empty that morning as well, Einar knew that he must do something to make sure they did not go to sleep with nearly empty stomachs again. Looks like its time for some boiled creek glop, if I can come up with any. Pretty bad if a person cant even come up with any creek glop The creek was rocky, narrow and fast-flowing, as was characteristic of mountain streams in the area, lined with snow-piled banks of ice that prevented access to the edges of the water where silt, if there was any, would have been deposited. Following the creek for a

distance, he finally settled on a tight bend where the creek coiled its way tightly around what appeared to be a large outcropping of snow-covered rock, thinking the curve looked as likely as anything he had seen to have served as a silt-trap. The problem was reaching the water, at least there at the edges. He had already ventured out more than once on the ice banks to dip water from the open center of the creek, but knew he would find no silt there, only rocks. Which while filling, no doubt, contained little nutritional value and tended to be mite rough on the digestion. He laughed a little, chided himself for letting his mind wander off the task. Back to it The ice was thick, sturdy enough to support his weight when he carefully tried it, and he had neither the tools nor the strength to chip his way through to the water. Exploring further, testing the ice with his spear, he found a spot where it seemed less sound, quite rotten, actually, and kicking and probing at the spot, soon discovered that a log--probably trapped and floating in the stiller water there in the curve--was embedded just below the surface, its darker color absorbing more sun-heat than its surroundings and weakening the ice just above it. Chipping at the rotten ice above the log, he finally exposed it, prying with the end of his spear until he raised one end of the heavy, waterlogged thing sufficiently that he was able to get a hand on it, pulling and straining with all his might and falling over backwards when it suddenly let go and came free of the ice. There. Open water. He did not want to lose the pot, hastily tied a length of cordage to its handle, securing the other end around his spear and laying the weapon crossways over the hole in the ice. Flattening himself on his stomach there on the snow-ice beside the hole, he reached down to scoop up the blackish glop at the bottom. It would be full of rock particles lower down, he expected, and carefully skimmed the surface in the hopes of leaving the pulverized rock behind and ending up with a pot full of mostly organic material that could be boiled up into a somewhat foul smelling but--in theory, at least; hed never tried it--somewhat nourishing meal. Success. As far as he could tell, anyway. The black gooey substance that filled the bottom third of the pot was not particularly grainy when he rubbed it between his fingers--that, or my fingers are just too numb to feel it, after being in that icy water--and looked to contain a good bit more partially decayed sticks and stems than it did rock chips. Just what I was looking forand he was tempted to try it right then and there--its rather close to the consistency of chocolate pudding, after all-but waited, knowing that it would be very wise to boil the stuff first, since he had that option. Though he had not yet seen tracks or fresh sign, numerous trees along the creek showed evidence of beaver activity, the neatly chewed and severed trunks of small aspens sticking up through the snow, and he knew that in Giardia would be a real possibility in such waters. And that has to be just about the last thing I need, right now. A fairly minor unpleasantness when a person is healthy, but right now itd probably finish me off. So. Head back up to camp, and well boil us up a good pot of creek muck stew. Liz was already back by the time Einar finished struggling his way up the hill, sitting in front of the shelter with a barely suppressed hint of a smile on her face, eyes sparkling as he parted the spruce branches. She rose to greet him, holding her bola in one hand and in the other, triumphantly, a good fat grouse. Einars face lit up at the sight, his pot of black muck suddenly seeming a good bit less important, much to his relief.

Oh, were gonna feast tonight! Good hunting! Einar and Liz worked together to pluck the grouse while the bird was still warm, both of them wondering how they were to manage waiting to eat it until that night when they could have a fire. Far quicker would have been to simply gut and skin the bird, but they had decided against that, knowing that they would lose a good bit of the fat in removing the skin. Before starting the plucking, Einar had hung the bird from a branch by its feet, cutting its throat to bleed it, a process which had gone fairly quickly, as fresh as the bird still was. The blood they collected in the cooking pot--the one that was not full of black creek muck--and mixed with some water to be drunk for a bit of energy as they worked. Einar felt greatly revived after sipping salty drink while he worked, which told him that he must still be badly behind when it came to replacing the iron he had lost in bleeding, and probably feeling the effects of electrolytes that were significantly out of balance, too. Well, doing what I can. Now, better use this new energy to get some things done around here! Which he did, helping Liz finish the plucking before walking a wide loop around the campsite, collecting firewood for that night. Einar admitted to himself that he was almost certainly being over-cautious when it came to forgoing a fire during the daytime; he had seen no sign of human presence in the area and had no particular reason to suspect that anyone might see or smell their smoke, but still he could not bring himself to consider daytime fire a reasonable risk, just yet. Give it another day, get to know this place better. Were an awful lot lower than we were in the basin--or at any of our last three camps, for that matter--snow is less deep and were near the water, all factors that make it more likely to run into someone, even if the chances are still real slim this time of year. Not gonna hurt us to wait. It was, however, hurting his stomach, which twisted and grumbled painfully every time he let his mind stray back to the bird that hung in the cool shadows in front of their shelter, and he tried to put it out of his mind of the moment, focusing on adding to the armful of branches he had so far managed to round up, adding more to the pile until he could not be certain of carrying many more. Back to camp, then, where he dumped his burden in the trampled-down snow in front of the shelter, working to break the branches into lengths appropriate for their little firepit. Liz joined him, helping, and they worked in silence for a time. Einar noticed after a while that Liz was suspiciously eyeing the pot of creek sludge, wrinkling up her nose at the smell of it, pungent, hinting at the decayed plant and animal matter that made it up. Whats that? A new treatment youre going to try for your foot? He laughed. No. Though I did use swamp mud once to help heal my arm, after it got torn up real bad in the fight with that wolverine. Thing was all red and inflamed, swollen, and I tried all sorts of things, cattail gel, berberine, but nothing seemed to be helping and I was getting real sick, had a feverwell, Id heard about clay and mud of various sorts being used as a drawing poultice for wounds and such, but was pretty sure that didnt include stinking black swamp muck like I was wading through to get at those cattails. Got pretty desperate though, guess I wasnt thinking right because of the fever, and I ended up smearing that good cool muck all over my arm, letting it stay there when it seemed to ease the pain some and covering it with mullein leaves, letting it dry there. Was a couple days before I was right again, came to my senses and washed the stuff off,

but I kinda think it may have helped. Arm was a lot less inflamed after that, and the fever finally came down. Anyway, I livedbut no, thats not what this is for. This was going to be our supper. Our supper? Well you goofy old What? Youre serious? Dont tell me youre serious. Afraid so. About out of options, and we were starting to be in mighty bad need of some nourishment, more than a person can get from boiled usnea and toasted spruce bark. Now as the legends go--and they may be nothing more than legends and I a fool for paying them much heed, but hey, I was getting a little desperate--starving tribesmen were more than once saved by scooping up the black muck that builds up along the bottom under stagnant water, boiling the stuff and eating it. Think about it. Whats that stuff made of? Rotted plants, fish droppings, the decayed carcasses of insects and fish and maybe a muskrat or two, layer after layer, and all the tiny critters that feed and grow on that stuff, and you know theres got to be some protein in there, some carbs, enough to sustain a person for a while if hes out of other choices He stopped, glanced up at Liz--who seemed to be looking unusually pale all of a sudden-just in time to see her scramble to her feet and run three steps to a big spruce just outside their little shelter-clearing, crouching there and vomiting miserably. She crept back over to him, finally, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Im sorry. You know Im not usually squeamish like this, Ill eat anything you will, but please. Could you put thatcreek muckwhere I cant smell it? Or see it. Einar did it in a hurry--aw, come onits not all that awful--setting the pot over on the other side of the shelter, briefly thinking of dumping the offending substance and covering it with snow, but deciding against it, as the stuff still represented a meal of sorts, should they end up needing it. What? Was it the mention of the rotting muskrat carcasses, or Dont! Just dont and she scrambled back over to the tree, gripped for a while by dry heaves. Not knowing just what to do, Einar handed her the nearly empty pot of grouse blood drink when she returned. Here, try to drink a little. Dont want to get too dehydrated. Im sorry, Im really sorry, I know I just wasted my share of that drink, and we cant afford to be wasting anythingI guess Id better head down to the creek now and get some more water so we dont have to wait until tonight when we have a fire to melt some snow and drink againits a good thing we have that filter, so we wont even have to boil the water. Ill be right back. He rose, leaning on the spear to keep from falling over at the suddenness of it. Let me

just hang this bird good and high in one of these trees out of the reach of scavengers, and Ill come with you. They went, Liz taking along all of their extra clothing in the hopes of being able to wash it at the creek--it had been far too long since theyd had the luxury of doing any laundry-knowing that even a brief rinse in the icy water, followed by an hour or two suspended over the fire that evening, would go a long way towards securing them some cleaner clothes. The trip down the slope to the creek left her feeling a good bit more steady, the creeping nausea that had come over her at Einars description of his planned stew leaving almost entirely, and when Einar offered to get the water, she began work right away on the laundry. While Liz worked, Einar hobbled back over to the hole in the ice where he had removed the log to allow him access to the creek muck at the bottom, and he saw that already a fairly thick skin of ice had formed over the hole. Chopping at it with the end of his spear, he again opened the water, filled the pot with water and set it aside, staring at the opening for a minute, cold and looking very black, surrounded as it was with snow, before suddenly grinning as if struck with a marvelous idea, sitting down and taking off his boots. Working quickly to wash the clothes, Lizs hands were soon achingly cold, the water only a few degrees above freezing, from the feel of it, and it burned like hot metal as she hurried to submerge first one article of clothing and then another, wringing them out and spreading them flat in the snow so it could begin to absorb some of their remaining moisture and leave that much less which would have to be dried out of them by the fire. Finishing the job she crouched there for a minute, warming badly numbed hands against her stomach and finding herself glad that laundry under such conditions was not a daily chore. She rose, staring at the sky, which had clouded up some while she worked. It was beginning to spit snow, the wind picking up, thin and cold as it swept down the valley. She doubted it was going to be much of a storm, the air just didnt have the feel to it that she had come to expect when a major weather shift was coming, and she looked forward to the snow with excitement, knowing that if it snowed hard enough, Einar would probably allow them to have a fire before nightfall, thus bringing closer the time when they would be able to eat that bird! Now, I wonder where can have he wandered off to She followed his tracks, heart skipping a beat when she saw them disappear over a mound of snow there near the edge of the creek and not re-appear, found him sitting there in the water, submerged from the neck down, eyes closed, barely appearing to breathe, and she was terribly alarmed, was about to rush to him and pull him out but stopped herself. It appeared that his actions in entering the water had been very deliberate, clothes neatly piled on the snow, boots atop them, and she waited, watched him stand and leave the water after another minute or so, clinging to the ice for support and appearing barely able to drag himself out, aiding his exit by grabbing a stout branch that he had stuck horizontally across the opening, apparently for that purpose. Einar had started shivering upon leaving the water, seemed to be having a great deal of trouble getting back into his clothes, and finally Liz couldnt stand seeing him like that anymore, announced

her presence by crunching through the snow-crust and hurried to him. Einar! What were you doing in there? Takingbath of course. Want tojoin me next time? What? No! Absolutely not. Youre freezing. Here, let me help you. Do you want to lose the rest of you toes, or what? He grinned at her, shaking wildly as he struggled into his socks. Justdoing what I always used to do, training in thewater. Can still do itgood to know. Toes are gonna be Ok, because I gotdry socks and boots to put on. He was dressed by then, and she got the bear hide around him, sitting with him and holding him as he shook. His eyes looked cloudy, hands and face varying shades of mottled purple, and she could not imagine how he could have thought a dip in that water could possibly be a good thing for someone in his condition. I understand that its what you used to do, and even that you probably need to do it, for several different reasons, but maybe youre not quite ready for it, yet? Thats aha!a real distinct p-possibilityisnt it? He was laughing, grinning through chattering teeth as he stood and helped her collect the frozen laundry that she had washed, and Liz could not see any humor in the situation, threw up her hands in exasperation and followed him up the hill. Needing to get warm, Einar pushed hard on his way up the slope. He really hadnt been ready for an extended dip in that icy water, and knew it now, if he somehow had not, before, but he was in dry clothes and there was a fire waiting to be started as soon as they got back up to the shelter. It was snowing pretty hard, by that point, and food was waiting to be cooked and eaten; he would be alright. Back up at the shelter, Liz got Einar situated by the firepit--he wasnt walking too well, legs stiff and chilled from the water--and brought the fire to life, setting a pot full of water and raw grouse on a rock beside it to begin heating. She needed the other pot, wanted to make some tea for them to be working on while they waited for the bird to cook, reached for the muck-filled pot so she could empty and clean it. Einar saw her, scrambled to his feet. Wait, nolet me take care of it. Dont want it making you sick again. No, it wont. I got all of that out of my system earlier, it feels like. For now at least. Im really sorry about this morning Aw, no need to be sorry. You just need to eat. Your stomachs all tied in knots from being too empty for too long. I know what its like, but this birds gonna go a long way

towards remedying it for you. She sighed, took his hand. No, EinarI really dont think you do know what its like. Ok, Einar thought to himself, not understanding the urgency he heard in Liz's voice guess shes right, nobody really knows what a thing is like for anyone else, quite true, big mistake for anyone to think so, and a mistake people seem to make quite often, but whats she want me to do about it, dont know what Im supposed to do about itand why is she looking at me like that? No, youre right Liz, I dont know what its like for you. What is it like? He really doesnt know, does he? Goofy guy. All right, here goes Well, its like this. Remember when we were talking a while ago about the possibility of having a child? Well Einars eyes got real big all of a sudden, and he stared at Lizs stomach as if he expected to see something, put out a hand to touch it but pulled back. Are you sure? No. This could just be what advancing starvation feels like, to me. I dont know, Ive never gone though that before, like you have. But I dont think thats it. This is different from the hunger I was feeling before, and Ive been so much more tired, too, not just weary but sleepy, and then theres the queasinesswell, you know Im not squeamish when it comes to food. Ive eaten raw rabbit with you, bear grease tea and porcupine eyeballs and even grub worms without any trouble, but the smell of that creek muck, and the thought of it being used for foodwell, my reaction to that was not what I would have expected, at all! Huh. Me either. You have seemed a little different lately, but I sure didnt guess anything like this...just thought maybe the hunger was starting to get to you, knew we had to get down lower, try and do something about it. If Id have knownwell, we would have been down here a lot sooner. He scrambled to his feet. Looks like I need to go get some more snares out there, maybe make a trip down the creek a ways here before dark this afternoon and see if I can find a good place to trap beaver, muskrat, you got to have more to eat, cant be going days here and there without anything to eat She grabbed his arm, pulled him back down by the fire. Not now! Were about to eat right now. You stay right here with me and eat. And dont feel badly that you didnt know. I didnt know, either, though the thought did cross my mind a few times, and Im still only guessing, but Im becoming more sure of it. Einar tried to get back up, really wanted to go, needed to go, to be alone with his thoughts for a while, but the stew was, indeed, almost done, and it didnt look as though Liz was inclined to let him go anywhere at all, just then. He was not yet steady enough on his feet to remain standing with someone pulling so insistently at his arm, lost his balance and sat back down, squirming uncomfortably. Silence, then, for a while, Liz staring into the flames and Einar at her, wondering what to say, trying to quiet the voice that was screaming at him that folks like them had no business bringing another person into their world, that the child would have

little to look forward to besides a life of hardship and deprivation and running, and probably a short, painful one at that, no, doesnt have to go that way, and you know it, not gonna go that waynow say something to the girl to let her know youre glad about this, because if you think youre scared, imagine how she must be feeling about now I remember the last time we talked about this, and I wasnt sure it sounded like a good idea, bringing a child into this uncertain old life were living. Remember that? And you said something about how this wouldnt be the first time a small nomadic tribe with lots of powerful enemies raised children, how it was something we could do, maybe even should dowell, guess we just started our tribe, didnt we? Mother of a nomadic tribe. A mountain tribe. Bet you never saw that in your future, did you? Smiling, she moved closer and put her head against his shoulder, recognizing in his awkward words the acceptance she had hoped to find, reluctant though it was. For the last year and a half or so, yes. He shook his head, gave her an odd look. Still cant figure why youd ever want to do a thing like that with an ugly, ornery old loner of a wild critter like me, buthere we are. Weuh He put his head in his hands, suddenly a bit overwhelmed at the entire concept. This is not something Iknow how to do. To bea father. Does anybody, before they do it? Surely not I dont know. Maybe. Isnt it supposed to come naturally, or something? Who knows what other people know about that, and when? I havent asked them. But I dont think Im like a lot of other people. Learned a few things here and there over the years by observing them, just enough to let me get by down there in that world, down along the edges, but Im pretty sure these last couple of years have erased all that pretty thoroughly. Ive always been alone, you seedont think I know how to raise a child to fit into that world down there. Never did, myself. Nor did I especially want to, but thats another matter, and probably beside the point, here. Liz laughed, took his hand again. That is the least of my concerns, Einar. Why would I want our child to fit into that world? We cant go back to that world. I dont guess hell grow up knowing an awful lot about it, at least at first, aside from what we teach him, and the stories we tell will probably seem to him like tales of some far off, fantastic fiction of a world You teach him to hunt and trap and work with his hands and love the mountains and rely on the Lord in the quiet, steady way that you do, even though you dont talk about it very much, and to never, ever give up, no matter how bad things may getthats what hell be needing most to learn from you, and I have a feeling youll do just great at teaching those things. Youve taught them to me Einar shrugged, shook his head, didnt know what to say to that, doubted hed be half as good at it as she seemed to think--Im barely able to live with myself, half the time, how am I supposed to help you raise a child?--but he didnt know how to talk about any of that, wasnt sure he even wanted to; best to drop it. He looked up. Youd better eat,

now. Birds ready. The grouse was ready, had been for some time, having been simmering slowly in the pot, wonderful globs of melted fat rising to the top, and though they had both been smelling it for the last half hour and eagerly anticipating the meal, Einar suddenly found his appetite gone, concerned about Lizs lack of food and the impact it might already have had on hersituation. As they shared the boiled grouse--it did taste wonderful, unbelievably wonderful, especially compared to the creek glop he had been intending to cook, and he blinked to keep the grateful tears from spilling over--he tried to stick mostly to sipping the broth, taking only the occasional tiny bite of the meat and making sure Liz got the liver and heart and all of the skin, knowing how rich they were in the vitamins and iron and fat that she would be needing. Liz saw what he was doing, pushed the pot into his hands. No, you have to eat, too. Here. Take whats left. I need you to be strong, too. We both need to be strong. She was insisting, and he did feel awfully weak and cold, if not particularly hungry, finally relented. Taking the grouse leg that Liz had pulled out of the broth and handed him, eating, Einar realized that it had been a couple of days since the foot had nauseated him to the point where he really couldnt eat, supposed it must mean he was, finally, beginning get just a bit better. Better be getting better, because youve got an awful lot of work ahead of you, got to make sure the starving time is over for her, keep us supplied real well with game, and you cant let her be carrying that pack all the time, either. Guess were going to be down here near the creek for a while, too, at least until things melt out a little in the basin and the game comes back, so you might as well look for a spot to put a more permanent shelter, here in the next day or so. Not today, though. Snowing pretty hard out there, and its a wet, heavy snow, kind that will get your clothes wet in a hurry, and with her having just done all that laundry, you wouldnt have anything dry to change into. Besides, looks like its gonna be sometime tomorrow before you finish getting thawed out from that frozen bath you took earlier. Little too much too soon there I guess, probably ought to give your blood a little more time to get back to normal before you try that again, but it sure did seem necessary at the time Now. This snow doesnt look like its going to be with us real long, not like those last two major storms that got socked in for two and three days at a time up high, so I need to get a bunch of snares ready for tomorrow. Need to come up with a circuit of five or six miles here along the creek, at the very least. Any less, and were not real likely to see the snares produce enough to improve our situation much. Dont know an awful lot about these things, but Im real sure that she needs to be gaining a good bit of weight here in a pretty good hurry, as far behind as she is when it comes to eating. Cant expect her to do that on the occasional rabbit or porcupine or pot of creek muck. He shivered, shook his head, cracked the grouse leg bone to get at the marrow inside. This sure does complicate things, some After a good restful night in the shelter--Einar finally finished warming up sometime in the early morning hours, relaxing out of the tight ball he had curled himself into and joining Liz in a deep sleep--they rose to crystal clear, frigid skies, the storm having spent itself in the night. Breakfast that morning consisted of a lukewarm pot of broth, Einar

having cracked and boiled down the grouse bones the evening before, after their meal, and buried the pot in the coals, covering everything with rocks to help keep the heat in. The repast was warm and slightly gelatinous if not particularly satisfying, and Einar knew it would help supply Liz with the calcium she--and the little one--would be needing. But calcium would not be enough, she needed fat, protein, they both did, actually, and pretty urgently, as he was reminded by the weakness in his legs when he tried to rise. Yep. Need more food. Not likely to be anything in those snares again this morning, with it having snowed most of the night, but weve got to check, and them Id better head down to the creek and try to get some more set out, and scout for beaver and muskrat. Still lying there in the shelter beside Liz where, propped on their elbows, they had eaten their breakfast beneath the relative warmth of the bear hides, Einar pulled their remaining supply of cordage and snare wire from the pack and began sorting through it. The wire was very nearly gone, but a good quantity of cordage remained, both paracord and the fine, brown nettle cord he had made so much of that fall, and he knew the nettle would be adequate for snaring rabbits, squirrels and even, if double corded or braided for strength, perhaps for marten. He had used it thus in the past. The cordage, though, in addition to not being quite as stout as wire, was far more flexible, and so harder to keep open when formed into a snare. This was a problem Einar knew he could deal with on land, where small sticks or branches stuck into the snow or dirt could serve very well to keep the loop open and in position, but if the time came to try for beavers down in the water, he knew the wore would be far better. When that time came, he would replace a number of the wire snares they had put out the day before with cordage, freeing up the wire for his beaver sets. If I find sign. Seen nothing that looked real fresh down there yesterday, but the trees say that they sure have been in the area at some point, so maybe if I walk the creek for a distance Einar and Liz were both somewhat subdued that morning, lost in thought, working quietly and comfortably together but having little to say, and they finally agreed that Liz ought to go and check the existing snares, while Einar set new ones and scouted along the creek. For several miles he followed the water downstream, looking for fresh beaver sign but reading in the old, grey-weathered remains of downed aspens and the complete absence of fresh-looking activity the story of a decrease in the beaver population, a shift; they had at some point apparently abandoned the valley, or that section of it, at least. Who knew why? He had seen such things happen back during the days when he had done a lot of trapping, had sometimes been able to figure out what had changed, and sometimes not. One thing he could be pretty sure of was that the population had not been trapped out. Not many who spend the winters on a trapline anymore, even around here. Well. Keep walking. Bound to be a widening in this creek at some point, good marshy area or even a small pond behind one of the old beaver dams where I may start seeing some muskrat sign. Small critters, but theyre fine eating. More walking, his progress slow, foot hurting and the awkwardness in his gait attributable at least as much to the woven willow toe-basket hed inserted in his overboot as it was to the missing toes, themselves, but he had tried walking without its protection, and one good solid run-in with a snow-concealed branch had been more than enough to convince him that the basket was a very good

thing, indeed, would be so at least until the stump had time to do some more healing. So he shuffled along, using snowshoes where the terrain allowed and carrying them on his back when the rugged steepness of the creek bank became too much for them, studying the creekbed as he went for tracks, signs, the telltale drag marks and trail of partially snow covered bits of bark and wood and last years old dry leaves that would have told him beavers were active in the area. He saw nothing. Another mile he traveled, by his estimate, and at the end of it he was reaching the lower limit of what he had arbitrarily set as his territory. He didnt want to risk getting much closer to that to the mouth of the valley, the place where it joined the larger one that held the river and highway, and though he believed himself still many miles from that point, he knew it would soon be time to turn back. Ahead, he saw what appeared to be a bit of a clearing, though, the dark timber thinning and giving way to aspens as the valley widened slightly, and wanting to take a look at it he kept himself going, stumbling a bit here and there from weariness. The thicker air down there several thousand feet lower than their basin was making a definite difference for him, increasing his stamina as his body, still working to rebuild its supply of red blood cells, found more to work with, but that change was not enough to negate the fact that he was still trying to get by with almost no body fat reserves, muscles having been partially consumed in his bodys desperate quest for energy to keep him moving, warm, alive. No matter. Things were about to start improving. He could smell it. And it smelled like water. Not the sharp, alive, ozone smell of a rushing mountain creek, but the softer scent of standing water, slightly stagnant, alive in a different way, and he was reminded of the creek muck he had hauled up to the camp for their last meal, before he had known about the grouse. Which put him in mind of Lizs condition, their conversation the night beforeno. Think about that later. Right now you got to focus. Unfamiliar ground here, Einar, and you dont know what might be waiting for you out in that clearing. Shuffling softly on his snowshoes, he made the short descent out the edge of the evergreens, stood there where the aspens began, looking down at what he could tell must be a reasonably sizeable marshy pond, during the summer months. It was frozen over at the moment of course, all but a small space on the shore nearest him, where, in addition to the full sun the spot received, he could see that frequent activity of some kind had helped to keep a narrow space of water open, right along the shore. That explained what he had been smelling, and also tempted him with the prospect of far richer and more plentiful glop than he had been able to scrape from the bottom of the creek bend, should they end up needing to resort to such extremes. The nearness and immediacy of his hunger still strongly possessing him, despite the last nights meal of grouse, Einar was greatly tempted to kneel there beside the open water as soon as he could get down to it, and begin harvesting muck to take back up to the camp, but he smiled, shook his head. Now hang on a minute, dont you see those tracks down there? Drag marks, clear sign of the dragging tail, lots of recent activity since the snow stopped. No need to eat swamp muck, if you can get ahold of a muskrat or two. Now. Probably the best way to take them--aside from steel traps, which we dont haveha!--is with snares just under the ice where their runways meet the water, and Ill leave some, but it sure would be nice to be able to take one back with me, now. Mmm Getting awful hungry just thinking of that

good rich fatty meat. So. The critters are most active at night, can often see them scurrying around near dusk, but this time of year when its getting sunnier and a little warmer, a person can see them now and then in the daytime, too, seems they like to come and sit on top of the ice to nibble on fresh plants or roots they cut from down under the water, or even things they bring up out of their winter stash, just to get some sunshine. Ill wait by the run, here, and hope the critters may be anxious to be out and about, after that storm. Never taken a muskrat with an atlatl before, but hey, theres a first time for everything And he crept closer to the run, concealing himself behind a large, snow covered rock that stood among clumps of last years old brown cattail stalks, bent and nearly broken by the snow, which had already melted enough to reveal well over half of their height. Sitting on the bear hide for insulation from the snow, Einar settled himself for a wait, watching the sun creep up over the timber behind him and touch the surface of the ice, shadows shortening as the minutes dragged by, and there in the protection of the rock, out of the wind, he was almost warm, started getting drowsy but managed to keep himself focused on the ice, letting his gaze widen and wander in the hopes of catching sight of some movement. Studying the pond, he noticed several small snowcovered mounds out on the ice, recognizing them as muskrat pushups, the temporary shelters that they used as rest and snack stops while swimming beneath the ice. His patience was rewarded, finally, with a slight scurrying way over on the left, just on the edge of vision, and by moving his head slightly and squinting, he was able to see the rich brown-gold glow of glossy wet fur as the creature emerged from one of its holes in the ice--one he had overlooked, previously--to sit there some twenty yards from him, munching happily at something that it held between dexterous front feet. Closer, come a little closer, critter. Dont know just how steady Im gonna be with this atlatl today, and I know if I miss you, wound you, do anything but finish you off real good, youll be gone under that ice before I can blink. The muskrat, though, seemed little concerned about Einars needs, sitting there sunning itself on the ice and finishing its snack with its back to him, and he knew that he must try, must take it without too much more delay, before it finished with its snack and left, or was startled back into the water. Rising, slowly, carefully, he got the dart in place, arm drawn back, took a breath and slowly let it out, his world narrowing down to that little patch of sleek fur on the ice, dart flying, dont miss He took it, the dart going clean through the rat and into the ice, and it was clear that the creature wasnt going anywhere. Which left Einar to go and retrieve it, scooting carefully out across ice whose thickness and strength he could only guess at. He did not, of course, mind submersing himself in icy water from time to time, but this was definitely not the time, badly exhausted from his travels and miles from the shelter, and dry clothes, and he kept to his hands and knees, wanting to spread his weight as well as he could and avoid breaking through. He made it, reached the rat and dragged it along behind him, dart for a handle, finally stepping back onto the snow of the shore. Grinning widely he freed the dart, stashed the rat in his pack and got to his feet, swinging his arms for warmth after the long sit there beside the rock, and the chilly crawl across the ice after his prey. Well, were gonna eat again tonight, and this meats even richer than the grouse, will be real good for Liz, and sure wont do me any harm, either! And I have an idea. The two of us will come back here later, and have us a muskrat roundup! Choose one of the pushups near the far side of the ice,

station one of us there with Lizs rabbitstick or some other sort of club, then the other will knock apart the other pushups and slowly drive the critters to where the hunter is waiting. Lot of the northern tribes used that method, before steel traps became available. Growing cold, Einar knew the time had come to move along, was anxious to return to Liz and tell her his good news, but wanted to explore just a bit further down along the creek, before turning around for the day. Not far from the marshy clearing, he came upon a spot where the creek was met by a smaller one, spilling lively but largely ice-bound down out of a steep draw. Einar got a very strange feeling as he stood there in the spruces studying the secondary creek, a strong sense that something is not quite right, looked, listened, tested the air, but could not find a visible reason for his unease, finally turning back before venturing out into the clearing where the two creeks joined. He had come far enough for that day, had done what he intended to do, had taken some game and had found a source for more. It was enough. What he did not see, as he turned around there in the timber and headed back up the creek to take another look at the marsh before returning to Liz with the muskrat--and planning our big roundup!--was the small black box, carefully painted a dull mottled brown, that was strapped head-high above the snow around the trunk of a long dead, lightning-struck spruce overlooking the juncture of the two creeks, or the cleverly disguised antenna that masqueraded as part of one of its fireblackened branches. Despite the fact that he was terribly weary and had honestly been wondering, for that last mile or so, just how much longer he would be able to remain on his feet, it was with a light heart that Einar made the final approach to the shelter, climbing up through the evergreens with his snowshoes lashed to his pack, spear in hand and a little tune running through his head. He would have been singing, if hed had the breath. Liz was back, had been back for some time from the look of things, because she was asleep there in the shelter, and Einar was glad he had not shouted up the hill to announce his presence, as he had felt like doing. Liz looked warm and peaceful lying there curled up between heaps of spruce duff with the yearling hide and her cloak over her, and he smiled at her, intended to let he go on sleeping, but she heard him, sat up. Einar! She crawled out of the shelter, rose and draped the yearling hide around his shoulders, thinking that he looked rather cold. You were gone for so long. Are you alright? Here, sit down, and Ill get you some water. Oh, Im more than alright. Wait until you see what Ive got! Well, I hope its more than I came up with, because I checked every one of those snares and the deadfalls, too, and they were all empty. I guess that little storm must have had everything holed up last night. Yes, probably, but not this morning. Look! He produced the muskrat from his pack, handing Liz the fat, red-brown furred rodent and grinning as she inspected it, studying its feet, tail, the soft, dark grey undercoat that could be seen by parting the guard hairs that served to help keep its skin dry while in the water.

What is it? A packrat? Packrat? Nope, but you got the right family, anyway. This is a muskrat, and it makes for some of the best eating out there, especially for hungry folks like us who can use all the fat we can get our hands on, and there are more where this came from, a good many more, from the looks of things! Theyll start getting all scrawny on towards May and June, not be so good for eating, but this time of year, just cant be beat. You ever tasted muskrat? Nobut I have a feeling Im about to! I guess if I can eat grub worms, then a creature with rat in his name ought to pose no problem at all. Ha! No, really shouldnt. Theyre some of the cleanest critters out there, really, when you think about it. Live mostly on cattail and other roots in the summer, and store roots for the winter, sit in their little houses and eat, or out on the ice on warm sunny days. And any doubts you may still have will be gone when you taste the critter, Im pretty sure. Like dark meat chicken, but even more rich and greasy. Or maybe a little more like duck. Its He sat down, then, losing his train of thought as he suddenly felt the burden of his weariness, realizing for the first time that he really was awfully cold from the long slow slog along the creek, his foot aching and twisting, the missing toes again making their presence (absence?) known as they felt again as if they were being bent back over the top of his foot. Liz sat down beside him and made sure he stayed covered with the yearling hide as he crouched there with his forehead on his knees, resting, struggling to stay awake, to resist the blackness that was rather unexpectedly creeping over him. Come on, you have work to do. Everythings gonna work a whole lot better once you get some muskrat stew in you Accepting the water Liz was holding out to him, he drank, well, that was part of the problem, right there, managed after another minute or so to sit up straight again and get back to work. Einar skinned the muskrat, then, careful not to puncture the two whitish-yellow scent glands that were located near the base of the creatures tail, knowing that they would spoil the meat if damaged, and also that they ought to be saved so they would be available later to use in making bait for bobcats and other critters that they might be wanting to trap. The hide slipped off of the still-warm animal with ease, Einar barely using his knife at all until he came to the shoulders, and again at the head, and when he was done. They were left with nearly two pounds of rich, very dark reddish meat, which Liz hurried to chop up and get into a pot. Einar, having explored the area some, had decided, much to Lizs delight, that they could have a small, careful fire without having to wait until dark, having found nothing in his wanderings to really arouse his suspicions about the place. Other, that was, than the indefinable sense of wrongness he had felt upon reaching the convergence of the two creeks, but that, whatever its cause, need not concern them, he was pretty sure. No reason they should need to venture down below the muskrat marsh again, and likely as not, the discomfort had simply been the result of him nearing the distance limits he had set for himself, his own subconscious warning him to stop and turn around before he got down too low.

As the meal cooked, Einar used his knife to split a piece of spruce that Liz had brought into the camp for firewood, smoothing its rough edges and tapering it at the top, turning it into a rough stretcher and sliding the hide onto it, fur-side in, like a sock. Working carefully with his knife--a dull knife or even spoon would have been safer as far as preventing tears, but he had no such--he scraped the hide to remove the remaining bits of fat and tissue, setting it aside to begin drying. The hide, if they could get thirty or forty others to go with it, would make a very fine and warm coat, Einar knew, and that was certainly something they could use, even if spring was, in theory, on the way. The meat was boiling, Liz tending the fire closely to keep it burning hot and cut down on smoke, hoping that in her haste to get the meat ready to eat she had not overlooked some detail that one was supposed to know about preparing such things. I figured wed just boil this up and eat it, Einar, but is there any special way youre supposed to cook muskrat? He laughed. Boiling will be great. Will give us some good rich broth to drink. Some people back in civilization like to soak the critters for a night or two in salt water or some other substance to get rid of the gamey taste and cut down on the greasiness, but we need all the grease we can get, and Im thinking we may be hungry enough to quite overlook any gamy taste that there may be Though Liz has never tasted such before, she liked the muskrat meat instantly--though in all fairness, she probably would have liked just about anything that contained some protein and fat, at the moment--and was very enthusiastic about going with Einar to hunt more of the creatures. It was just after midday, by the look of the sun, the day clear and bright, and she felt greatly renewed by the consumption of the stew, ready for anything. Particularly if it involved getting ahold of more of that meat. Einar, sitting with his back to a tree, eyes half closed as he stared up at the sky through the many layers of spiny black spruce boughs that shielded their camp, looked a bit less ready, sleepy, apparently, after the meal, and the morning-long trek that had proceeded and produced it. Hed been reluctant to eat much of the muskrat, wanting Liz to have most of it and reminding her quite unnecessarily that she had to be thinking of the little one, but she had insisted, told him there was no way she could eat all of it, even if she had wanted to. After that, he had gratefully partaken of the food, eating his fill of the good greasy stuff and wishing for nothing more afterwards than to curl up and sleep for a day or two so his body could begin absorbing it and healing itself. Life was, for the first time since losing the toes, starting to seem a bit better, a bit more like it might just continue for a while. Which thought brought him back rather sharply to the matter at hand--the new life that was apparently among them, and the need for it to go on. Liz was saying something, and he brought himself back to full wakefulness, turned to look at her. You mentioned something about there being more muskrats down there. Do you think we have time today before dark to make another trip down there and try to get a couple more? Im just thinking that as uncertain as things are, and as often as weve had to move

Chuckling, Einar got creakily to his feet. You liked that stuff, huh? Well, thats good. Yeah, weve got time. Its three, maybe four miles down to that marshy area, and we could always camp down there if it ended up getting late and we didnt really want to make the return trip. Ill hang this pelt up where scavengers cant get at it, and while Im doing that, how about you pack up a few basics in the small pack in case we decide to spend the nightand make sure and take along all the dry clothes! She was already working, as he spoke. Dry clothes? What, dont tell me your preferred method of nabbing muskrats is to break a hole in the ice, hold your breath and swim in under there after them with an atlatl dart? Hey, that sounds kind of interesting! May have to try that someday! Butno. We will be working out on the ice though, and there is always a chance that somebody could end up falling through. Its been warmer down here than up where weve been, and the ice may be getting a little soft in spots. Just a good idea to have the dry clothes. See, we could snare the critters, and I will put some snares in the water when we leave, but I remember hearing that the Koyukuk people--muskrat made up a good portion of their diet, some years--would snare them sometimes in the winter and early spring, but that one of their favorite ways to hunt the critters was to round them up by going out on the lake and choosing one of the pushups near its far shore, cutting the roof off and leaving a person there with a club. Then, the others would start at the other end of the lake, one by one breaking up the pushup shelters, and driving the muskrat--or rats--towards the fellow with the club. They sometimes ended up with quite a few that way, and it sounded worth a try. What do you think? Lets go! They werent halfway down to the frozen marsh before Liz began wondering if it had been a good idea to make the trip at all that day, chiding herself for encouraging Einar-for once--to do more than he perhaps would have done if left to his own devices. He was clearly worn out, having spent whatever energy hed possessed that day on the first trip down and back, but was doing his best to conceal the fact from her, plodding along in his old trail and trying to keep his head up so as not to miss anything that might prove important. Like the tracks, marten, he was pretty sure, that he had apparently overlooked on his first trip down, where they scurried up a steeply-leaning, snow-covered log. Studying them, surveying also his tracks from earlier, he saw that he had missed the marten sign because hed been absorbed in watching the creek, just then, searching, as he remembered, for any sign of the recent presence of beavers but finding none. Well. Worth stopping here for a few minutes and setting a snare for that critter, I do believe, on the theory that hell be back through here again tonight, and might be attracted by some muskrat gut bait. Curious critters, martens. Seems theyll stop to check out almost any unusual scent, especially if it smells something like food. Pushing his way through the deep snow to the marten tree, Einar secured a couple of wire loops around it, smearing a generous portion of bait on the protruding end of a broken branch and placing several branches on the leaning tree above it, to limit the creatures options when it came to

approaching the bait. Back on the trail, then, another mile covered, and Liz began to notice that Einar was limping badly, seeming to rely more and more heavily on his spear for support and several times falling before he could catch himself, once slipping off the trail and ending up with his head down the steep slope, snowshoes tangled in a stubborn thicket of gooseberry that had lurked just beneath the surface of the snow. She helped him out of the snowshoes and back to his feet--he was trying to laugh about it, knowing he must have made quite a funny sight hanging nearly upside-down like that by his snowshoes, but was exhausted and clearly hurting--and insisted that he stop and drink some water before continuing. Accepting the offered water, he sat for a minute there in the trail, gathering his strength and feeling awfully grateful that Liz chose not to say what she was clearly thinking as she watched him, which he supposed must be something to the effect that it was time to turn back, that hed never make it down there and certainly wouldnt be in any shape to go rounding up muskrats, even if he did manage to finish the walk. He knew it, figured he might as well give it his best effort, anyway, seeing as they were already well over halfway down to the marsh. Whats the matter with you, anyway? Youve been eating, had that grouse yesterday and half a muskrat just now, you arent starving anymore, and you ought to be just full of energy right now. Not bouncing back very fast, are you? Probably all that blood you lost still affecting you, and the foots starting to get pretty tired of all the use, too, it feels like. Well. Get up, already, and see if you cant finish this thing. They reached the frozen marsh, finally, Einar insisting that they sit silent and still there at the edge of the spruces for several minutes before venturing out into the clearing, while he watched and listened and tried to convince himself that it was still safe to go out there through the leafless aspens and spend the necessary time on the ice among the cattails, rounding up muskrats. Suddenly uneasy at the prospect, he could come up with nothing solid to justify his skittishness--you already made tracks all over that new snow, not a great idea, maybe, but its done, so that cant be that youre concerned about--and finally decided to attribute it to his tiredness, and go ahead with the project. They were there, after all, needed the food, and he could plainly see from their vantage point that more muskrat tracks had been left here and there on the ice since his first visit to the place, the creatures emerging to sun themselves and partake of a snack here and there. Well, Liz, I kinda described to you how were going to go about this, one of us starting at this end of the lake and breaking down the pushups to slowly herd the critters to the whichever of us is standing by the roofless pushup over there on the far side with the rabbit stick for a club. So, Ill leave the choice to you. Do you want to be the herder, or the clubber? Youre awfully good with that rabbit stick as I remember, he rubbed his head ruefully, remembering the lump she had put there with the same stick, but you can move a good bit faster than me, too, just now, and that can matter with the herding, because youve got to get from one pushup to the next pretty fast, to keep the critters moving. Ill be the herder, then. Im sure youll do fine with the rabbit stick!

Alright, thatll work. Now the ice did seem a bit soft in places earlier, so there may be some risk of falling through. If that happens, you just stay put, and Ill come pull you out. Weve got the dry clothes to change into, and that water cant be too deep I dont expect. Youll be alright. Well, I would expect you to think so, you being someone who deliberately breaks the ice just to sit in the water underneathbut I guess I trust you on this! All right, lets get started! Ok. The snow should be pretty rotten over these pushups--see them out there? Those little mounds. I see four or five, at least--and their walls are seldom over a foot thick, so your best bet will probably be to just kick them apart. Now, you may have a chance to nab one of the critters when you do this, but I doubt it, because theyre awful quick. Idea is to keep them moving from one little shelter to the next, until they end up finally surfacing at that one over there, over on the far side, whose roof I will have taken off. This can be more effective if you have several people, in case one of them starts heading back to one of the wrecked shelters behind you, but I think well do alright at it, just us two. So give me some time to walk around to the far side over there and try to locate where their tunnels are that go into the bank, if they have any, and block them so they cant escape us that way, and they you can start. Itd be good for you to jump up and down on the bank here a bunch of times before heading out onto the ice, in case they have any tunnels on this side. Get them agitated, moving in my direction before you start out onto the ice. Make sense? Sure. I guess youll be needing the rabbit stick, then And she handed it to him, taking off her pack and hanging it up in a tree, wanting to keep it safe in case her efforts ended in a fall through the ice, as Einar had admitted was a distinct possibility. The hunt went very nearly as planned, Einar working his way around to the far shore and finding one place where a tunnel entered the bank, locating it by the trail of air bubbles that were frozen into the ice above it, from the numerous rats who had used the route over the winter, breaking up the rotten ice there at the shore and plugging the tunnel with a good-sized rock slab that he kicked loose from a ledge there near the shore. Neatly slicing into the nearest pushup, then, freeing its top of snow and removing the roof with as much care as he could, he signaled Liz that he was ready, watching as she jumped around on the shore before starting out a bit gingerly on the ice, knocking apart the first pushup and continuing on quickly to the next. Something looked wrong, something odd about her feet as she padded across the ice, and Einar squinted into the snowy distance trying to figure it out, finally seeing what had caught his attention. There, thats it! Fool girl has taken off her boots. Now what? Oh. Guess she took my warning real seriously about falling through, wants to have something dry to put on her feet, afterwards. Good thinkingI guess. Hope she put on both pairs of socks, at least, so she doesnt end up freezing a couple toes stalking muskrats! She was nearing him buy that point, was approaching the last shelter, and he poised himself there beside his roofless one, hoping soon to start seeing a rat or two come scrambling out into it ahead of the

destruction that Liz was bringing. There! Movement! He reacted quickly, catching the creature in the head before it had time to realize that anything was amiss and deftly scooping it out onto the ice to be ready for the next, which was not long in coming. There was a bit of a commotion on the ice out where Liz was, a crash and a grunt that sounded somehow different than what he had been hearing when she broke into the other shelters, but he had no attention to spare on looking up to see what might be the matter, as just then another rat showed itself through the hole in the ice. Five muskrats in total showed themselves through the ice, Einar missing one as he sought to finish off the one prior to it, and not until he had them all safely tossed out on the ice did he look up to see why Liz had not yet joined him there. He saw the reason immediately, saw her there where the ice had given way beneath her some thirty feet from him beside the last shelter she had smashed, one hand clasped doggedly around the neck of a mostly dead muskrat and her elbows on the ice, struggling to get herself out of the water. He hurried to crawl over to her and held out the rabbit stick for her to grab, pulled her out of the water--she had already succeeded in kicking her legs and getting herself most of the way out of the hole, but was afraid to go further lest she break through again--and helped her to shore. Hauling her up onto the snow, he pried her fingers from around the by-then thoroughly dead muskrat, adding it to his pile. Thats some good hunting, good job hanging onto that thing! Liz didnt answer. The afternoon wasnt too cold, somewhere around twenty degrees and sunny, and Einar knew she would be alright, but Liz, who lacked his experience and training with immersion in frigid water, could easily have been convinced otherwise, though she had kept reasonably calm while in the water, had avoided panicking until she actually set foot on the shore. As soon as Einar had helped her up onto the snowy bank she stood there spluttering and gasping and swatting at her wet clothes, trembling as much from nervousness as from the cold as the shock of what had just happened began hitting her. Einar watched her for a second, close to laughter at her antics but knowing that he couldnt just let her go on standing there in her wet clothes with a sharp and chilly wind sweeping down the valley as it was, and she glanced up at him, struck out half seriously with her newly reclaimed rabbit stick and spat at him to wipe that grin off your face you loon, or Ill do it for you, because there is absolutely nothing the least bit funny about any of this, not one bit, and he nodded, face appropriately solemn but eyes still sparkling mischievously. No, no of course not, not the least bit funny. I was just thinking that as bad as you apparently mustve been wanting a bath, and as much trouble as you were willing to take to get one, you could have at least got your clothes off and remembered to bring along a bar of soap Now youd better get moving real quick here and hurry around the marsh so we can get you into your dry clothes. Or we could just go back across the ice if youd rather, because thatd be quicker, and And one or both of us would probably end up falling through again. Youd just love

that, wouldnt you? I know what your idea of a bath looks like, and I dont want any part of it. No way! Im going around! And she took off in a huff--bar of soap, indeed!-stomping through the snow at a pace that Einar knew would have begun to warm her, already, by the time she reached the clothes. Good. Thatll work. No harm done, unless you want to count ruffled feathers. He followed along behind, hands full of muskrat tails, still struggling to suppress a grin. Not halfway around the edge of the ice Liz stopped, hopping on one foot as she tried to warm the other against her leg, but without success, soaked sock caked with snow. Einar caught up to her and saw the problem. Feet freezing, huh? Here, sit down. One toeless foot between the two of us is way more than enough. Ive got an idea. Taking off his knit cap and pulling the wolverine hide hat from Lizs--it had, fortunately, come through the accident with little more than a slight splashing--he helped her off with her wet socks, warming her feet against his stomach. Lizs toes had already turned a dangerous shade of white, and Einar saw that she had been right to stop when she had. Youd probably be a good bit better off right now if youd jut kept your boots on in the first placebut I wont say anything about it, because at least the way you did it, youre gonna have dry boots to walk back in, and wont have to spend the trip back stopping every few minutes to thaw out half frozen feet as you might have with wet boots. Now, use my hat as a sock for the one foot, and put the other down in the wolverine hide, here, and well wrap some cordage around them to hold them in place. Could skin out a couple muskrats and give you the hides for moccasins if we had a long way to go, but youd lose too much ground, standing still in those wet clothes long enough for me to do that, Im afraid. Got to keep moving. This will work. Only the wolverine foot will be likely to stay completely dry, but at least they wont be soaking wet and freezing anymore, and its not all that far over to the backpack. Youll be alright. Liz nodded her agreement, teeth chattering furiously as a chilly wind flowed over her drenched clothing, but showed no sign of getting back to her feet, huddling there on the snowy ground with her arms around her knees. Einar could see that she needed to get moving in a hurry, grabbed her hands and tried to haul her to her feet, but lacked the stability to do so, as bad as his foot had become over the course of the day. Come on Liz, help me here. You have to get moving. She shook her head, hugged her knees tighter. Justg-give me a minute, itswarmer when I dont move, just want tosit here for a minute No, you dont! Now get up. You get up and get moving, or Im gonna have to drag you, and that wont be any fun for either of us. On your feet! Move! Einar took off, leading the way when he saw that Liz was up and standing, threatening to drag her along behind him whenever she showed signs of slowing down, but never having to make good on his threat. She kept moving, made it in good time over to the

spot where theyd left the backpack and their bear hide cloaks, shaking pretty badly and really wanting to settle into a crouch again in an attempt to conserve warmth and reduce the area of her body that was exposed to the icy wind. For a minute she fumbled with the zipper to the pack, Einar finally opening it for her and helping her out of her wet clothes. Getting her situated on a snow-free rock, he threw her bear hide cloak over her, adding his for extra protection against the increasingly forceful wind as she huddled there shivering. Ok, have to get these dry clothes on you, and I think wed better start with some socks. How are your feet? Can you feel your toes? Let me see. Her toes appeared to be just fine, their color having returned on the walk back around the pond, but Liz herself did not seem to be doing especially well, clumsy, slow and uncoordinated, though she was trying very hard to help put on her socks. Einar knew she needed some help, thought about making a fire, but the prospect of doing so down there so low in the valley was extremely unsettling to him. No. Dont do it. Dont need it. Shes uncomfortable, but shes gonna be fine. Just get her into some dry clothes and then give her something to eat, maybe spend a few minutes in the bear hides with her to add some warmth--unless by then youre as cold as she is, from standing in the wind like this without a coat, which is pretty likely--and shell be fine. Some fifteen minutes later Liz was doing much better, having spent the time huddling with Einar in the bearskins and having a snack of a few chunks of muskrat that had been saved from the evening before, dry clothes and food having been all she really needed. Warm enough finally to use her hands with some reliability, she sat there in the sun behind the wind-shelter of the rock, helping him skin that days take of muskrats, and commenting that while she didnt suppose she could ever come to enjoy the icy water the way he sometimes seemed to, the time had come for her to work on getting used to it as well as she could, so she wouldnt feel so much like panicking if she ever found herself in a similar situation, again. Which I certainly hope not to, but its always a possibility, and Ive seen you--you dont even seem to start breathing faster or anything when that icy water hits you, and after today I cant imagine how thats even possible, but I want to learn it if you think I can. Sure you can. Anybody can, though Im guessing some are predisposed to adapting more easily than others, and some are probably going to tend to enjoy the whole process a little more than others do, too All it takes is a willingness to spend some time in the water, to get over the fear of the way it feels and then, when youve managed that, to learn to control your breathing so you dont panic and are able to stay in there longer. Next comes teaching your body to produce more heat so you can stay in there for longer and longer without turning into an icicle or something, but that comes a little later. First is just to give yourself enough repeated exposures that it starts becoming a little more routine, and you train that gasp reflex out of yourself. Thats what causes the panicky feeling, and it is possible to train your body out of experiencing that. Now that it looks like were going to have a little more food to work with, itll be a little more practical for

you to start working on this, if you want to. We didnt have the calories to spare, before, and may not always have them, now, but well see how things go. Liz nodded. She really did want to see how she would respond to some of the training Einar was talking about, but was not sure she was willing to take that first step as he was talking about, especially after her encounter with the water that morning. What about the baby, though? Would this sort of thing even besafe? Shocking my body like that? Sure, as far as I know. Over in Russia where ice bathing like that is a fairly popular thing to do in the winter, I know they have events where groups of women who are expecting get together and take icy swims on a regular basis. They say it makes them stronger for the delivery, gets their minds and bodies ready for it, and I never heard about any problems coming from the practice, over there. If Russian women can do it, I expect you could do it. Russian women, is it? Well. And just what do you know about Russian women? What? Nothing. Just that, just what I said. And it isnt just Russia. Ice bathing like is a pretty common thing all over Scandinavia and Eastern Europe. Good for your health, strengthens your immune system, and its just generally a lot of fun, once you get used to it! Huh. I dont know if I can imagine it possibly being any fun, but Ill take your word on the rest of that. But as far as emulating other women, I think Id be better off learning about what the Utes in this area did for their young ones, because they were working with the same raw materials we will be, the same sort of terrain. I know they used moss--I guess that meant usnea, even though thats a lichen--for diapers and also sometimes to insulate the cradle boards they carried the babies in, and aside from thatwell, its not like well be needing formula, or anything. I wouldnt have considered using that even if we were living down in civilization. The baby should have plenty to eat, as long as Im getting enough so the milk is good, and I guess Ill just keep the little one warm by keeping him--or her--real close to me. That ought to work just fine, shouldnt it? Einar nodded, but Liz wasnt finished, and it was clear that something was troubling her a bit, for all of her confident talk. I do wish there was a way for me to see Susan though, ask her about some things; there is so much for me to learn about all of this. We had talked about it some before, she and I, while I was staying there, but its all so much more real now She was looking at him as if for an answer, and he took her hands. I have no doubt that you will do well at this, O Mother of a Mountain Tribe. Youre gonna do just great.

Einar noticed that she had been rubbing her eyes a good bit as she spoke, using her arm to avoid touching them with her muskrat-blood smeared hands, and he thought at first she must be crying--sure hope not, because I dont know what else to say to her about all of this; trying my best, but Im mighty awkward when it come to such things, and I just started thinking about it, myself--but couldnt hear it in her voice. Finally, when they returned to their work and she had not stopped, several minutes later, he asked her about it. Eyes bothering you? Yes, some, ever since this morning, but a lot more just in this last little while here. Theyre starting to feel all gritty like Ive got dust or sand in them. I dont know if its the wind, or Here, let me have a look. It did not take Einar long to figure out just what was the matter with Lizs eyes, red and inflamed as they appeared and knowing as he did that she had spent a good part of the last two days either placing or checking snares on the edges of the big, snow-covered meadow just up behind their shelter. It was clear to Einar that Liz must be starting to suffer from some form of snow blindness after spending too much time over the past couple of days staring at the sunny snowmeadows and, that afternoon, at the ice, without protection for her eyes. His own tendency to stay in the timber--a habit that he normally observed with the strictest of attention and had loosened a bit in search of the muskrats only with great reluctance and because he knew they were both in desperate need of the food--had protected his own eyes from harm but had also prevented him from recognizing that Liz might be getting into trouble. Despite the redness of her eyes and the fact that they were beginning to look rather puffy and swollen, she could clearly still see at the moment, and thinking quickly ahead, Einar knew that he needed to get her up to their camp while she still had some sight left. Depending on how serious the damage ended up being--and there was no way to tell, just yet; the symptoms could take a while to show up in fullness, sometimes--he knew it might well be two or three days before she was able to give her eyes much use again. The best thing for her, he knew, would be to get her over into the shade of the dark timber, cover her eyes right then and there with a dark, damp, cool piece of cloth and keep her still, make sure she kept them closed for the rest of the day so they could begin healing. Not knowing how bad the damage might prove to be and how long she might find herself unable to travel, though, it seemed best to get her back up to the camp before allowing her that rest. He did not want to end up having to make a fire down as low in the valley as they were, and knew that if Lizs condition stranded them there for two or three days, he would eventually be forced to choose between watching her go hungry, and building that fire. While Einar would willingly eat almost anything raw if the need presented itself,

muskrats, though very clean in their eating habits and not terribly likely to be carrying dangerous parasites, were not among his top choices, as they were known carriers of tularemia, a bacteria which was easily destroyed by heat. He had known a couple of people over the years who had been infected by it, and though they had recovered, the symptoms, including in one case pneumonia, had not been things that he wanted to risk for either of them, at the moment, still half starved and weak as they were. Knowing that the illness could be transmitted through open cuts on ones hands while skinning the creatures, he had been reluctant to even allow Liz to help--not knowing what an infection might do to the baby--but had in the end not mentioned it to her, supposing that there were certain things that were simply part of their life out there, and that it was not practical to attempt to shield her from all of them, baby or no baby. But because of the baby she must eat, cant be going two or three days without anything to eat right now, as you might decide to do if you found yourself in a similar situation, and you know what youre gonna end up doing if her eyes get worse and you have to spend a few days down here. You wont let her go hungry. Youll be lighting that fire and cooking up some muskrats, and putting us in danger of detection, in the process. No. Got to try and make it up to the camp, before her eyes get any worse. Filling his knit cap with snow, he handed it to her. Liz, you keep your eyes closed, hold this against them to help with the hurt of it, and Im gonna go make you some goggles to help protect your eyes while we real quick make the trip up to the shelter. You got a bit of a rough time ahead of you, but youll come through it alright. She took the hat, squinting at him and smiling. Oh, its not so bad as all that. I can still see. My eyes are just a little irritated, thats all. Im sure theyll be fine once the sun goes down, which it looks like it will be, in a few hours. We can finish what were doing here with the skinning, and then head back up. Im just fine. I sure do like your attitude Liz, but Ive seen this before and Im telling you that in an hour or two you may not be able to open your eyes, let alone use them to navigate along the path back up to the shelter. We got to head out now, just as soon as I get these goggles done. Should have made them for you earlier. A bit frightened by the urgency in Einars voice she pressed the snow-filled hat to her eyes, keeping it there as he hurriedly limped off into the timber in search of a piece of loose bark that could be used for a pair of hastily improvised goggles. Despite having sat in the sun for the past half hour while working with Einar on the muskrats, Liz was still badly chilled from her dip in the icy lake and the subsequent freezing walk in the wind in her wet clothes, and she huddled down in the bear hides, trying to keep the drips of melting snow that occasionally escaped from the hat from running down her arms. It seemed to her that Einar must surely be overreacting to what seemed to her nothing more than the minor--if increasingly painful--irritation of having gritty and slightly inflamed eyes, but she knew that it would not be like him at all to overreact to such things, so she supposed he must know what he was talking about. The coolness of the wet cloth against her closed eyes did seem to be helping, and she could hear Einar tramping about in the

nearby woods, so she decided to go ahead and give her eyes a rest until he returned. It took Einar a while to find a suitable piece of spruce bark for the goggles he intended to make Liz, spruce bark being far from ideal because of its thickness and brittleness. Finally settling on a strip of fir bark which stood sharp and fragmented where a tree had been toppled by the wind in the not-too-distant past he cut it, kicking the snow off of a rock to provide himself a work surface and dropping to his knees beside it. He was exhausted, had been ever since starting back down on his second trip that day to the swamp, actually, and, the adrenalin of the muskrat hunt and of dealing with Lizs fall through the ice all drained out of his system finally, he was beginning to have an increasingly hard time dealing with his bad foot. It was terribly sore, the whole leg aching and cramping from the odd way he had had been walking in an unsuccessful attempt to spare the foot, and he wanted very badly to go off by himself somewhere and curl up under a tree so he could rest, get off the foot and direct his focus to alleviating its hurt. Well, you cant. Got a lot of miles to go before you can do any such thing. Now, hurry up before Liz ends up unable to see, and you find yourself having to lead a blind girl up that hill and make sure she doesnt trip on anything and take a disastrous fall. Shaking his head--the crippled leading the blind, lets try and avoid that, alright?--he trimmed the fir bark into a rough rectangle, much longer than it was wide, and bored two little holes near its edges through which to tie the cord that would hold the goggles onto Lizs face. Wanting to make sure he put the seeing slits in the right places, he hurried back to her with the bark strip. She had not moved, was holding the hat to her eyes as he had suggested, and Einar was glad. Shes a good bit more sensible than Id probably be, in that situation Ok, got the makings of some goggles here, but I need to see where your eyes are so I can put the slits for your to see out of. Lets take that hat off for a second, so I can do a rough measurement. Which she did, but made the mistake of opening her eyes, also, at which she nearly cried out, pressing the hat back to her face and rocking forward so she was facing the ground. I cant! It hurts, its getting worse No, I didnt mean to open your eyes. Dont do that! Just move the hat for a second so I can see where to put the slits in these goggles. Here. Ill help you. She resisted for a second, pressing the hat with both hands as he tried to ease it away, but finally let him do it, tears squeezing out from between her tightly pressed eyelids. Einar could see that even the amount of light that was making it through her eyelids was hurting her, wished he had insisted on moving her into the shade of the timber, but as cold as she had still been, he had figured she ought to go on absorbing all the sun she could. Quickly finishing with his measurements, he eased the hat back into place, pressing her hands over it. The goggles were finished very soon after that, thin slits cut for her to see out of, Einar stringing a length of cordage through the holes and trying them on his own face before taking them to Liz. They were crude, a bit awkward, and did not appear as though they would last terribly long, but should do the job for a few hours at least, he supposed, long enough to get her up to the camp. Later, he would carve her a more permanent pair

from wood or, ideally, bone, to prevent the problem recurring. Not wanting Liz to have to undergo the terribly unpleasant experience of uncovering and opening her eyes again there in the sun, he led her into the deep shade of the nearest spruce grove. Ok, move that hat and see if you can open your eyes a little, just a little, and well get these goggles situated. Right, dont look up, dont look at the snow, just set the hat on the ground and look at that. The dark color will help. How is it now? Can you get your eyes open far enough to see where youre going, do you think? She did it, able to open her eyes a bit wider as soon as the goggles were in place, and Einar tied them behind her head when she let him know that she thought they would work, pulled the hat down over the string to help hold it in place. Quickly loading the muskrats and hides up into the small pack and shouldering it, himself, Einar handed her a willow stick he had cut from the scrub that bordered the frozen marsh, telling her to chew it if her eyes started hurting too much and leading the way up their back trail. The going was rough for Liz, her eyes stinging and burning and tearing to the degree that it was difficult at times for her to see where she was going, but squinting through her goggles she kept her eyes on Einar as he limped along ahead of her, managing to keep up and telling him things were just fine, whenever he stopped to check on her. Things were not so fine for Einar, the combination of his throbbing foot and his exhaustion making it all he could do to keep on his feet, but he knew he had to get Liz up there quickly before her eyes had a chance to get worse, and that kept him focused on taking one step after another. Some distance into the journey as he was stopped resting, leaning there bent nearly double in the snow as he struggled to get his breath, Einar spotted a split and partially burnt spruce, the result of some old lightning strike no doubt, and he blackened his finger on the charred wood, waiting until Liz caught up and smudging a thick black line beneath her eyes and across the bridge of her nose, knowing that it would cut down on the reflected light that was finding its way beneath the goggles. She smiled in thanks, didnt say anything, and they continued up the slope. Dusk was coming, the sun nearing the horizon, and they were walking along, over halfway back by Einars estimation, when he realized that he couldnt hear her crunching along behind him in the snow anymore, and stopped. The task of keeping himself on his feet and moving having been requiring most of his attention, he had been stopping to check on Liz less and less frequently, hoping she would let him know if the goggles werent working for her. He saw that she had paused some fifteen yards back, and was hanging onto the branches of a fir with both hands, hurried back to her. She heard him coming, let go of the tree with one hand and reached for him somewhat frantically. He saw, took her hand. Einar? I cant see Helping Liz sit down, Einar eased her hand open until she released her death grip on the spruce that she had walked into. She was fumbling with the goggles, trying to get them off, and he stopped her.

Hey now, hold on a minute. Goggles arent the problem, better leave them. What? You cant see at all? No, I dont think so. Im trying to keep my eyes open, but they feel all swollen, and oh, this really hurtsI cant seem to get them open far enough to see where Im going. I nearly ran headlong into this tree just now, and things are awfully blurry and dim when I can manage to get a look. She was scared, he could hear it in her voice, took her other hand and tried to reassure her. Thats the way it goes with this. Itll pass, but you may need to give it some time. Now, were getting pretty close to the shelter, and I know you can make it. You keep walking along behind me, feeling with your boots to make sure youre staying in my tracks, our tracks from before, theyre pretty deep and hard to missand here. Take off one of your mittens and well wrap this bit of cordage around your hand, tie the other end to my pack, and thatll help keep you on course. Sound good? Think you can do that? Yes. Ill try it. Do it. But pleaseI really need to know. Did this happen to you last winter? I need to know that this isnt going to be permanent, that youve come through it No, nonot permanent. Youre gonna be just fine. Now its not something Ive had to deal with since being out here, because Ive spent most of my time hunkering down in the dark timber or hiding away in mine tunnels, and hardly ever venturing out in the open where its bright enough to cause problems for more than a minute here and there. When Ive spent any amount of time out in the open, it has always been during a heavy storm like weve done with traveling. Never even bothered making a pair of goggles because of that, but I should have realized your trapline was taking you out in the open more, after you told me about it running along the edges of that big meadow. Im real sorry I didnt see this coming, Liz. All the time out on the ice just now with this midday sun is probably what really did it for you, that, and the fact that the suns getting higher and higher in the sky as spring comes. Could have prevented it if Id been paying more attention. But no, it sure wont be permanent. Your eyes just need some rest, and thats exactly what theyre gonna get once were back up there at the shelter. She nodded, looked slightly less sure than she sounded. Ok. Ill follow you. Before starting out, Einar folded up one of the sock strips from the pack, melting some snow in his hand and dampening it. Carefully sliding the cloth in behind Lizs goggles, he tightened the ties and secured it in place to block out the remainder of the light and hopefully provide her with some noticeable relief as she walked. They started out very slowly, Liz realizing after a few dozen cautious steps that she had, even before losing her sight entirely, been relying nearly as much on the feel of the snow beneath her feet--fluffy to the sides of the trail, flatter and packed where their boots and snowshoes had left marks--as on her vision, for the last while. With that realization she gained a bit of confidence, picked up her pace as well as she could to match Einars and prevent the two and a half feet of cordage between them from being pulled taut as often as it had been, at

first. As they climbed, she began to notice that Einar was slowing, the line failing to go tight even if she stumbled a bit or stopped for a second, and once she actually walked right into him before realizing that he had quit moving. Finding her way by feeling the texture of the snow beneath her boots had been going so well that she had been less than diligent in keeping one hand extended out in front of her to make sure she was not about to walk into an obstacle, and she apologized to Einar for the accident, heard him floundering about in the snow and knew that she must have knocked him down, tried but failed to find him with the intention of helping him back to his feet. No problem, Liz. My fault. Should have told you I was stopping. Give me just a second, and Ill beready to go again. Resting, Einar crouched there in the snow with his head in his hands, shaking with cold and exhaustion and praying for the strength to get back up, to force himself to go on using that foot and finish the climb, and he was almost relieved that Liz couldnt see him at the moment. She could hear him, though, hear the whistling of his breath through clenched teeth and the way it caught in his throat--the foot was bothering him terribly, she knew it--and she went to him, meaning to try and be of some comfort and to make sure he got some water to drink, but he heard her coming and struggled to his feet before she could find him. Im slowing us down, arent I? What? No, youre doing great. Im the one whos not moving so fast Einar realized that she had begun shaking a bit in the short time that they had been standing there, a fine tremor that she could not seem to control, teeth chattering, and he took a few limping steps to position himself between her and the wind, which was gusting thin and piercing and increasingly strong down from the distant peaks. You cold Liz, or just a little anxious about not being able to see? Some ofboth I guess. Ive been cold ever since getting out of that water. You alright? Sounda little chilly, yourself. Nah, Im Ok. Not too much more ground to cover, and well be up there at the shelter, eating a good hot pot of muskrat stew and getting ready to settle in for some sleep. Not far at all. Despite Einars confident words, Liz could plainly hear the hollowness in his voice, the exhaustion, could feel the way he clamped his jaw and held himself rigid to conceal his trembling when she put a hand on his face. Maybe we should stop soon for the night. Surely were far enough up by now that we could safely have a fire, arent we? Finish the walk in the morning. We have the muskrats after all, and could always roast one, even though we dont have the pot. And its probably getting dark by now, or about to be

He shrugged, shook his head, wished Liz would take her hand off his face, because his jaw was starting to ache with clamping it against the cold. Well, light or dark, Im afraid itll all be the same to you, this evening. We got to keep going. No sense working to scrape together shelter here when weve already got it waiting for us up there, and a good heap of firewood too, as I remember. Well make it. And, he wanted to tell her but didnt, theres no guarantee that youll have your eyes back tomorrow, anyway. You might, but it can take two, three days, a week even, depending on how bad the burn is, and youre probably gonna be feeling even less inclined to move tomorrow than you are right now, the way your eyes are likely to be hurting you. Believe me, theres really nothing I want more right now than to stop, just stop and get off this foot for a while, get both of us warm, eat something, butno. We need to get up there where the rest of our gear is, where that yearling hide is, especially, so you can just crawl in there under the deadfall and sleep for a couple days, if you need to, let those eyes heal. Youre holding up alright, it looks like. Can tell youre pretty cold, but well be there soon and Ill have a fire going for us. He shivered as a fresh gust of wind tore along the slope, started walking, pulling Lizs cord tight and causing her to scramble after him. Lets go. Not much further. Though he had not mentioned it to Liz, it was, indeed, beginning to get dark, his own steps less and less sure as the dimness grew there beneath the timber, and he prayed that he might be able to stick to the trail and get them up to the camp before the hurt of the foot got to be more than he could deal with and they were left to endure a very cold night under the nearest tree that he was able to find. Forget that. Not gonna do that. Shes counting on you, here They reached the place, finally, just as the last of the pale evening light was going, Einar holding back the surrounding spruce boughs to let Liz into the little clearing just in front of their shelter, guiding her to the snow-free aspen log they had been using as a seat. Fire. That was the first thing they needed, get Liz warm, start some snow melting to refill these empty water bottles, been empty for too long, not goodboil up one of the skinned muskrats for dinner, could sure use some foodthe wood was around there somewhere, now whered it go, where Dizzy and suddenly very faint, he sank to his knees there beside the firepit, silent and still for a good minute before he trusted himself to get up again and search for the firewood in the near darkness. There it was, over there stacked neatly between two close-growing spruces there beside the shelter entrance exactly where they had left it, and he crawled over to the woodpile and returned to the firepit with an armload of small sticks and larger branch-pieces, arranging them as quickly as his clumsy hands would allow him into a rough pyramid that looked as though it ought to sustain flame. Einar had grown cold very quickly upon stopping, was having trouble grasping the fire steel and striker as he tried to bring the fire to life, and Liz could sense his frustration, could hear the rattling of his teeth in a lull between wind gusts in the treetops--he was far too tired by then to go on making any effort at concealing his condition--wanted very badly to help him but knew she would be more likely than not to knock aside the kindling he had prepared, if she tried to intervene. It took Einar a while but he finally got the fire going, putting a pot of snow to melt beside it and clumsily

chopping one of the muskrats so it would fit into the accumulating water. He rested, then, bad foot propped up on the pack, holding Liz as the two of them slowly began thawing, warming, overwhelmed by tide of grateful relief as the wonderful aroma of simmering muskrat stew reached him, promising that things were starting to turn around for them, at least for that night.

After finishing their most welcome supper of muskrat stew--Liz did very well with the meal, for not being able to see--Einar and Liz were both feeling a good bit warmer and less worn out, though Lizs eyes were still stinging and burning, swollen shut, the snowfilled hat being her only means of obtaining a little temporary relief.. Einar, wanting to make things a bit easier for her if he could, got out all of the remaining sock strips, set one aside for changing the bandages on his foot later--a task he was not looking forward to--and tied the others together to make a band that would stretch around her head. Wetting two clumps of usnea in berberine water which had been kept from freezing while they were away by burying the bottle deep in the spruce duff, he set them in the snow to chill further, slipping the tied sock strips over Lizs head until it covered her eyes. Is this alright? Not too tight? No, its fine. What are you doing? Fixing you up a better way of keeping the burn down than holding that hat to your face and ending up with ice water trickling down your arms all the time. That cant be helping much when it comes to getting warm. She nodded in agreement, kept still as Einar gently slipped the damp usnea pads beneath the sock band and helped her get them situated as comfortably as possible. He hoped the combination of usnea and berberine might help to combat any infection that was thinking of taking up residence in her inflamed eyes, as he knew that such could be a real danger, having seen more than one person with eyes red and oozing days after similar injuries. He had once heard a story, told by an Inuit elder, in which was described an old tradition among her people when it came to treating eyes that were infected and oozing after having been burnt by the sun, how they would first try tying a band of cloth or leather around the eyes with herbs bound up inside--he wished he could remember which ones, but could not--and would wait to see if the problem resolved itself. If it did not, and infection developed, she had said her people would take a louse and tie a human hair from the front of the head near the eyes around its middle, letting the creature clean up the oozing mess from the injured eyes. She had claimed that the method worked, prevented further infection and allowed the eyes to heal, and while Einar had no reason to doubt her words, he found himself grateful that they did not have a population of lice from which to take a volunteer. And I dont think Ill mention that particular healing method to Liz, either, at least not right now, because I doubt shed appreciate hearing about it. Hopefully the usnea and berberine will be enough to prevent infection of that sort! He knew, though, that having damp usnea bound to her head later while trying to

sleep would undoubtedly lead to Liz being badly chilled--perhaps even dangerously so-and almost certainly unable to sleep, and he wished they were in a shelter that could be heated as their last in the rocky ramparts of the basin could, so she might be able to wear the bandage all night. Not possible in their current situation, but at least she seemed to be doing a bit better for the moment, sitting more calmly by the fire and appearing to be in less pain. Expecting that some willow tea might help her get through the night more easily and with a better chance of sleeping--which would be best, as any movement of the eyes would only further irritate them and prolong the required healing time--he set about peeling some of the willow shoots they had earlier collected, dropping bark pieces and tender little branch ends into a second pot of simmering snowmelt water. Liz smelled the freshly broken willow shoots, carefully scooted closer to Einar until she could reach out and feel what he was doing. Your foots not doing so well after all that walking, is it? Huh? Nonot great, but this willow stuff is for you. Figured it might bring down the swelling some around your eyes, let you get a little sleep. But who knows? If theres some left after you get all you want, I may try some too. Pretty sure Im beyond the point where serious bleeding is something to worry about, and it might be good to have something before I go changing those bandages tonight. But most of this is for you. She put a hand on his arm. Thank you. But this time you can have it all. I have to be careful. You knowthe baby? Baby? Willows gonna hurt the baby? How? I dont know that it would. It might be just fine. But I know Ive heard that women who take too much aspirin early on can be at greater risk of losing a baby, and since willow and aspirin Yep, theyre made of the same stuff, salicylic acid, though its synthesized and concentrated in aspirin. Youd have to drink quite a lot of this tea to get the amount that would be in even a tablet or two, but it doesnt sounds like the best sort of risk to be taking. Good thing you know this stuff, because it sure wasnt on my mind when I was learning the plants. Guess youll just have to stick to damp usnea and snow filled hats, for now. So. No willow, no spruce needle teagood thing muskrats arent on that list of yours. She laughed a little, took the pot of broth he was pressing into her hands. Oh, Im pretty sure muskrats are on the other list. I can tell that this stew--the meat and broth--are just what my body needs right now. Lots of protein and fat and some ironyou know, it would be a very good idea for me to start collecting nettle shoots when they come up, lambs quarter, even, if were not up too high for them, and drying them to make tea. Ill be needing the iron so I dont end up getting anemic. More iron in red meat and critters blood than youll get from a whole mess of nettles,

but yes, good idea. I did a lot of nettle tea last spring after being so short on everything over the winter, and it really did seem to help. Be a few weeks still before the snow goes down enough for things like that to start showing up, even down here, but Ill sure be on lookout for them. Could use some of that tea, myself. They were quiet then for a while as they shared the remaining broth, Liz preoccupied with thoughts of the coming child and what she must do to be ready for that time, and Einar, very nearly too tired to do any thinking at all, running over and over in his mind the plan that he had tried to develop on the walk down from the basin--do some trapping, snaring, eat, build up a little reserve while living off the bounty of the river valley, and then high-tail it up out of there before anything disastrous could come of their too-close proximity to the more populated areas that one always finds down lower. The plan, he told himself--head drooping, eyes closing, nearly falling forward into the fire before he caught himself and jerked back upright--was working, they were eating better than they had in weeks, getting stronger or soon would be, and there was the promise of more food there for the taking. Lizs snow blindness and his own near crippling exhaustion and difficulty walking on the wounded foot were hitches for sure, but temporary ones. He was sure they would be able to overcome those difficulties given time, but it was the matter of time, when he really got down to it, that was bothering him so much. Already they had been down in that valley longer than he would have liked, had made more tracks, ventured more times out into the open, and he knew that in allowing them to do so, he was violating many of the rules and routines that had kept him alive and out of the hands of his pursuers for so long. But Im doing this to keep us alive. We were starving up there, getting to where we werent going to be able to keep making the rounds looking for food, collecting firewood, doing much of anything at all other than curling up under a tree and waiting for something to change, waiting, most likely, for the end, and I might have risked that for myself--would have risked it, had done it before--but not for her. And especially not for the child. No. This is where we need to be right now. For both of us. All of us. Youre just antsy because youre thinking about what happened last spring when you came down looking for a decent meal after a long hungry winterwell. This is not the same situation. Youre not anywhere near town, anywhere near where you might expect to casually run across anyone else, even, this early in the year. He shook his head, put his arm around Liz, who was leaning on his shoulder and seemed to want some company, a bit of shared warmth. They werent enough, the reassurances he was trying to give himself, sounded hollow and forced, and something was gnawing at him, a nagging disquiet whose source he could not quite identify, but which he knew he must try and puzzle out--show me. A little lost, here--lest he overlook something that might prove important to their security. But not tonight. Brains not working anymore. Sure need to get some sleep, and itd be good for Liz, too. But theres something Ive really got to do, first. With Liz sitting near the fire warm and full and as comfortable as he could expect her to be, under the circumstances, Einar turned his attention to his foot, knowing that it had to be dealt with before he tried for any sleep, himself. The willow solution was simmering

in the coals, and he set the pot in the snow to cool, taking two big swallows of the bitter stuff before easing his overboot off, and beginning unwind the bandages from his foot stump. As he had known even before looking, the two trips down to the marsh and back that day had done the foot no good, and the bandages had to be soaked off before he could hope to remove them without doing untold damage to the--hopefully--healing flesh beneath. He had made a lot of willow solution, expecting that Liz might want to have it to sip on until her eyes stopped burning and returned to normal, and, pouring some of it into his water bottle for later use, he allowed the rest to cool down to somewhere near body temperature, submerging the end of his foot in it to soak loose the crusty mess of usnea and sock strips that covered the still-open wounds. The water was at first extremely uncomfortable on the injured area, felt far too hot though he had tested it carefully, and Einar, not wanting to alarm Liz or make her wonder what was going on, rested his head on his knees and tried to breathe as slowly--and quietly--as he could, hands clenched at his sides as the solution slowly loosened the bandages until he could remove them. Liz did not need to be told, though, in order to know what he was doing, felt her way closer to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, helping in the only way she could while he finished the task. The foot did not appear to have done much healing, the stumps of the last two toes red and raw and open, looking badly inflamed, and alarmed some at the look of them, Einar warmed some berberine water and gave the foot a good washing, plastering some fresh usnea with a generous amount of their remaining cottonwood bud salve and wrapping them onto the wounds. After that Einar was finished, both literally and figuratively, using all the energy he had left to shove a few rock slabs over the remains of the fire and lead Liz into the shelter, the relief it gave from the nights increasingly gusty winds a welcome thing to both of them. They settled in to sleep, then, Liz finding that her eyes troubled her significantly less when she was lying still, as Einar had suggested, which was a good thing, as she had to part with the damp usnea and cloth for the night, Einar replacing it with a dry one that he tied around her head lest she accidentally forget her situation and open her eyes upon waking in the morning, giving herself a rather painful start to the morning. There was not much chance of her forgetting, though, as badly as her eyes stung and watered as she lay there warm and out of the wind in the shelter, her entire head feeling feverish and sore from their burning. Despite troubles that plagued each of them, Einar and Lizs weariness quickly become the more powerful force that night, and it was not long before they slept, the spruces singing over them in the night wind. Though warm and reasonably well fed, Einar found his night to be long and troubled there beneath the deadfall, vague images drifting through his mind as he slept, and though his weariness prevented him from waking fully as often as he might have done otherwise, he tossed and fidgeted in his sleep, the deep, ground-vibrating rumble of more than one helicopter--real or imagined, he was never sure, until later--leaving him to press himself into the ground for concealment, digging down in the duff with his fingers until they bled from the effort and stopping only when Liz took his hands in her own, whispering to him repeated assurances that they were safe, hidden, that all was well. But he was not so sure, finally drifting off to sleep again with the image of the muskrat marsh before his eyes, the place looking on the surface exactly as it had on departing it that day, but the whole scene

seeming somehow to have a dark, threatening feel about it which he could neither understand nor quite define, but which somehow seemed terribly important, demanding that he discover its nature and counteract its danger in some way. But he did not know how, because he did not know what. Einar woke with a start from a dream whose details slipped away like sand between open fingers there in the pale grey light of early morning, left only with a great hollow hurting sense of immense loss, sorrow, imminent, unavoidable, irreversible, the sweat drying on his face as the rumble of the last dreamspectre of the night faded away into the distance, dissipating, leaving him the silence of the forest, almost deafening in contrast, wind sighing softly in the spruces, his tears falling to dampen the duff as he watched Liz breathing peacefully in sleep there beside him. She does not know. Yet. And he buried his face in the ground litter--sweet spicy spruce, earthy, familiar, but lacking its usual ability to comfort--wished with a dreadful, aching intensity that he could say the same. He did not lie thus for long. The day was beginning, and Einar, regardless of what the night might have brought, knew that it was to be a full one for him, as he had Lizs trapline to run as well as his own, better goggles to make for her, meals to cook, all so she would hopefully go on resting her eyes and allowing them to make a full recovery. She slept still, and he was glad, eased himself out of the tight confines of the shelter and stood there for a minute on the trampled-flat snow beside the firepit, stretching and swinging his arms and stomping his good foot in an attempt to get himself limbered up enough to walk at something better than a stiff, stumbling snails pace, taking his spear and atlatl and the small pack and setting out, heading first down to the creek to check his snares. Two, three, no success, they were all empty, no new tracks, even, marring the snow to tell him that the misses had been near things, that there was reason to hope. Keep moving, on to the next and the one after, still nothing, and then down where the slope opened out into the narrow willow flats that bordered the creeka rabbit! Grinning triumphantly, the morning suddenly seeming a good bit brighter, he freed the animal from its noose of wire, worked a kind out of the loop and reset the snare, bending down a supple but sturdy willow stem to provide some lift, should the thing be triggered again. That was all he found, that one rabbit, the rest of the snares proving to be undisturbed, but it was a start, was something to add to their small but growing supply of food, and he headed up a bit more cheerfully to start on Lizs trapline, stopping by the camp to leave the rabbit and check on her, on his way by. She was still asleep. Lizs snares yielded little more than Einars had, a single ermine in a leaning tree set that she had baited with a bit of smeared pemmican providing them with a bit of meat, a bit of sleek white fur, but nothing more. Itll get better. This is just the second day. First, really, the way it was storming the night after we set out these snares. Will get better. Waking at the sound of Einar crunching back through the snow into camp, Liz sat up and began feeling her way out of the shelter, met at the door by Einar. Is it morning? I cant see any light at all through this blindfold thing youve got over my eyes. Yep, morning, but its good you cant see any light. Thats exactly how it needs to be.

Believe me, you dont want to be seeing light yet. How do your eyes feel this morning? About like I rubbed cayenne pepper in them and then stood out in a sandstorm for a few hours. Its not quite as bad if I can keep them in one position and not look to one side or the other, but a person can hardly do that for very long, even at night. Id like to try taking this thing off though, find out of I can see anything yet. Maybe theyre not quite as swollen as yesterdaytheres so much I need to be doing, and its awful hard to do much when you cant see! At least for me No, no theres nothing you need to do that badly. How about you just give them some time? Hmm. She sounded a bit disgruntled at the suggestion, felt her way out of the shelter and stood, shuffling over and sitting on the log beside the firepit. Is that what you would do, if we were talking about your eyes? Give them some time? Einar snorted. Expect not. Id have probably tried and safety-pinned my eyelids open this morning and gone out to run the trapline if it was me, and then spent the next three or four days blundering around with my eyes on fire and unable to see a thing because of the additional damage, but you know Im not always the brightest critter on the mountain when it comes to things like that. What you ought to do is give your eyes another day at least of rest, maybe at dusk tonight try and take the cloth off and open them a little if the hurt has gone down some, but not before. So. A double standard of sorts. And I expect you already ran my trapline? Yeah. You got one ermine, skinny little rabbit down on mine in the willows by the water, not much but its a start. Youre probably ready for some food. Guess Ill make a little fire and boil us up a muskrat, if youre agreeable. Well Im certainly not feeling very agreeable, but boiled muskrat sounds great! Hey, maybe you ought to cut me a bunch of willow shoots on your next trip down to the creek, and I could at least make us some baskets or fish traps or something while Im sitting here waiting to see again. I think I could manage that, by feel. Not a bad idea. Fish traps would be good. Not gonna be finding much in the way of fish in that creek right now, but it sure wouldnt hurt anything to try. Ill get the willows for you when I go down to fill our water bottles in a while after we eat. Faster than melting snow to do it. For that matter, might as well go down and get them while the stew cooks, if you think you can manage the fire alright without getting burned or anything, while Im gone. Sure! Sure I can do that. Ill just feel for the heat, and stop before I get too close to it. Ive got to be able to do something useful around here Huh. Now you know how I feel, half the time Well, let me get the fire going, and Ill

head down there after those willows. Limping down the slope to the creek, Einars mind drifted back to his dream, the first one, the only one he could remember in detail, and he saw once again the ice-covered marsh, felt for a moment the inexplicable dread that had filled him on seeing that same sight as he drifted off to sleep. The thought of it would not leave his mind, was nagging at him, and suddenly he knew what he must do. He would make a quick trip down to the marsh the following morning, check the muskrat snares he had left, see if he couldnt figure out what it was that was bothering him so badly whenever he thought of the place, find some way to remedy the trouble, whatever it might be, or, of there is none, see if I can convince my goofy brain of the fact so itll leave me alone. Good. Got a plan. And he finished the descent with a lighter heart, crouching there beside the creek to cut willows for Liz. The image had not been clear, was not clear, even as the agents sat there studying a blown up and digitally enhanced version of it there in the command center, and might almost have been dismissed it as a shadow, an anomaly. Almost. It was just a bit too regular, too out of place, too present, to be a shadow, and several of them wondered if it could have been a bear--the color seemed about right--except that the local consensus was that it was far too early to be seeing bears at that altitude. The location from which the image had been transmitted to them was remote, a monitoring station that had been placed in a narrow wilderness valley where two creeks joined, one of many such set out at the direction of the new Agent in Charge in the hopes of revealing some evidence of their fugitive as he sought water, game, the things necessary to sustain life near the end of a long, hungry winter in the high country. The monitoring stations, the AIC had reasoned, would allow them to extend their resources without risking more lives unnecessarily, runins with the fugitive and with the mountains themselves having cost them all to dearly over the course of the--so far--failed search, and the station locations had been chosen with care and after long consultation with maps and weather and snow depth charts and with any and all local hunters and wildlife officials who could be persuaded to work with them. They had, so far, produced nothing more than the occasional game sighting, and while most of the agents gathered in front of the bank of computers in the command center that morning believed the most recent image to be of a similar nature, the AIC was not so sure, deciding that the sighting merited a trip up there to investigate on the ground--it was time for a few of the agents to get out and do something for a day other two that did not involve sitting behind a desk; would do them some good, he reasoned-before too much more time passed and the evidence of whatever the creature had been was obliterated by weather and the passage of time. Returning to the camp with an armload of willow shoots for Liz to use in making fish traps--dont know it well get much of anything, this time of year, but its good for her to have something to occupy her hands, will make her more likely to keep still and rest her eyes--Einar smelled the mornings pot of muskrat stew long before he parted the branches to enter the shelter-clearing. Sure is good to have food to eat again, and on a reasonably regular basis. Few more days of this and were gonna be doing pretty well, starting to

get a lot stronger, and we can think about moving on. Not liking the idea of spending too much time down here, especially not staying in one place the way we are. Got to give her eyes time to get better before we move on, though, see if the snares start producing better. Give it another day or two at least. They ate in silence, Liz considerably less animated and talkative than usual, and Einar, though knowing it was because her eyes hurt and wishing she was not having to endure that particular trial--must be awful difficult not being able to see, out here. Shes handling it a lot better than I think I would--not at all minding the silence. He was busy with his own thoughts, with trying once again to think of a way to shorten the amount of time they would be spending down there at what he really believed to be a dangerously low elevation, and was at the same time struggling to banish from his mind the dream images of the past night, which though maddeningly vague and indefinite, seemed increasingly to be attempting to intrude on him as the day went along. Liz was busy trying to figure out how to weave willows together without being able to see them, and Einar, weary from his walks on the traplines and down to the creek, settled in beside her with an array of different bone and antler pieces from the pack spread out before him, trying to settle on the best way of making a more permanent set of snow goggles for her. The spruce bark ones had held up just fine for the hours they were in use, would likely continue to function for days more, after which they could fairly quickly and easily be replaced with another, but he did not want to risk seeing Liz use them less often than she ought to because she was concerned about them wearing out or falling apart. A pair of bone glasses would last her for years and would, he figured, encourage the daily use that would probably be necessary at least for the remainder of the spring to prevent a repeat of the temporary blindness from which she currently suffered. The choice of materials was not particularly encouraging. He knew that curved pieces of split caribou antler or ivory had been traditional among the Inuit, the curve serving to match the glasses at least somewhat to the contours of the face and help prevent glare from getting in around them, but he lacked anything that had a similar curve. Studying a piece of split bear legbone that had been left over from the last atlatl dart tip project, he supposed it probably offered the best chance at ending up with a serviceable pair of goggles, turning it this way and that and holding it up to his face as he tried to picture how it could best be put to use. The bone was straight, more or less, leaving him to wonder if he could use rolled up bits of muskrat or other fur to plug the gaps that the shape of the goggles would inevitably leave at the sides of her face, letting in too much light, and he had nearly convinced himself that hed have to try such a plan, when an idea hit him. Hey! Who says the goggles have to be all one piece? Sure, most of the Inuit versions Ive seen were done that way, but they had a good supply of caribou antler and ivory to work from, which I definitely dont have. Dont even have any elk antler, at the moment. I know Ive seen hinged glasses that involved two antler pieces connected at the center by leather hinges so they could flex over the nose, so why couldnt I do something similar? Two lenses of bear bone with rawhide or sinew ties between themthat way I could make each lens to fit snug against her face, and seal out most of the reflected light. It

sounded reasonable, and Einar, seeing that the first step had to involve breaking or cutting the bone to create two rough squared that could then be worked until they were rounded, began abrading it with a rock, scoring into it a deep groove that would allow the bone to break cleanly when he later gave it a sharp rap with a rock chisel. Looking up from his work when he was finally certain that the groove was deep enough, Einar noticed that Liz had stopped working on her fish trap, was leaning forward with her hands pressed to the cloth over her eyes. They seemed to be hurting her a good deal, and he saw that she had been putting bits of snow down between the cloth and the usnea pads beneath them, resulting in icy little streams that wanted to run down her arms if she didnt keep them positioned just right to allow the water to drip onto the ground. You need some fresh water on that usnea, Liz? Something to help cool your eyes more? That would be real good. Nothing seems to be working very well right now. Melting some snow between his hands and dripping it onto two fresh usnea pads--got to get out and collect some more of that stuff, were starting to get short, between my foot and her eyes--he led her into the shelter to reduce the amount of glare that would get through her closed eyelids when they changed the pads. Lizs eyes did not look good; even there in the dimness of the windfall, Einar could see that they were still badly swollen and beginning to ooze, and as gently as possible he cleaned away the bits of stuck usnea from around them, wiped and dabbed at the crust that had built up under and around her eyes. Well, that doesnt look so good. Better soak this new usnea with berberine, in case things are starting to get infected. Which he did, easing the pads and sock strips back in place before giving Liz the all clear to head back outside. She was become quite adept at getting around, at least there in camp, and no longer needed his help to find her way out of the shelter and to the log beside the fire where she had spent most of her morning, hands held palm-up at knee height to tell her when she neared the rising heat of the fire and help her maneuver around it. Watching her led Einar to wonder just how a person, if alone, might go about adapting to a more long-lasting loss of sight while trying to live up there in the high country. By dying, and in pretty short order, I expect. Would end up starving in a few weeks if you didnt walk off a cliff first, or freeze one night for lack of being able to build a fireyep, pretty sure youd adapt by turning into mulch for the trees. But that answer, though likely realistic, was not a satisfactory one to Einar, who knew that he would, if ever caught in such circumstances, find himself driven to do all he could to avert or at least delay his becoming spruce food. He remembered having heard about several people who had lost their sight as children and had learned to navigate by making frequent clicks with their tongues and listening to the way they echoed off of the surrounding landscape, the result resembling the echolocation used by bats. One man in particular, he remembered, had become proficient enough at the system to ride a bicycle and participate in sports, even. Well, that would be a real good start, assuming I lived long enough to learn to do itguess I better start seeing if I can identify some of the plants I use most by feel and smell--nettles would certainly be no problem, and I know I could find usnea, recognize Oregon grapes by their spiny leaves so I could make berberine, willows by their sharp, tangy smellmight just be able to make

it. Would end up working awful hard for every bite I got to eat, though, doing a lot of trapping and snaring of small game, and without the advantage of even being able to see their tracks and trails to judge the best spots to set up the snaresthough eventually I imagine Id be feeling around on the ground for that sort of thing, too, learning to track by feelbut Id probably still end up short enough on food that Id slowly lose the battle with starvation, even if it took months, since Im not sure at the moment how I could hope to take big game. Could snare it I suppose, like Ive done with a couple deer, or try a big, bear-sized deadfall trap, though I might well end up doing myself in while setting itwell. Not in that situation right now, thankfully, either of us. Liz should have her sight back tomorrow if not tonight, and I got an awful lot to do right now just to see that we keep eating and putting on a little reserve, getting Liz what she needs for herself and that babyno time to train for life as a blind critter, though it would make an interesting exercise, if one did have the chance. Now. Back to these goggles. Einar had, while musing on the subject of staying alive without being able to see, been working to turn the two rough squares of bear bone, each slightly convex near the center, into circles, rubbing and scraping their edges on a slab of granite to work the rough edges off of them, pausing now and then to do a bit of work on the seeing slits that would run, long and very narrow, through the center of each. Having worked nonstop for a good hour, he was beginning to need a break, needed to get up and move around to drive off some of the chill that had sunk into him in sitting still for so long, and in doing so he realized that he had completely neglected to check on Liz during that time, to ask whether she needed more water for the usnea on her eyes, but as it turned out she had fallen asleep there in the bear hide, head on her arm where she leaned up against the aspen log. Well, thats not like her, but its probably best. Keep her from getting so antsy about the eyes. And he draped his cloak over her for extra protection, knowing that the damp eye-patches would tend to chill her as she slept. Leaving the clearing so as not to wake he with his movements, Einar stomped around for a bit on his creek-trail, seeking to warm himself and drive off his own growing sleepiness; there was too much to be done. No harm in choosing a sunny spot to sit in though, he figured, especially considering that he was without his cloak for the time, and he found a rock whose snow cover had been scoured away by the wind and settled in to finish work on the goggles. After a good bit more work he held the two round white lenses in his palms, inspecting them, holding them up to his eyes and nodding, satisfied. The only thing left was to bore the holes through which he would string the laces to hold the two halves together, and others for the strap that would secure the glasses round Lizs head. Knowing that the quickest way by far to accomplish the task was by drilling, he returned quietly to the shelter-clearing--Liz still lay sleeping there beside the extinct fire--and retrieved the small buckskin bag in which he kept the variety of awls, needles and other small tool that he had accumulated over the course of the past year and a half. Down in the bottom of the bag lay several quartz chips that he had done a bit of shaping on back when he knapped his quartz axe head, narrowing them down to fine points that he knew would be too brittle for most uses, but which he thought might make perfect drill bits for the find holes he needed to bore in the goggle edges, and he slipped two of them into his pocket. Returning to his sunny perch, Einar marked the location of the six holes he

intended to drill in completing the goggles, one on each of the outer edges of the lenses for the cord to attach to, and two each on the inner edges through which to lace the hinges. Softening a very small piece of the previously-made hide glue in his mouth, he dabbed a bit of it onto the end of one of the quartz drill bits, inserting it into the split end of the straightest spruce stick that he had been able to come up with. Pressing the two ends together, he wrapped the split tightly with a piece of softened sinew, setting the finished drill aside to dry. Using the deer scapula socket that he had kept from the days when bow and drill had been his only way to start a fire and choosing a short, flexible spruce branch for a bow, he began the tedious, precise work of drilling the holes. It took time--he had to go carefully lest he break the brittle quartz point--but finally he finished all six holes, freeing them of dust and stringing and tying sinew cordage for the hinges and strap. Well. Believe these will do! Before calling the goggles done, he rubbed the inner surfaces with a bit of charcoal to further cut down on the glare, slipping them over his own head to give them a try. Huh. Could use a pair myself, looks like, even though I do rarely ever venture out into the open Looking through the thin slits in the goggles, the distant ridgelines looked just a bit clearer, trees standing out sharper, each needle seeming to be visible. Never needed glasses before, but if Im seeing this kind of improvement by looking through the goggles, I guess it may mean my vision isnt quite what it used to be. The second pair of goggles would have to wait, though, because he heard Liz stirring back in the clearing, and slid down from the rock, anxious to go and present her with the results of his little project. Liz, though she couldnt see them, was delighted with her new goggles, the smooth, tapered edges of each lens demonstrating the care Einar had put into making them and the flexible sinew hinge in the center leading her to think that they must look something like WWI aviators goggles. Anxious to try them out, she would have gone ahead and done so right then, had not Einar encouraged her to go ahead and wait until dusk. The snowmagnified daylight would, he knew, be agony on her sensitive eyes, even though the narrow slits in the goggles. Glad you like them, though. Tested them out a bit ago, and theyre pretty comfortable to wear, really cut down on the glare. Should help a lot over the next few days while your eyes are adjusting to being used again, and hopefully theyll prevent this from happening ever again, too. Oh, I hope so. I know this isnt anywhere near as bad as your broken leg must have been, or certainly the toes, but its still pretty awful. Theres something about not being able to see I know. Pretty rough. Im thinking you better kinda lay low in the shelter during the sunny part of the day for a week or so here, if its possible. Run your traplines before sunup, get out and do things in the evening, but the sunlights gonna seem awful strong to your eyes for a while, even through the slits in these goggles. Well, Ill try my best. For now though, Id better get back working on those fish traps so you can show me how to set them up in the water, this evening!

Tomorrow evening. After I get back from the marsh. Got to head down there and check the snares, check onthings. Alright, tomorrow While Liz worked on the traps, Einar sat down near her and took up the goggles once again, meaning to add some finishing touches. He was, after several days of eating better was finding himself a good bit more energetic and tremendously thankful that he was no longer having to fight so hard to keep from falling asleep at random and inappropriate times as he had, on the journey down, but weariness still pressed heavily upon him, the weakness brought on by his blood loss and the strain of fighting the infection that wanted so badly to take hold in his as-yet un-healing foot, and an hour or so of stillness was sounding like a very good idea indeed. Resting, he took the time to painstakingly etch a fine design into the front side of the goggle lenses, a pattern of stylized oak leaves and acorns dancing and intertwining all around the eye slits. Not especially useful work, when it came to matters of life and death, but it was something he figured Liz would enjoy, once she was able to see well enough to do so, and, though he would not have liked to admit such, he knew the mere fact that doing it was keeping him off his feet and allowing him to get some much-needed rest made it more than useful. The design finished, he rubbed the fronts of the lenses with charcoal from the fire, working it in good and deep so it filled all of the fine lines he had etched in, after which he wiped away as much as he could, leaving the lenses white, with charcoal blackening and highlighting his designs. They looked good. Just after dusk that evening Liz tried the goggles for the first time, Einar gently unbandaging her eyes and cleaning away the dried ooze that had accumulated in her eyelashes to bind them closed, and when finally she could get them open just a tiny bit around the swelling it was to the joyful discovery that she could see. Her vision was still fuzzy, eyes dry and irritated, but using them there in the evening dimness did not increase the pain too much, so long as she didnt look directly at the fire. She was on the way to healing, it seemed, and they celebrated with a good rich pot of muskrat stew and boiled ermine. The stringy, skinny little weasel might not have been a first choice of favorite meals for either of them, but he had ended up in one of Lizs traps, and there was no way they were going to let him go to waste. Stomachs full, close to dozing, they sat together by the fire with the yearling hide around their shoulders, and Einar was very nearly asleep when Liz spoke up. What should we call him? Einar blinked slowly, turned to her, wondering what he had missed, as he had no clue what she could be talking about. Call who? Your son. What should we call your son? He was quiet for a good long while. Son. Now that sure is weird for me to hear. But

how do you know its a son? How about we call your daughter Brunhilda? Liz would have burst out laughing, except that Einars face, what she could see of it in the fading evening light and the dim glow from the coals, looked entirely serious. Brunhilda? Who was that, your grandmother back in the old country? Itsvery distinguished-sounding. She thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch at that, but could not be sure, and he continued, solemn-faced. Or we could name her after my other grandmother, Hildegard. Yep, think I like that even better. Means battle stronghold, if I remember correctly, and always was one of my favorite names He was smiling mischievously by that time, she could tell for sure even through her puffy, squinty eyes, and she scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at him. You! What do you mean, other grandmother? I though youd told me your other grandmother was Irish? He was laughing, returned her snowball with somewhat better aim than she had thrown it. She was. And there was no old country, at least not in my grandmothers generation. We been here longer than that. Alright then, no Brunhilda. But Hildegard, nowI always did admire that name. Might have to give that one some thought. Liz rolled her eyes, threw another snowball. OhI do hope its a boy, then Now I did have an uncle Snorri, if it ends up being a boy. May still have, actually. Last I knew, nobodyd heard from him in a number of years, but he was in the habit of going wandering from time to time, seems like, and never saw a need to tell anybody where he was headed or when he might be expected back, so he may still be out there. Hes be eighty-nine, ninety, now, something like that. Snorri? Now I dont know whether to take you seriously or not, after all this talk of your fictional Granny Brunhilda. Serious? Why of course Im serious. Snorris a very distinguished name, and my uncle was definitely not fictional. Though he was always a bit eccentric, according to some other members of the family. Myself, I never could see what they were talking about. Seemed perfectly normal, to me. Oh, well surely you must realize thats not much of a recommendation Hey nowyou calling me eccentric, or something?

And what if I was? Well youd be due for another snowball down your shirt, thats what. And he snatched up a handful of snow but Liz saw it coming, ducked under him and escaped, and he tried to go after her, but ended up sprawling on his face in the snow beside the firepit when he forgot briefly about his injured foot, putting his full weight on it. Taking full advantage of the situation, Liz sat on him and shoved a big scoop of snow down his neck, regretting it the next second when she realized why he must have fallen, but relieved to see a big grin on his face when he finally got himself flipped over, grabbing her and pulling her down in the snow with him. You enjoy the snow, do you? Alright, your turn nowhey, I kinda like the way this is going! Einar! She stopped him just as he headed for her with another heap of snow, his eyes sparkling. My goodness, just give you regular meals for a couple days and a little rest now and then, and all of a sudden youve got more energy than I know what to do with. Maybe wed better get up now, dont you think, before our clothes soak through with melting snow and we end up freezing overnight? Nah, dont worry, weve got dry clothes, and Yes, but it would be a good idea to be able to keep them as extras, as uncertain as things are around here, which means we need to keep these dry, for tonight. What have you got against a good warm shelter, anyway? Lets head on in there where we can stay out of this snow. He sighed, sat up. Good point, I guess. About time for you and little Hildegard to get to bed, anyway, isnt it? Which it was, and they went, Einar holding Liz close that night, lying awake for a long time just to listen to her breathe, almost as if knowing what awaited him the next morning down at that marsh

The two agents chosen to hike in and settle the matter of the identity of the not-quite-bear that had shown up on one of their remote cameras were taken by snowmobile up as high as the terrain allowed into the narrow river valley, tasked with hiking in from there to look for tracks and sign in the small clearing around the camera, and the timber beyond it where the creature had stood. Starting out before daylight on the advice of locals who had warned them of the avalanche danger that existed here and there in the steep-walled valley and grew more serious later in the afternoon when the sun had been softening things up for a few hours, they reached the camera site just after sunrise, holding up a printed copy of the image and heading for the stand of firs in which the object of their curiosity appeared to have been standing.

Einar and Liz were both up before dawn, also, Liz bringing the fire back to life and quickly reheating the bit of leftover stew that they had hung in a tree for protection overnight. The light of the fire was aggravating to her eyes, enough so that she wore the goggles as she stirred the stew, anxious to eat a fast bit of breakfast and get out to run her trapline before the sun could get too high in the sky. Einar, she could see, was preoccupied with his trip down to the marsh--hed said he needed to check muskrat snares, but she sensed there was some further purpose to the journey, something that was leaving him uneasy and grim that morning as he crouched beside the fire sharpening his knife and repairing the fletching on one of his atlatl darts--and she did not disturb him as she went about her breakfast preparations. The stew was warm, a hint of brightness just beginning to show along the ridge top to the east, and Liz sat down beside Einar, who seemed still absorbed in tending to the atlatl darts and wrapping an extra length of sinew just below the head of his spear, drying the fresh sinew over the warmth of the fire and dabbing some bits of melted spruce over it. Only when he had finished did he look up and acknowledge Lizs presence. Howre your eyes this morning? Better. Much better. A whole lot less pain, and I can get them open further, but theyre still pretty sensitive to the light. These goggles are great! I cant believe you made them in one afternoon, if thats what you did. Theyre going to help a lot when it comes to the trapline today. Glad theyre working for you. Still, would be a good idea to limit the amount of time you spend out in the sun today, even with the goggles. Dont want to get to the end of the day and find that your eyes are swelling shut again. If you leave soon, youll have time to take care of the trapline and be back here at the shelter before the sun breaks over that ridge, looks like. Dont know how long Ill be, down theretake me a good hour and a half of travel in each direction, and thats being pretty optimistic, then maybe another hour down there with the muskrat snares.should be back way before dark, anyway. Here. Checked all of our atlatl darts, fixed a couple of the ones that needed work. You got four good ones now, and so do I. Make sure you take at least a couple of them with you when you go. Dont want you wandering around out there unarmed, Ok? Of course not. Ill take them, I always take them, and my rabbit stick, too, and you know I can be pretty deadly with that! He nodded, didnt smile as she had expected him to do at her reference to the marten incident back in their den-shelter, and the half-serious threats she had made against him after thus demonstrating her effectiveness with the weapon, and she sat down with him, put a hand on his arm. Einar. Is something wrong? Is it your foot, or what? Shaking his head, he looked her in the eye for a long moment before glancing away, idly pounding at the ground with the end of his spear. Foots not great, but I can get around. I justyou be careful out there, alright? Somethings got me all skittish about this valley

these last couple of days, and I got to go see if I can find out what it is. Somethings off, something not quite right. Youre not quite right, she wanted to respond, but didnt, youre just antsy being down here lower than youd prefer, but I do hope you can get over it and settle down, because were eating better than we have in weeks, and I sure do think wed both benefit from being able to stay here for a while. Maybe this trip will help get whatevers bothering you out of your system. Not knowing exactly how to respond she remained silent, put her arm around him for a minute and, when he seemed anxious to get moving, packed him up some bits of leftover muskrat and a small piece of their remaining bear fat so hed have something to eat on the trail. Einar left, then, reluctantly, wanting to say more to Liz and wishing he had the words to do it, but he didnt, and did not want to unnecessarily alarm her, besides. Get moving, Einar. Youll be back up here before sunset, and maybe by then your goofy brain will have come up with the words for whatever it is youre wanting to tell her, and you can do it. Not like this is the last time youre gonna see the girl, or anything. But as he walked, pushing himself to cover the ground quickly, Einar realized that he did not quite believe those assurances, somehow, almost turned back once but made himself keep going. Be with her, while Im gone While he kept for the most part to the trail they had been using for all of their trips back and forth to the marshy area, Einar did make a short detour up to the top of the low rise along which his trail ran--the first of three similar ridges that ran in sequence, one behind the other, above the creek, before things started getting really steep and rocky--climbing up and finding a vantage point from which he could look down into the meadow around whose mixed edge of aspen and fir Liz had set up her snares. Settling in on a bit of exposed rock and taking out his binoculars--hed brought them along in the small pack, adding them at the last minute to his very light load with the thought that they might come in handy in scouting the valley--he studied the snow-covered meadow, Lizs tracks painfully obvious where they had crossed a bit of clear ground at one point, but they didnt appear particularly fresh, looked to be partly drifted over by the wind, and he could see no sign that she had yet made her circuit that morning. He hoped she was either out on the trail already or soon to be, so she wouldnt have to spend too much time out in the bright after the sun came up. Which, glancing at the spruce-spiked horizon-ridge, he could see that it was about to do. Better get moving again, yourself. Further down the trail, Einar passed the spot where he had set a few marten snares on a leaning tree where Liz had noticed tracks on their last trip, and he stopped, realizing that one of the three wire loops was missing, apparently hanging down behind some of the brush that grew close around the leaning aspen trunk. Pushing his way out through the snow that had drifted in the night over their trail, he saw that the snare was missing because it had a good-sized marten in it, the creature not even yet frozen solid. Freeing it and adding its weight to his pack--well, heres supper, if I dont find any more muskrats-he continued on down the slope. After well over two hours of walking--he had, as he suspected, been greatly overestimating the sort of pace he would be able to maintain on the journey; the food and rest were helping, but he was still in the early stages of recovering from an extended period of near starvation, and was, besides, dealing with the

constant agony of having to use his mangled foot--Einar finally found himself descending to the edge of the clearing that held the marsh. The sun was up, brightly illuminating the slope opposite him but not yet having reached the ice of the marsh, though from the looks of things and the smell of the wind, he believed they might be in for some serious cloud cover and perhaps even the front end of a storm of some sort, before the day was over. He wanted to go on out in the open and break the ice down there where he had submerged his first set of muskrat snares there near the edge of the ice where one of their runs had emerged from beneath it, but something held him back, and he stood there for a good two or three minutes just listening, testing the air and trying to figure out what it was that had him so very reluctant to leave the concealment of the trees. You been out here too long, Einar. Youre about as skittish and spooky as a day old deer this morning, and theres no reason to He saw them.

Liz, finishing her chores around camp and putting out the fire after Einar left, decided to check Einars snares before her own--they hadnt spoken about it, but she couldnt see why he ought to mind, and she would have hated for a rabbit or ermine to be lost to scavengers during the day or that coming evening should the snares remain unchecked, and supposed her doing it would give Einar one less thing to worry about when he got back. The extra walking would mean that shed stand little chance of finishing her own loop before the sun came up, but as well as the goggles seemed to be working, she doubted that would prove to be more than a minor discomfort. Light was barely beginning to show through the evergreen branches to illuminate the snow when Liz set out, and at first she let the goggles hang from their strap around her neck, unable to navigate the slope well enough looking through their paper-thin slits in the uncertain light. Even before reaching Einars first snare, though, the day glow had grown strong enough that she was more than grateful for the protection offered by the goggles, her eyes already beginning to sting and take on that familiar gritty, sand-encrusted feel that she had hoped never to experience again. Glad to find a rabbit in one of Einars snares, she hurried back up to camp with it, quickly skinned the creature out and scraped the hide, knowing she was racing against time, as the sunlight was creeping down the ridge opposite their shelter and would reach her before too long. Briefly, eyes stinging, she considered forgoing her own trapline and waiting until dusk, but she could not stand the thought of Einar returning sometime that afternoon to find that she had been lax in her duty, at which point she was sure that he would consider it his own to go run her trapline for her, at a time when he would almost certainly be in serious need of rest. Go, get it done. The suns just peeking up over the ridge, and youll be mostly in the trees. It will be fine. And it would have been fine, if not for the bobcat. Liz had not expected to catch a bobcat at all, but had, when setting her snares, seen the apparently well-used trail, had noted the place where the series of tracks went through a narrowing in the brush and had thought it the perfect place for a snare, as the cat or cats had little option but to go through that opening. She had never snared a bobcat before nor

even heard how it was best done, and she had known at the time that she ought to wait and ask Einar about the best method for doing so, but had been anxious to surprise him with the pelt, if she managed to be successful. Now, staring in amazement at the cat, wire loop holding it firmly around the hips, trapped but very much alive and appearing most displeased at its situation, Liz realized what must have gone wrong. The snare-loop had been too big, and instead of tightening around the cats neck as it pushed its way through the brush, the too-wide loop had allowed the animal to shimmy right on through, head, nimble front feet, before finding its hips too wide to pass and pulling the snare tight in its struggle to free itself. Now she was left staring the trapped cat in the eye, yellow eyes, angry and afraid but making contact with her own, the animals ears back, knowing she had somehow to dispatch it, and wishing Einar was there so she could ask him how, exactly, she was supposed to do that under the present circumstances. He was not there, though, and she could not leave the cat as it was, considered trying to get close enough to bop the critter on the head with her rabbit stick, but thought better of the plan when it reacted with a snarl at her first move towards it. Though confident in her ability to overcome the trapped animal, eventually, she did not want to get slashed in the process, and with her eyes already stinging and watering profusely, she did not trust herself to be able to see well enough to dodge its claws. Throwing the rabbit stick was out, also, since the brush would likely block it from hitting with enough force to do anything more than further anger the cat. Lacking other ideas, she finally settled on securing one of the spare snares she had brought to a long, strong spruce pole, working her way in close enough to get the loop over the cats head--it took her several tries, as fuzzy as her eyes were becoming--and pulling the snare tight. The cat struggled, trying frantically to back out of the snare, but she held her ground, and before long it went limp. Though reasonably certain that the cat was through, Liz approached it very carefully, pressing it into the snow with the stick and giving it a good knock between the eyes with her rabbit stick, then another to make absolutely certain it wouldnt be waking up on her as she freed it from the snares. Only when she had got to cat disentangled from both snares and stood there holding it by its hind feet--the creature was a large one, a male--did Liz notice that she was shaking, nerves getting the better of her after the uncertainty of what she was to do with the animal. At the same time she realized that she was feeling a bit of remorse at ending the cats life in such a manner, a tightness in her throat as she studied its magnificent, mottled fur, fringed ears and feet that were large and wide--though not nearly so exaggerated as a lynxs--to act as snowshoes. She shook her head. No. No room for that sort of sentiment, out here. We have been freezing, and we need this pelt. Besides, the cat would have been competition for us when it came to the rabbits and squirrels and other small game were going to be partially relying on for food. I remember Einar telling me something like that when it came to foxes up at our other shelter, and it made sense then, makes sense now. It had taken time, dealing with the bobcat, had delayed Liz by a good while in finishing her rounds and heading back for the dim, shady recesses of the shelter--she was just then nearing the far reach of her loop, ready to begin heading back along its second half--and her eyes were really feeling it. Were, in fact, swelling again to the point that she could hardly keep them open wide enough to see out of, and it was only a matter of time, she

could tell, before she lost her vision again entirely, if temporarily. Not wanting to end up stranded out a good two or three miles from the shelter when that happened, she abandoned the idea of finishing the trapline, hurriedly securing the bobcat to her pack and shuffling along her back trail as quickly as her limited vision could allow her. Not quickly enough. Her eyes were on fire, the sun having reached the meadow by that point and reflecting hot and blindingly white off of its smooth cover of snow, the trees offering some protection but hardly enough to do her much good, and beginning to grow a bit frightened, Liz made the hasty decision to take a shortcut by heading straight across the open meadow, knowing that it would cut a good quarter mile from the distance she must travel.

Watching the two men--their parkas concealed beneath Army-issue overwhites, radios just visible under them--as they picked their way up the valley towards the marsh, it did not take Einar long to figure out who they must be, and just what they were doing in the area. They had discovered his trail down below the marsh, must have, had followed it, and though he could not at the moment guess how they might have stumbled upon his tracks in the first place, the outcome of their current course of action left no room for doubt. They would track him right back up to the shelter, following the wide snowshoe trail the two of them had left, and they would find Liz. He must not allow that to happen. Would not allow it, but neither did he want to take action immediately and without a more complete understanding of the situation. Were the two men alone, or did they have companions, backup waiting back behind them wherever they had been inserted--didnt hear a chopper, must have hiked in at least some distance--or lurking up on the ridges with rifles, waiting to ambush him? He doubted it. The men, though definitely alert to their surroundings, were largely focused on the trail they were following, and did not appear to possess the level of intensity that he would have expected, had they believed themselves about to be in the middle of an active engagement of any sort. His tracks below the marsh would appear old to them, wind-drifted, and they were apparently taking that to mean the absence of imminent danger. Their mistake, and one of which he intended to take full advantage. The longer he watched them, the more firmly convinced Einar became that the men were alone there in the valley. They could be stopped and must be, before they got too much closer to the shelter or got spooked and decided to call in backup. Assuming they had not already done so One of the men had apparently seen something that interested him down by the creek, the other continuing on up the trail that would take him past the marsh and up to Einars current position, and Einar, recognizing that he must act quickly while the two were split up, stepped out of the rutted snowshoe trail and onto the hard crust that was characteristic of spring snow after a very cold night such as the last had been. It supported his weight easily, allowed him to move across the surface without leaving sign that would be noticed by any but the keenest of observers, which the two agents did not appear to be. Putting some distance between himself and the trail, Einar tried to get both men within sight again, finding them. Knowing that the agent on his trail would be unlikely to follow it for too great a distance on his own Einar let him go, himself slinking down through the trees towards the man at the creek, who was standing out on the ice by that point, studying the spot where he and

Liz had gone down to the open water for a drink, on their last trip to the marsh. Stealthily working his way closer to the preoccupied agent by moving through the trees and then the willows, the faint crunchings and rustlings of his passing covered by the rushing of the water between its banks of ice, Einar dropped to all fours as he narrowed the distance to no more than ten or twelve yards, atlatl within easy reach and knife held in his teeth. The man was still there when he reached the edge of the willows, the terrain too brushy to be entirely sure of the atlatl but he thought he could make the shot, stood slowly, eyes averted slightly from the mans back so as not to warn him that he was being watched, dart in place, and he let it fly. Einars dart hit the man hard in the shoulder--hed been aiming for the neck--and the agent grunted and took a startled step back towards the water as the dart whirled him around. Before he had time to realize what was happening and draw his own weapon Einar was on him with the knife and they were struggling, both ending up in the water, rocks slippery and uncertain beneath their feet, the agent, who was definitely the more muscular of the two, gripping both of Einars arms and butting him hard in the head, causing him to drop the knife, which he would have lost altogether if not for the paracord loop which he had slipped around his wrist before charging from the willows. Einar, unable to free himself of the mans grasp but seeing that he was losing blood at a pretty good rate from the atlatl wound in his shoulder, threw his whole strength into getting the man down into the water, at which he succeeded, but the agent shoved with his knees and kicked and got his legs wrapped around Einars, knocking him off his feet and pulling him under, too. Einar, who had the advantage of many long hours of training in the cold water, had taken several rapid breaths followed by one big gulp of air just before going under, knowing that he could hold out for a good while on that oxygen and managing to stay calm as the frigid, familiar blackness closed over his head, kept his grip on the agents shoulders, pressing him down until the man could hold his breath no longer in the icy stream and was forced to take in an unwilling lungful of water, his grasp finally relaxing on Einars arms. The agent was taken by the river, then, pulled under the ice and gone as Einar broke the surface gasping for air. Struggling his way back out of the water then and into the concealment of the willows, he knelt for a brief moment pressing a handful of snow to the freely bleeding gash above his left eye where the agents head had smashed into him and split the eyebrow, head down and breaths coming hard and ragged after the struggle, clothes soaked through with frigid creek water, already beginning to stiffen around the cuffs in the morning chill and the brisk wind that carried it down from the heights. Einar, dizzy, fighting to slow his pulse and hear past the pounding of his own blood in his head, knew hed be awfully cold later, though he couldnt feel it just then, and he knew the other man was still out there somewhere, knew he must find him before he came looking for his missing companion and the element of surprise was lost. He went looking, scrambling up through the willows and back into the evergreens, moving as carefully as he could back towards his old trail which the man had been following the last time hed seen him, caught a flash of movement back down near the marsh and stopped. There. The agent had gone back down, apparently, was inspecting the hole in the ice where Liz had fallen through before, and Einar worked his way closer down through the timber, crouching near its edge. The agent was standing, foolishly, right at the edge of the broken ice where it had partially

frozen back over with weak, brittle stuff over the cold night, and Einar suppressed a grin as he saw what was coming, but he wasnt at a good angle for the atlatl and he took a deep breath, stood, intentionally stepped on a branch, snapped it. The agent glanced up, turned slightly and Einar took him, a good, solid shot right in the chest and the man was knocked back by the force of the blow, fell onto the ice and broke through, Einar watching from the trees as he struggled frantically to get back out, losing ground, slipping, was finally still and disappeared into water that showed an increasing stain of pink. The hole would, as cold as the day was shaping up to be, freeze over again in less than four hours, he knew, which could potentially prove helpful. If he had that long before people came looking for the missing agents, which Einar doubted. The bodies were gone, both of them, and it was good, much as he would have liked to raid them for desperately needed boots and coats and weapons, and he shook his head at a brief urge to try and recover one or the other of them and salvage what he could. No time. You do that, youre dead. You both are. Einar knew that reinforcements would be coming, might already be on their way if either of the agents had called in the sighting of the tracks, knew there was no way hed be able to destroy or conceal the deep, crusty icy trail that led several miles straight up to their shelter, and Liz, hoped the disappearance of the two agents, the missing bodies, might slow the rest of them down long enough to allow he and Liz escape. It would be a close thing, mighty close, but the way the sky was clouding up, wind washing bitter and strong down from the peaks, he had hope that the weather, at least, would be on their side, please let it be, looks like our only chance, and he started up the trail at the closest thing he could manage to a run, stiff and limping and exhausted after the fight in the creek but knowing that he must reach Liz in a hurry and get her out of there--hows she gonna travel in this sunlight? Come on clouds, please let these clouds close in fast--before the inevitable horde of reinforcements showed up on ground and, even more worrisome, in the air. The agents had not radioed in on schedule, were, in fact, two hours overdue to check in and report on their progress, and when after another half hour of trying, no response could be elicited from them by the command center, a reconnaissance flight was promptly put in the air, heading for their known destination. A storm was coming, would be there by evening, according to the weather reports, and having personally experienced the unpredictable wrath of those spring snowstorms in the mountains a time or two, the AIC was anxious to get men on the ground to find the unresponsive agents and pull them out ahead of it, before flying became an uncertain and very dangerous thing. Pacing back and forth in front of the command center as the chopper lifted off, he hoped very much that the two men were simply in an area where terrain prevented their receiving and responding to radio communications, but deep down he knew that any such scenario was, according to the abysmal success record of the entire Mountain Task Force search operation, far less likely than the possibility that the men had encountered serious trouble of some sort. Einar was just over halfway back up to the shelter when he first felt the rumbling, its ominous vibrations lending even more speed to his steps. He had known it would be coming, had hoped, perhaps, for a bit more time before its arrival and he glanced up at

the sky, praying hat the clouds might go ahead and close in, bring the snow they had been promising since that morning and cover, in some measure, their escape. That, and hopefully allow Liz to see, at least through the goggles, so he wasnt having to try and lead her around for the rest of the day. While climbing, moving quickly both because of the inevitable search that he knew would soon be on his trail and in a desperate attempt to maintain a reasonable body temperature, wet as his clothes were--hed wrung out his soaked top and bear hide cloak and stuck them in the pack, replacing them with the buckskin vest, which had remained mostly dry, but was still in his wet boots and pants, and was freezing as the wind strengthened--Einar had worked out in his mind a plan that seemed to offer them the best chances of escape. The slope immediately above their little shelter was covered in dark timber, a tangle of steep, mossy rock and firs and spruces that grew so close that the ground beneath them barely saw any daylight, and into that forest he intended to disappear with Liz, the shade hopefully being enough to allow her to use her eyes even at midday, and the trees providing them some concealment from the air, frequent outcroppings of rock available to squeeze beneath whenever a chopper got too close. They would still be leaving tracks, it was unavoidable with everything covered in snow, but Einars hope was that by adding to the caution which with the searchers would, because of past experience, be proceeding on his trail by leaving them a nasty surprise or two in the dark timber, he could further slow the pursuit and give the storm time to arrive and further complicate matters. They would slip away, then, crossing the creek and melting into the timbered ridge on its far side, leaving their pursuers befuddled and lost in the storm. That was his hope, anyway, his prayer; there were so many ways in which the plan could go wrong, but it was the best one Einar could come up with, and he believed it offered at least a reasonable chance of success. The chopper had neared, had revealed itself as a Blackhawk and was making low passes over the marshy area a mile or two behind him, looking, do doubt for the missing agents and perhaps even putting people on the ground to search for them when no sign was seen; a long hover told him that they had probably done so. There would be a lot of tracks for them to sort out, back there, a lot of trails both new and old, including that of the man who had disappeared into the marsh, and Einar had hope that it would take them a while to puzzle out all of those tracks and actually end up on his trail, either on the ground or in the air. For the moment, at least, they seemed entirely focused back there behind him, and he pushed forward up the trail. The climbing wasnt enough, wasnt keeping him anything close to warm, his arms and shoulders going all numb and purple where they were exposed to the bitter wind and he stopped, hunched over there in the snow as he fought the familiar foe of inertia that was starting to grip him around the middle with its icy hands, squeezing, slowing his steps and muddling his mind and making him long for sleep. Badly needing more protection than the vest and the damp, icy pants were offering him, he considered trying to wring a bit more moisture out of his polypro top and struggling back into it, as the stuff retained a good bit of its insulating ability even when wet, but he knew that unless he could at the same time get out of the wind--impossible, just then--the soggy fabric would only further chill him. Move, Einar. Its your only option right now, and if you do it fast enough--as fast as you must, to reach her in time and clear out of here--itll be enough to pull you out of this. Go. Which he did. Fighting for air--no matter how hard he tried, he seemed unable to get his body to settle

into workable rhythm that day at anything near the speed he was requiring of it--Einar finally made it up to the vantage point from which he had earlier surveyed the meadow around which ran part of Lizs trapline, and keeping to the dense firs because of the circling chopper, he glanced down at its open stretch of snow. And froze. No, cant be seeing this He whipped out the binoculars, fought to still the cold-induced tremor that had been seizing him every time he stopped of late, and scanned the meadow until the figure came into view. There was no doubt. It was Liz. Even from his rocky vantage point over half a mile away, he recognized her bearskin cloak and wolverine hat. What are you doing, Lizzie? Get out of that meadow, you get to the trees! And then, watching, wanting to shout but knowing shed never hear him, he realized what she was doing, knew from her stumbling, confused gait that she could not see, was wandering blindly across the meadow trying to find her way back to the trees, and then he heard the Blackhawk change direction, turn, rotors popping as it banked sharply and thundered over along the creek-ridge. He saw that its course was going to take it right over the meadow, saw that Liz was running, or trying to, struggling through deep snow that was growing soft with the sun and then she fell, the rotten snow around an old dead tree snag collapsing beneath her and spilling her forward, and Einar shouted and waved at the hovering beast, wished he had smoke, a flare, anything, but he did not, they could not see him there in the heavy timber of the ridge, and he watched in horror and rage as the three black clad figures fast roped down into the meadow yards from Liz, saw her rise and face them with her atlatl, back against the tree snag, striking out blindly with one of the darts as they approached her. They had her, then, grabbed her and threw her down in the snow and it looked like they were trying to cuff her, more men joining them from the just-landed chopper. She was fighting back, struggling and kicking and they were kicking, too, and then she wasnt moving anymore and he didnt know why, couldnt see clearly enough across that distance and he was running, dropping his pack and scrambling and sliding down the rock face below him, sprinting through the timber and taking reckless leaps over the downed trees and snow-covered boulders that stood in his way and once falling, himself, when a branch seemed to leap up in his path and catch him across the midsection, knocking out his breath. It was far, too far, and though he picked up his pace, breath catching and burning in his lungs with the effort when he heard the helicopter powering up again, saw its rotors flashing in the sunlight through the trees below him, and he reached the meadow too late, fell to his knees in the timber there at the edge of the LZ, chest hurting, coughing up blood and pounding the earth in helpless rage as he watched the chopper disappear over the ridge. Take me! Come back, you bastards, and take me But they did not come back--though he knew they would, later, would be on his trail if they werent already--the rotor-echoes faded and were silent, meadow stretching once again before him in snowy emptiness and the wind sighing in the spruces overhead. She was gone. Einar stood. He was going to town. Hurrying up his back trail, not knowing how soon he might expect company there in the

meadow again or on the ridge above it, Einar retrieved his pack and headed for their camp beside the deadfall, reaching it, circling carefully but quickly around it to make sure nobody was there or had yet been there, quickly satisfying himself that they hadnt and wondering why. He would have avoided the area altogether and simply focused on getting himself far away from where they had found Liz, but he needed the rest of the atlatl darts, one of the cooking pots and some food and, most of all, the contents of a little satchel that Liz had been carrying in the larger pack. That, he must have. Everything else he shoved hurriedly into the large pack, wishing for a moment that Liz had not been wearing those wonderfully insulating marten fur pants when she had taken, but relieved to see that one of their extra pairs of polypro pants, at least, were hanging above the firepit, nearly dry. Hastily changing into them, he concealed the pack in their shelter-wished he could take the yearling hide, but knew hed be doing well to carry the load he already had, for any distance--and heaped it over with duff and spruce branches, on the chance it might escape discovery so he would be able to come back for it someday. Ha! Come back? Youre not coming back from this one, Einar, not much chance After leaving the camp he covered ground at a pace that would have surprised him, had he been keeping track, and by the time he reached the end of that first ridge, looking down at the world of steep, heavily timbered slopes that he intended to traverse for many miles before, approaching the town, descending further, Einar found himself physically unable to continue without a brief rest. His mouth and throat were sandpaper-dry, legs cramping and body numb and insensible with the icy battering of the wind, and he allowed himself to collapse on a fallen tree, head on his knees and arms drawn in close against his body for warmth. For a moment he remained that way, feeling nearly too exhausted to breathe and beginning to shiver heavily, and as he sat, doubts began to creep into his mind Maybe shes better off down there, down where shell have plenty to eat for herself and the baby, where shell be able to get healthy and stay that way and not have to work so doggone hard and freeze half the time, where shell get to be around her own kind when the baby comes, instead of having an ornery old mountain critter like me for her only companyshe cant possibly really want that, can she? Cant want to raise a child while running like this. And even if they do lock her up, shes likely to be able to get off easy by using that kidnapping story shed concocted before He shook his head, scrubbed his hands over his face, didnt believe a word he was saying. Hed given her that chance more than once, offered to take her down and help her get to her friend Susans house, but she had always refused, maintained that she was right where she wanted to be, and besides, you saw what they were doing to her down in that meadow, kicking and shoving her around like that--he struck out at the nearest tree with his fist, a dark rage stealing over him at the memory of what he had seen through the binoculars, at his own inability to create a quick diversion or to reach the meadow in time to stop it, to stop them taking her--and surely you havent forgotten how the feds treated you, for the one day and night you were their guest at that old warehouse down in Culver He broke into a grim, humorless smile at the memory of how the fools had apparently thought they could break him and get him to tell them whatever it was they wanted to know-accomplices, that was whatnames of folks in town who they thought must be helping me--by denying him food for a day while they questioned him and then taking his clothes and dumping a bucket of ice water over his head, leaving him in a cold cell overnight

with a fan going. They hadnt known him nearly as well as they thought, if they had believed that particular tactic would have the desired effect upon him--it had only hardened his resolve, and he had not said another word to them until finally, fearing for his life, they had returned his clothes and carried him back to his cell to warm up--but when he thought of them doing similar and perhaps even worse to Liz Which they will have every reason to do, because shes not the target here, I am, and if they believe she knows where I am, how to get to me He struggled to his feet, took a gulp of water and started moving again. Not letting that happen. There was another possibility, though, one that he did not want to consider, but knew that he must, and the questions ran though his mind as he loped along at his best speed, following the ridge as he descended What if she made up all that about the baby, what ifwhat if she was in communication with them somehow, and concocted that story to ensure that Id come after her when they took her, walk right into their trap. The whole thing could have been a setup, the snow blindness, her staying behind at the shelter this morning while I went down there to meet those two agents--how ever did they find their way up into this valley, anyway--and then her capture as a backup plan to bring me in if those guys didnt end up being able to finish me off. I mean, how likely is it, really, that shes expecting, with the physical shape weve both been in And if that is their strategy, it sure seems to be working for them so far, because here I go They dont want to engage me here on my own territory, theyve learned better than that, but if they can get me down to the valley He groaned, pressed his chin to his chest and squeezed his head between his elbows as if to prevent that line of thinking from going any further. No, wont believe it. Dont believe it. She wouldnt do that, you know she wouldnt betray youshes had too many previous opportunities, and never has taken one of them. Though that could be part of their plan, toohave her gain your trust over the course of months, they know it would take a long time, they would know that about you, and then but you know her, and thats not her. Now quit listening to all these doubts, get down there and figure out how youre gonna do this! You are not waking away and leaving her in their hands. The helicopters had been coming through frequently ever since Lizs capture, keeping Einar on edge and diving for rocky outcroppings whenever one began drawing too near. The day had clouded over by then, temperatures dropping quickly when the sun went and he knew that if they were searching for him with infrared detectors as well as visually-and he could only assume that they were--he was going to have to keep very sharp and alert if he expected to evade detection. Most of the chopper activity, though, seemed focused around the area of the meadow where Liz had been taken and, it seemed, back down near the marsh, also. It seemed by their activities that they must not have found the camp yet, which surprised him. Perhaps they were simply being very careful in how they followed the obvious snowshoe trail up from the marsh, assuming it to be a trap and possibly still uncertain as to the fate of the two missing agents. If they keep this pace up until the snow comes, looks like I got a real good chance of slipping away from them, and they may not end up finding our camp, either, unless they do it pretty soon here. Once, finding himself caught out in a snowy stretch of timber without any nearby rock to press himself against when one of the flights began approaching too nearly, he had pulled out

the wet and partially frozen bear hide cloak and crouched shivering beneath it in the snow at the base of a thick spruce while the chopper passed overhead, seemingly overlooking him. Glad of the apparent success of his hide but so stiff and chilled that he was barely able to stand after the danger had passed, Einar hauled himself to his feet and shuffled back and forth in the snow for a minute, beating numbed arms against his sides until he could feel a bit of tingling in his hands again. The wind was gusting more fiercely than ever, restless flurries of snow beginning to curl down from a leaden sky to scatter among the trees, and Einar knew that the choppers would not be making many more passes, that afternoon. All the better. Would give him more freedom to travel, more time, time which, according to every instinct in him, he ought to have been using to create more distance between his position and that of his pursuers, to make his way further up into the high country where he could be most certain of losing them or, if that proved impossible, at least making his best stand when they did catch up to him. Almost every instinct, that was. Im coming, Liz For hours he kept on though the storm, pushing himself far beyond what he would have thought himself capable as he covered mile after mile of snowy, timbered high country, pressing his bad foot into service in a way it was hardly ready for and walking into the teeth of the storm with very little protection, his clothes, what few he was wearing, never quite drying but instead beginning to freeze in places. Occasionally he stopped and huddled like an animal for shelter at the base of the nearest tree whenever the cold and his exhaustion got to be much for him, but the breaks were as short as they were rare, and he was on his feet again as soon as possible each time, pressing forward, meaning to reach the high, rocky ridge just above the town before dark. An ambitious goal, and one at which he did not succeed, there being limits to what one can demand of already spent flesh and blood and sinew and bone, and he having passed those limits some miles back, nodding casually in acknowledgement and grinning into the storm as he shook his head to clear away some of the wind-plastered snow, and kept walking. It had, the sky stormdimmed and heavy, been dark for over an hour when Einar finally began noticing the glow of lights beyond the trees, sky changing from black to a dull orange above him, and he knew he was getting close. He would not attempt anything that night. Could not. Knew hed be throwing his life away if he tried, as heartbreakingly weary as he found himself and as little information as he had about the goings-on down below. He must get in close, observe, try and figure out where they were holding her and watch the place, study it, learn the patterns of the people who came and went around it. Assuming they had even kept her in town. There was always the possibility that the Blackhawk, once it had cleared that ridge above the meadow, had not landed again with her until it was out of the county, out of the statewho knew where?but he held onto the twin facts that Liz has mentioned to him once before being held in the county lockup, and that they had taken him, for that one night at least, to a holding cell at the Mountain Task Force headquarters. He would observe each, see what he could figure out, and, since it was directly below him and within range of the binoculars whenever there was a lull in the blowing snow, he would begin with the Sheriffs office. Einars position up in the rocks was separated from the town by the river and highway, but still reasonably close, his height some four hundred feet above street level providing

him a decent view when using the binoculars. Which he could not, at the moment, due to the near-whiteout intensity of the storm. So he spread the bear hide cloak, soaked-fur side down to keep himself out of direct contact with the biting chill of the icy granite on which he sat, wrung the melted snow out of his hat and snugged it down nearly to his eyes, put the small pack on backwards so it offered his chest and stomach some protection from the wind, and prepared himself to wait. He was sleepy, overwhelmingly sleepy all of a sudden despite his discomfort, had not realized it was sneaking up on him until he sat down and he fought the sleep that tried to take him, knew that just then where he sat perched a bit precariously on the windswept rocks above the river was not the time or the place, thered be time for sleep later, time for Some time later he woke, covered in snow, stiff with cold and hurting after his forced rest there in the rocks, thought he felt Liz lying there curled up at his back and he was glad--ohthank you, Lizzie, had the worst dream just now, they can seem so real at times its almost scary--didnt know how hed ever make it though the night without some shared warmth, because he sure couldnt have a fire and his cloak was still soaking wet, remembered that much. Shivering, he pressed himself back into Lizs ribs for warmth only to find that she was awfully cold, too, much colder than he was, in fact, and when he rolled over to check on her it was to the dismaying realization that she had turned to stone, hard, raw-edged snow-dusted granite, to be specific, and then everything came back to him in a rush and he groaned silently, raised himself on his elbows and peered down the rock face below him to the distant, storm-obscured lights of the half-sleeping town. The storm continued that evening, blanketing the town and the ridges around it with a heavy, wet snow that Einar knew would be dry and fluffy up high, offering skiers on the nearby slopes one last good chance to get out in some fresh powder before the season ended, at least at the commercial ski areas. As quickly as it was coming down, he also had little doubt but that it would conceal his tracks down from the meadow where theyd taken Liz, allowing him to effectively disappear from their radar screens, and for that he was very glad. No powder down low there, though. The stuff was sloppy and sticky, wind plastering it mercilessly against his left side, and sometimes his front, as well, when the wind changed direction and gusted almost straight up the slope, driving it into his clothing and chilling him terribly as he sat there hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees, waiting for the snowfall to slow sufficiently to give him a clearer view of the town. Before long hed had about all he could take of the wind and wetness, was no longer able to stave off the cold with the constant swinging and pounding of his arms that he had begun on waking from his unintentional nap there in the snow and could tell that his shivering was not going to be sufficient for long, either. Working his way up to a standing position he tried shuffling his feet back and forth, running in place to get the blood flowing, but his legs werent working, cramped up and, though he tried to ignore it and keep going, eventually folded beneath him. After several tries, all ending the same way, and a fall in which he bruised both knees and an elbow pretty badly and came far too close to tumbling right over the steep dropoff and into the waiting rocks below, he knew that he had to get to some better shelter, if he wanted to see morning. Little was offered there on the rocky outcropping which he had chosen as the best vantage point from which to observe the town without putting himself at risk of discovery, but a good view wasnt going to do him any good if he ended up losing his struggle with the

elements in order to maintain it, and the storm was keeping him from seeing anything at the moment, besides. Moving carefully on the steep, slippery rock and navigating by the cloud-reflected glow of the town-lights, Einar found his way into a tight cluster of firs that had somehow taken root and managed to hold their ground there on the steep rock just before the spot where it dropped away in near-vertical sheerness to the river below, and he crawled in amongst the trees, pressing himself up against the trunks of two that seemed to be blocking the wind at least a bit. Mellowed a bit by the surrounding trees, the bite of the wind was still sharp and keen on Einars wet clothes, and as he huddled there trying to shudder himself warm again, he might have been longing for fire, for a dry spot to curl up and sleep the night away, for better clothing and for food, perhaps might have even found himself wishing he could climb down the bleak, icy wall of rock below him and cross the river to head into the diner whose well-lit sign he would have been able to see if the snow was a bit less intense, but these things did not cross his mind. His thoughts were of the layout of the town, how the building that housed the Sheriffs Department and other county administrative functions backed up to the Post Office, and was separated from a heavily wooded slope over on the far side of town opposite the river only by the highway and a run-down barbed wire fence. Hed been in the Sheriffs office a time or two before all of the trouble had started, had been locked up there overnight after his capture last spring, had clear memory of the interior of the building and was sure that, at the time, anyway, it had only contained two cells, which stood side-by-side, backed up to the wall that faced the Post Office. The configuration seemed to offer some possibilities, left him wondering, though, just how he was to find out where they were holding Liz, without actually going down into town and gathering information. She could just as easily be at the renovated warehouse where the feds had taken him for questioning, could be in Clear Springs, could be Could be almost anywhere. But Ive got to eliminate those first two most likely places, before I start wandering all over the place trying to check on others. And he sat there pondering how best to go about getting ahold of the information he needed, running the possibilities around and around in his brain and struggling at the same time to stay awake, for sleep once more sought very urgently to claim him, and he had very little strength left with which to resist it. Must. Have to get her out of there. His mind, chilled and dimming despite all of his efforts, turned to Liz, then, and she was there beside him, was reaching for him and gently taking his face in her warm hands, and he smiled at her but she seemed angry about something, was chiding him for allowing himself to become so badly exhausted and telling him that he must take better care of himself, or he was going to die. Why havent you eaten? You have to eat, Einar. Here. In the pack. Youve got that muskrat andwhats this? A marten. Pretty fresh, too. Here, have some of the muskrat why dont you, because its the fattier of the two, and you sure look like you could use some fat. And some sugar, too, so why dont you hurry down there to that diner and see if they cant make you a cup of hot tea that you can load up with sugar and cream, because thats exactly what you need, right now. And get that cloak over you. Sure, its wet, but its mostly frozen and wouldnt get you any wetter than you already are, and this wind is killing you.

Ha! Thats a funny one, Lizyeah, the diner. Just march right in there with my snowcrusted bear hide cloak and overboot and ask them for a cup of hot sugar water with cream, sip on that till I warmed up some and then order a great big meal of lasagna or a hamburger with onion rings and mashed potatoes and butter, lots of butter, finish it all off with a great bit piece of steaming hot apple pie and then pay them with marten furs when I was through. Right. I wouldnt stand out at all, would blend right in with the dinner crowdand he laughed, but she did not laugh with him, and when he looked up she was gone, replaced by a scraggly little wind-tossed fir whose branches were brushing his face with each gust. Well. Glad youre not here, Liz, because this is gonna be one heck of a rough night, Im thinking. Then again, if you were here I wouldnt have to be, neither of us would, we could be way back up there in the timber with a good cozy shelter and a fire going, snuggled up in a bed of spruce needles with a bunch of hot rocks and a pot of tea to share He shook his head, let his head rest on his knees again and was about to begin drifting back towards sleep when he remembered something Liz had said. Eat. Shed been right about that, right about how desperately he needed the energy, and even if he couldnt make a trip into town and visit the diner, he really did have a frozen muskrat and the marten, and had better be getting some nourishment in him. His hands werent much use when it came to getting into the pack so he used his teeth, choosing the muskrat because it was already skinned and because Liz had been right about it having more of the fat he so badly needed. Throwing the cloak over himself, head and all--shed been right about that, too, as it would at least help to shield him from the wind if nothing else-he crouched there gnawing on the raw, frozen muskrat and listening to the wind tear through the trees overhead, feeling a bit of strength return to him as the food went down. He was going to need it, for the night would be long. Morning came there on the river-ridge, the stormy night giving way reluctantly to a slategrey, heavily overcast day and a wind that went keening through the valley with bitter relentlessness, seeming to gain strength with the coming of daylight and bringing with it the promise of continued snow. Morning came for Liz, also. She woke in a cell, recognized the place as the familiar holding cell at the Sheriffs office instead of the federal facility she had expected and feared, and did not understand why they had taken her there, especially after her prior disappearance from the same cell, with the help of the Sheriffs wife, just ahead of a van full of federal agents who were delivering her material witness warrant and expecting to leave with her. It made no sense. The decision made sense to the Agent in Charge, though, and despite the storm that had interfered greatly with their further search of the area in which they had found the woman, he arrived at the morning briefing there at Mountain Task Force headquarters a happy man that morning, ready to spell out his plan for the others, flesh out its details and put it into action. The key ingredient was already in place. A number of senior Mountain Task Force officials had, after her capture, wanted Liz flown immediately to Clear Springs for interrogation and confinement there at the FBI Field Office, and the AIC had angered a number of them by telling them no. He had insisted, in fact, that after being cleared by the hospital--their prisoner looked to be in rather poor shape, unable to see, it appeared--she be released into the custody of the

Sheriff, pending notification of federal charges. The AIC did not particularly like Sheriff Watts nor did he consider the county lockup to be nearly as secure a setting as the Field Office, but he had a plan, and believed the Sheriff could prove a useful factor in bringing it to fruition. Liz had spent the night in the hospital, had refused almost every test and treatment they had wanted to give her, aside from some antibiotic drops for her eyes and treatment for the variety of cuts and bruises that had been left on her shoulders and ribs and legs buy the boots and rife butts of the agents who had captured her. As serious as some of the bruises on her chest appeared, they had wanted to x-ray her to rule out broken ribs, but Liz had strenuously objected, not wanting anything done that might either harm the baby--if all that kicking didnt do harm, alreadymaybe its early enough that everything will be alright?--or reveal its existence to medical personnel and thus by default to the agents. The two men that the AIC had tasked with keeping watch over Liz in the hospital had not worked overly hard to override her consent on any of those matters, as they were hardly anxious to try and explain the obviously fresh injuries to their prisoner. After she was cleared by the hospital--they were reluctant to let her go, especially in light of her refusal of all blood tests and her visibly undernourished state, but the agents were insistent, proclaiming her release a matter of national security--they had quickly whisked her back to the county lockup, according to the instructions of the AIC. Waking that morning after an hour or two of fitful sleep in which she dreamt of Einar, of the marsh, of wandering blind in a vast, snow-covered meadow where there was no cover, no place to hide, she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to collect her thoughts. They would be coming to question her, of that she had no doubt, and she must decide what to say to them. Nothing? Perhaps. They already must know she had been with Einar, would know that the atlatl darts were his and would probably recognize the craftsmanship of the snow goggles and other things she carried, and she doubted that they would believe another version of the kidnapping story she had told them, the first time. She had, after all, left county custody and rejoined him willingly, and surely her interrogators would know that. So, why say anything at all? Better to keep silent than to say something that might hurt him. But the thought also crossed her mind that it might be in everyones best interest for her to tell them that Einar had died, had been injured and then frozen to death one night, after which she had begun wandering around looking for a way out of there, finally finding the creek and beginning to follow it down, hoping eventually to find the highway. Whether or not they would believe her about his death was anyones guess, but perhaps it would not hurt to try. Well. The chance would come soon enough, it seemed, because she heard several vehicles pulling up out front, and supposed her interrogators must have arrived. She shook her head--help me know what to do herehelp me to be strong--limped over to the steel toilet that stood three steps from the bed, and vomited. Better get that over with, not let them see me doing it The two agents entered her cell, a middle-aged man in a suit with dark, slicked-back hair and an older, more causally dressed woman with a friendly face, both of them clean and professional in demeanor. They greeted her, sat down, the man seating himself backwards on the stool in front of the steel table, leaning back with his elbows on the

table, the woman sitting on the bed beside Liz. They had brought food, offered it to her but she shook her head. Didnt want to eat in their presence in case she ended up getting sick, and really did not want to eat their food at all, fearing they might be trying to drug her through it as one of their interrogation techniques. She supposed they would do it anyway if they really wanted to, but she intended to make them be a bit more obvious about it. The man, seeing that she was not going to eat, pushed the food to the back of the table and rummaged around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out Lizs snow goggles, which were sealed in a clearly marked evidence bag. The man--Slick, she was going to call him Slick, because of his hair--tossed them on the bed beside her. We know they were his darts that you were carrying, those distinctive bone dart heads, the way theyre wrapped withwhat is it? Deer sinew? Weve seen those before, found them inside more than one of our dead agents actually, fathers, husbandsdug them out during the autopsies so we could go tell their wives and families why their loved ones werent coming home, but these gogglesthese are unique. He made these for you? Sullen, still not sure she wanted to talk at all, she stared at the ground for a minute before making up her mind. Yes. Thats some fine workmanship right there. He must really care about you, making you something like this, trying to protect your eyes, keep the brightness of the snow from hurting themeven taking the time to decorate them withwhat are these? Little oak leave? Intricate little oak leaves. These are his symbol, you know, his signature, we found them on some of his things when we searched his cabinfound a lot of things in that cabin, actually, in the sheds out back But you were never up there, were you? Did he ever tell you about that? About what he left behind at his cabin? Seems these oak leaves arent the only intricate work he liked to do, had a real fondness for intricate workbut he probably never told you about any of that, did he? Im sure he wouldnt have, wouldnt have thought it fit very well with the way he was probably trying to portray himself to youan innocent man, framed, set up by the evil government and then hunted like an animalno, he never told you about any of his little projects, did he? Wanted you to think we made all of that up Liz shrugged, shook her head. Did he make you those fur snow pants, too? The ones you were wearing out there when we found you? I was looking at those this morning. Must have taken a long time to trap all those animals, prepare the furshow did you handle that, anyway, the two of you? Take turns going out trapping, keeping house there at the campyou must have had quite a system going She looked up, meeting the agents eyes for the first time, glad she was feeling so numb about everything, because she knew shed be crying, otherwise, as seriously as she was forcing herself to take the story she was about to tell. Hes dead. You killed him. Slick glanced up almost imperceptibly, made eye contact with the woman, who gave him

a little shrug, a nod as if to say, its possible, we dont know Killed him? How is that? Three nights ago when that last storm ended and it got so coldhe was hurt, his leg, and he could barely walk, hed been hobbling around for days and we hadnt had anything to eat, but you know, he never would quit, kept running his trapline and he wore himself out so badI knew he was gone when I woke up that morning and saw that he wasnt already up. He always got up before me, every time. I tried to wake him, butit must have happened pretty early in the night because he wasstiff. Frozen. Literally frozen. I couldnt even get his coat off when I tried. Liz was shaking by that point, her voice catching, trying to suppress a sob, and the female agent moved closer, put an arm around her shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. Which is when Liz decided that she should be called Auntie. Auntie and Slick, they make quite a teamIm sure Ill be getting to know them very well over the next few days and weeks You said we killed him. It sounds from your description like the cold killed him. You killed him. He died because he was so starved that nothing he tried could keep his body warm enough anymore, and you did that! The search did that. After he diedwhat did you do? She was quiet for a minute. Buried him. Put branches over him and then rocks and then I left. Took the atlatl and darts and all of the snares he had, and left. My eyes were bad. Id been having trouble with them for days, and hed made me the goggles but I guess I wasnt wearing them enough, because every time the sun came up theyd swell again until I could hardly see. I wanted to find my way out and started looking for a creek, finally found one and I followed it but I was getting so awfully hungryI decided to stop for a few days and try to trap something to eat so I could keep following the creek, find my way out. Then you came. I dont think youre telling us everything, are you? If you were trying so hard to find your way out of there, why did you run from us? Try to fight us off? I was afraid. He kept telling me that youd kill me if you found me, just shoot me on sight for having been up there with him, hed been telling me that for months, and I believed him. But we didnt shoot you, did we? The woman spoke up, her hand still on Lizs shoulder. Well, your buddies certainly did kick me around plenty and Im sure theyd not hesitate to shoot Einar on sight, or me, either, if they werent convinced that Id be more useful to

them alive, but that wouldnt fit with the way this friendly little chat is headed, now would it, and since Im trying to play your game She shrugged, shook her head. Were not going to shoot you, not going to do you any harm, the female agent continued, her tone calming, almost motherly. Were not even going to charge you with anything, at least not right now. The investigation will be ongoing for a few months, but its beginning to look more and more to us like you may have been a victim, here. I know you may not see it that way right now, but thats normal, and were going to help you get it all sorted out. Well be sending someone in to talk with you later today, and then we may even consider releasing you. The two agents stayed for several hours after that, questioning her closely on her travels in the woods both before and after Einar was supposed to have died and wanting her to point out on a map the routes they had taken, wanted, especially to know where she had left his body, but she stared confusedly at the maps, turning them this way and that and maintaining that Einar had made all the decisions on their movements, never even letting her see the map he was working from. They left, then, leaving Liz to sit alone on the side of her bed with her head in her hands and her mind in a turmoil as she tried to figure out what had just happened. They didnt believe her story about Einars death, couldnt, could not afford to, and she knew it, recognized that they had been trying to plant seeds of doubt in her mind with their mock kindness and with the little comments about how Einar hadnt told her everything, how she had been a victim, and she didnt trust their intentions for one second. Of course they want to charge me with something! They cant get ahold of him, so Im sure they would just love to be able to charge someone else in connection to the case, and Im who theyve got, right now. A victim! Rightthats why they were coming for me with a sealed federal warrant before, when Susan helped me get out of here. So. What do they want from me? Why are they working so hard and so subtly to turn me against him, while doing everything they can to get me to trust them, to see them as friends? And then she knew. They think he will come for me, dont they? This is a trap, and Im the bait, and they would much rather have cooperative bait if possible than twisting, squirming screaming bait that might somehow warn him away. How, exactly, she was to be used Liz could not puzzle out--Einar was too smart and way too cautious to simply walk smack into the middle of an obvious setup of any sort and they had to know that-but she was sure they must have something in mind, something, apparently, that required her cooperation or at least her compliance, or they surely would not have been working so hard to instill doubt in her when it came to Einar and his intentions. She wanted no part in any such plan, absolutely no part, and knowing that she was probably not clever enough to play their game and come out ahead--they were professionals, after all--and she would have seriously considered doing something to herself at that point to render herself useless as bait--my life for his, he has risked the same for me more than once in the past; it would have been a just exchange, at least in her mind--but she could not bring herself to do harm to Einars child. Her life was one thing, but the child The child must live, and therefore so must she. Which left her right where she had been before, an unwilling pawn in a game that she did not know how to play, saw no way out of, and Liz

put her head in her hands, turned the only place she knew to turn for help. Show me a way out of this, please, please dont let me be the means though which they get him into their net. Guide his thoughts and his steps and mine, too, and keep him free. Einars steps were, at that moment, taking him very carefully down along the edge of the timber that bordered the rocky escarpment above which he had spent a very long and cold night and most of a day, too, watching the town and hoping to learn something useful about Lizs whereabouts and the movements of the enemy. He had, in the end, decided that despite his good vantage point and binoculars, he would simply not be able to collect enough information from up there in the rocks, must get in closer. The descent down to the rocky shelf that ran just above the river had not been easy for Einar after his night spent huddled in the fir grove and the long, snowy morning hours which he had spent lying on his stomach on the cold granite near the top of the ridge, observing the comings and goings at the Sheriffs office as well as he could through the swirling snow. He made it, eventually, picking his way slowly down an ice-choked gully that he knew would offer him good concealment from anyone who might be out wandering the riverbank on a day like that--not likely, but you never know--but choosing his steps very carefully so as not to send a shower of rock fragments or loose ice crashing loudly down the gully. Reaching the rock shelf that had been his destination, he hobbled over to a likely-looking spruce and crawled beneath it, resting, needing very badly to be off his bad foot for a while. He had not done anything for the foot since Lizs capture, aside from removing the wet and freezing sock strips that wrapped at and replacing them with dry ones, the night before, and it was really feeling the effects of the many miles he had covered since seeing her taken. Sorting through his pack after a few moments of exhausted stillness during which he hardly appeared to be breathing, much less moving, Einar realized that he was, unfortunately, completely out of dry sock strips after that last night, fire having been something that he could not even consider risking. No dry socks, either, no dry clothes of any sort, as his second pair was not only damp still from the storm but frozen stiff and rigid in the morning chill, also, and he pulled them out of the pack and beat them against the spruce trunk to remove as much of the ice as possible, hoping to begin drying the fabric as soon as the sun came out. Which wont be today, by the look of things. And youve got to change the dressings on that foot, because as much as its oozing, youre gonna end up freezing the whole doggone thing, if you dont get something dry around it. Better take one of these wet socks and stick it in here against your stomach to start drying--huhif it willstomach doesnt feel much warmer than the feet, right now--so you can use it. Thats going to take a while though, good while, and in the meantime youd better start gathering some of this usnea from the trees, smearing it with a little salve and packing the foot in it, so the thing doesnt freeze. Which he did, managing to find enough dry lichen hanging from the well-protected lower branches of the nearby trees to provide a good bit of insulation for the foot, working to free the old, crusted usnea and sock strips and finally, in frustration, simply jerking them loose, clenching his teeth to avoid crying out. Bits of blackened skin and flesh from the edges of the wounds

had sloughed off and been pulled loose by his removal of the bandage, and the foot looked bad. Didnt smell so great, either, leaving him concerned about infection in the wounds, but he just smeared the whole area with salve and pressed the fresh usnea into place, knowing that there was little more he could do for it, under the present circumstances. Fine hostage rescue team youre gonna make, Einar. Youre falling apart. Good thing youve got a couple surprises in that pack, because youre going to need all the advantage you can get down there. But none of it will do either of you any good, unless and until you find out where theyre keeping her. Need to get a better view of the Sheriffs, watch it for a while longer and see who comes and goes, see if theres much federal traffic, then if no go ahead and move on to that FBI warehouse. Its only what? Four or five miles outside town, and this ridgell take you there, if you go up a little higher. Working his way around the rocky shoulder there less than a hundred feet above the river to a spot which he hoped might give him a better view of the side of the Sheriffs office where the main parking lot was, Einar squirmed himself out to the edge of the dropoff, river rushing by just below him, and settled in with the binoculars. Activity seemed to be at a minimum there, the occasional deputys patrol car coming or going, and, having a terrible time with the cold in his still-damp clothing, he was about to get up and stomp around for awhile when the Suburbans pulled up. Two of them, black, and, holding his breath to help still the shaking of his hands, he thought he could make out federal plates on one of them. Right color, anyway. And the two individuals that got out of one of the vehicles--the occupants of the other mysteriously remained inside it--were certainly not dressed according to local custom, the man appearing to be wearing a suit of some sort. And they did not go in the front door, but went around to the back, back to where he remembered having been taken in and out while a guest in one of the two holding cells in the Department, that previous spring. Only one reason to be using that door A slow smile spread across Einars face. Gotcha For hours he continued to observe the area, trying to push from his mind the thoughts of what Lizs visitors might be up to. The anger, he knew, might be useful later but would only interfere with his planning, at the moment, and he certainly did not need any more interference, running as he was on no sleep and barely enough food to keep his body producing the heat he needed to stay alive and half functional. Half isnt gonna do it, especially not when the time comes to head down there, and it feels like youre starting to lose ground pretty fast, the way this winds been tearing at you. Better eat something. If you got anything left. Which he had, a muskrat quarter and some bits of meat from the marten, and he fished them out of the pack, gnawing on the fragments of frozen meat as he continued watching the town. Most of the marten he had eaten the night before when, huddled down on the rocky ground under the firs with inadequate protection from the wind and no way to get warm other than standing up and shuffling back and forth as frequently as his exhaustion would allow him, he had skinned the creature in near desperation and eaten a good portion of its stringy meat, wrapping the hide fur-side in around his neck for additional warmth, somehow making it through the night on the meager sustenance the meat had offered. His midnight snack had not left him much, but he ate what there was, cracking the bones with his teeth for their marrow and finding

himself grateful that Liz, at least, ought to be eating well that day, should be strong for the fast climbing that would await her, hopefully within the next day or two. Assuming theyre actually feeding her. No guarantee of that, though if the Sheriff has any say in the matter, Im sure theyre treating her pretty well. Speaking of food, Einar saw the Meadow Gold truck pull up behind the grocery store, and fought hard to keep his mind from losing itself in an inventory of its contentsmilk, cream, yogurt, ice cream, cheesesure could use a big old block of cheese right now. Eat a pound or two of that, and Id be warm for the rest of the day another direction, Einar. Make your mind go another direction. Sure cant afford distraction right now, and watching them cart that delivery into the store is sure not gonna help you solidify your plans, here. But then again, maybe it was, because Einar recognized the man driving the truck, had known him casually back when he had been making more frequent trips to town, himself, and remembered that he always made his deliveries to the grocery store on Mondays. So, if nothing has changed that makes today Monday, which means that tomorrow morning early is when the trash truck makes its rounds of the town. Including the Sheriffs office. Sure hope Im right about the day and that nobodys schedule has changed, because Ive got an idea! The remainder of the daylight hours Einar spent there on the shelf above the river in his icy bear hide cloak, watching and trying his best to stay warm, or something like it, and unintentionally dozing a bit from time to time, always awakened after a brief time by his own shivering or by some small noise that found its way up from the town . It was still snowing when evening came, had been snowing all day, a wet, sticky snow that was mixed at times with rain, and Einar knew that if he was going to be good for anything in the early morning when that garbage truck came, he urgently needed to find some better shelter and see if he could spend a few hours doing something other than freezing. He was going to have to cross the river to reach the town, knew there was no bridge in the area, not unless he wanted to travel two miles downstream and cross a large open field to reach it, then walk four miles back, which he did not, and figured he might as well spend the first part of the night down in the heavy timber near the water, where he would be ready to cross when the time came. Maybe there would be a better supply of spruce duff down there than up on the windswept rocks where he had spent the day, something he could huddle down in for a few hours rest. Einar did not know as he headed down to the river, could not know, that Susan was even then on her way in to pick up the newly released Liz, the article that would let that bit of information slip already on the presses for the next mornings paper. Einar had his plans, and the agents, having finished for the time questioning Liz, had theirs, as well. Reaching the river well after dark Einar hunted around in the timber until he found a relatively snow-free spot where he could dig down in the duff and get a bit of rest if not sleep--he dared not sleep, knew he might not wake in time--in a place where he was out of the wind and the path of the continuing snow, at least. He was bone tired and running out of the strength to go on fighting the cold after having gone well over thirty six hours without sleep and without dry clothes to change into, many of those hours sitting out in

the storm with only the icy bear hide for shelter, but he knew that he must somehow scrape together the stamina to get himself across that river, huddled down in the duff with his spear clasped in both hands and his head bowed, praying for strength he did not have, strength to do what must be done over there on the other side of that river. It was time. Time to cross. He wanted to get across the river a good bit earlier than was necessary, in order allow time to get himself warmed up some before the moment came for action--which would be when the trash truck showed up around 4am, if that schedule had not changed in town--and knew that in his current state, that could take a while. Checking the set of clothes he had in the pack and finding that they were, indeed, a bit drier than the ones he was wearing, he decided to go on wearing the wet ones for the crossing, changing into the slightly less wet pair afterwards and hopefully finding it in himself to do a good deal of fast aerobic exercise to reverse the icy chill that would have seized him while he was in that water. Got to do this quickly. If Im in there for long, Im done. And got to stick this overboot in the pack, or itll get weighed down and waterlogged and I may end up losing it in there. His left boot he kept on for traction--it was already so thoroughly soaked that he figured he had nothing to lose--sticking the heavy bearskin overboot with its woven willow toe protector into his pack for later use. The river was not, fortunately, yet swollen with the snowmelt water that would within the next few weeks turn it into rushing, white-capped torrent, was not even terribly deep, but he knew that he would still be in up to his hips, at least briefly. Securing everything to his pack as well as he could and keeping the spear in his hand for balance he started across, making quick progress but finding navigation on the slick rocks beneath his feet quite difficult, especially after knocking the injured foot against a good sized chunk of sandstone there beneath the water. He fell, then, went under and was carried several yards downstream before he got his feet beneath him again and scrambled out on the far shore, too beat to do anything other than lie there in a sorry, soggy heap for a good minute, shaking and gasping for breath, legs cramping from the icy water. He must not remain thus, knew hed got to get into his drier clothes and struggled to do it, the entire process taking much longer than he had anticipated and leaving him weak and drifty when he finally got through, mind wanting to shut down and body agreeing that such was definitely best, feeling far more like curling up under then nearest tree than rising to stomp around and swing his arms until he felt some warmth returning. He made himself do it though, thinking of Liz, forcing himself to go over and over the details of his plan as he jumped and danced and ran in place, working until he had regained a bit of flexibility in his fingers, a hint of warmth. Enough. Time to get in close, choose a spot from which to watch the town until it was time to make his move. Einar made his way slowly through the willow thicket that bordered the river, trying but finding himself unable to hold a dart at the ready in his atlatl--all that exercise must not have been quite as effective as Id thoughthands arent working real well--pausing frequently to listen for any sign that he might not be alone but hearing none. Something was amiss, though, a quiet little prickle of warning creeping up his backbone and gnawing at him, leaving him unsettled and jumpy, something more than the simple facts that he was down there way too close to town and about to be a whole lot closer, something more immediate. Stopping, he consciously slowed his breathing for half a

minute, stilled his shivering so he could concentrate on listening, but could hear nothing, see nothing amiss in the darkness, and he was too cold to keep it up for long, sank to the ground and let the shaking try to warm him for a minute. Rising, continuing, he tried to get his knife into his hand, numb, nearly useless, dropped it twice before giving up for fear of losing it and finally put it away, stealing though the band of willows that stood between the water and the heavy cottonwood and chokecherry forest in which he intended to take refuge, his mind still screaming at him that something was terribly wrong, was right there, right there ahead of him, that he had better The man took him by surprise, stood up out of the willow thicket and smashed him hard in the side of the head with the butt of his shotgun, leaving Einar to tumble limply to the ground there on the wet, snowy earth beneath the willows. Very slowly Einar became aware once again of his existence, the heavy blackness that had gripped him lifting just a little and leaving him with a dull ache where something hard and very heavy had contacted the side of his skull, he remembered that much but no more, and he kept very still, not wanting to open his eyes until he got some feel for where he was and what, exactly, he was up against. The place stunk. Stale beer and unwashed laundry and the sickly-sweet stench of weed hanging heavily in the air, and Einar remembered the last thing hed seen before losing consciousness, a face dimly lit by the snow-reflected lights of the town, vaguely familiar, and it fit. Bob was a poacher, a small-time thief and reputed pot grower who lived in a run down old rust-bucket of a singlewide trailer way back on a long, narrow strip of land that ran along the access road to the old water tower above town, and, according to local rumor, he had for years run a relatively profitable growing operation on the Forest up above his trailer. He had not, as far as Einar knew, ever been caught, either at the poaching or the growing. Bob was a cautious man, if not a particularly wise one, and that suited Einar just fine, especially as he currently found himself the mans unwilling guest. But Bob was also, if Einar remembered correctly, a bit too fond of sampling his own product. Einar didnt really know his story, was not in the habit of asking people about their stories, because then he might be expected to reciprocate by telling his own, which he had seldom been willing to do, in whole or in part, but he was certain that Bob must have one, some series of events of one sort or another that had led to him being one of those men that dont quite fit inwhich Einar could certainly identify with, but, he expected, for different reasons than Bob. And it seemed likely that Bob, much like himself, was one who probably didnt especially want to fit in, as hed gleaned from the few brief conversations hed had with the man that he had a very strong independent streak, and valued his freedom quite highly. Which led Einar to wonder why he allowed himself to partake so freely of his backwoods produce, but he knew there were simply some things he did not and probably could not understand, when it came to the human species, the attraction of mind-altering substances of one variety or another being one of those. Einar had never willingly indulged in any such, himself, even when many of those around him seemed to be for one reason or another--earlier in his life when he had actually spent a bit more time in the company of others--and could not at all understand the attraction. Nor could he comprehend the logic that led to laws which virtually guaranteed a thriving

black market in such substances, but then, when did those making the laws ever give much heed to logic? Nothing new under the sun And, half asleep, he might have gone on pondering the matter at great length, but he knew that he had better be trying to wake the rest of the way up so he could figure a way to get out of there, because as far as he knew, despite their philosophical agreement on many different matters, Bob might be scheming to turn him in so he could use the reward money to fix up his perpetually broken down truck and expand his grow operation. Reward money? What are you talking about? And he couldnt answer, couldnt remember what he meant about there being reward money, but he knew somehow that it was very important, and had something to do with why he ought not be there where he was. Definitely need to get out of here. It seemed nothing had changed in regard to Bob liking to partake of his own product, because the air, when he cracked his eyes open just a bit, was nearly thick enough to cut with a knife, and Einar suddenly found himself badly needing some fresh air. He opened his eyes further--left one didnt seem to be working quite right, side of his face was swollen up pretty good, it felt like--and saw Bob sitting there on the end of the couch with the shotgun in his lap and the ubiquitous joint hanging out of his mouth, grinning at him. "Glad to see you made it back down from those hills. Thought the winter might have done you in." Einar nodded, raised his head a little, struggling to get his eyes to focus Bob. Mind lowering that shotgun? Aw, shotguns not for you, Asmundson, its for them feds when they come busting down the door to What feds, Bob? Feds finally catch onto your little gardening operation? Guess it was only a matter of time Einars host seemed to find that enormously funny for some reason, chuckling and giggling until Einar got a bit frustrated with him and sat up, way too fast, all dizzy from the blow to his head and still shivering furiously--it was warm in the trailer, and from the half-dry state of his clothes it seemed that he must have been there for a few hours at least, but hed been pretty far gone down there by the river, and Bob had done nothing to warm him up other than to toss a ratty old bedspread over his damp clothing--swinging his feet to the floor and facing the man. What feds? What are you talking about? He was beginning to grow agitated, thinking that there must be something he was overlooking, something terribly urgent. Feds that have been crawling all over the place trying to nail your sorry hide, Asmundson. Those feds. Einar nodded, more glad to have an explanation for the pressing but indefinable unease that had gripped him since waking than he was concerned about the feds--that would

come later, when his brain started making more connections--at least for the moment. "You still poaching? That what you were doing down there by the river?" Yep! Care for some lynx stew? Lynx, is it? Einar leaned forward, pressing a hand to the lump on his head where the shotgun had contacted it. You dirty scoundrel, you havent changed a bit, have you? Dont you know those critters are endangered here? Yeah, Id like some of your stew. Nothing better than poached lynx when a fellows hungry! Hungry, yeah, you look pretty hungry, man. Walking skeleton. A little chilly, toohey, what happened to you, anyway? Been swimming in that river, or what? A little early in the year for swimming, dont you think? Swimming. Yep. Seems Imust have ended up in the river somehow. You ought to try it sometime. Refreshing. Cool, man, swimming Yeah, it was cool alright Im gonna be cool for hours, after that one. Hey, I uh my knife is missing, it was here, its always here, you seen it? Bob laughed again. Looked like you could use a little assistance back there by the river, and knowing you, I figured smashing you in the head and hauling you here was the only way you could be talked into accepting it. Only safe way of getting anywhere near you, too, from the sound of things. And I couldnt really leave you armed, after hauling you here like that. Didnt know what you might do when you woke up. Kept it for you though. Ill give it back in a while. Here, look at this. Read. He was pointing to that mornings newspaper, which sat disheveled and stained with a mostly dried semi-circular arc of some sort of brownish, foul-smelling liquid on the empty wire spool that served as a coffee table in the sparsely furnished trailer, and Einar picked it up, found the text a bit difficult to comprehend and stared at the image that accompanied the article, a womans face, and he knew her, his sluggish brain finally beginning to make some connections. Liz. It says shes called Liz, and I couldnt have told you that, but it must be right, because that is definitely herIve been looking for her, I He was starting to remember, fragments, flickers of recognition as he scanned the article, and he tried very hard to focus on its words. The girl--Liz--was, it said, thought to be staying with the widow of local anti-government activist, after her rescue from a snowy backcountry meadow, and then the article mentioned his own name, called him a fugitive and went on about the search, and Einar remembered, then, things starting to come back to him, details about the search and what he had been doing for the lastmonths? Years? Been a while, anywayand suddenly it struck him very hard that he was unarmed, was missing his spear and atlatl as well as the knife and ought to have them handy, must have them and really ought have Bobs shotgun, too, and he scrambled

up off of the couch to go searching for them but fell hard on the floor, having forgotten entirely about his bad foot. Bob helped him up and he sat staring at the paper for another minute. Theres the information I was looking for, it seems, though I sure would have preferred not to have to get my skull bashed in to get ahold of it. Not feeling too good well. It will pass. Looks like Ill have to move forward real carefully on this one. For all I know shes still in custody, and so is Bills widow, and they just put this in the paper to lure my sorry hide up there into a house full of agents in riot gear, just waiting for me. That wont do. But he tapped the rolled-up newspaper thoughtfully on the side of the table, I do know how to find out about this. Got a visit to pay, but not to Bills place, not just yet Thanks, Bob. Thanks for this paper. Now whered you put my pack and all when you hauled me in here? Need that stuff. What? Youre not leaving yet are you? Set for a minute and have some of this stew. The next thing Einar knew, Bob was lifting him and trying to wake him again, talking about stew, and Einar wondered what on earth he could be carrying on about, but he did smell stew, wished he might have some, because he was awfully, terribly hungry and pretty cold, too, wondered how he had managed to get that cold and noticed that his clothes were damp, so supposed he must have been in the water. Figures, always seeming to end up in the water Einar sat up, then, tried to make sense of what Bob was saying. Awful dizzy. Think its mostly from getting clubbed in the head--heh! I remember that part--but maybe the food will help. Hope he was offering food. I seem to remember something about stew? Could sure use some stew. Was there stew? Bob shook his head, chuckled, handed Einar a chipped green bowl full of a thick, tastylooking stuff that set his stomach to rumbling. Just as Einar was about to dig in, all but drooling, he heard something outside, a faint sound but one that got his attention, the crunch of tires on gravel through the cracked window, and almost before he knew what he was doing he was on the floor, scooting over to the window to try and get a look, but striving at the same time to remain hidden. What he saw left him grabbing for his knife, beginning to get a bit frantic when he realized that it was still missing. The Suburban, black, suddenly reminding Einar of those he had been watching earlier from up in the rocks, had emerged from the trees just below the trailer, was approaching the front step, hemming in Bobs truck as it rolled rather hastily to a stop. Bob, his air of casual unconcern telling Einar that he had almost certainly been expecting the intruders, had, perhaps, even summoned them, rose and opened the door. The trailer did not have a back door. Did, actually, but it was blocked by heavy-looking stacks of boxes that Einar knew hed never be able to move in time, and they had surely already surrounded the house, anyway. Bob was standing on the rickety deck just outside the door, still had the shotgun though he was holding it so as to be invisible to whoever was about to exit that truck, and Einar couldnt quite figure what his intentions were, but supposed he was securing it to be handed over to them as soon as they come to the door. Two million dollars, should have known there was no way you could resist that And

Einar knew he was about to die, no way out of this one, but he had no intention of going easy, was going to make it cost them, all of them, and he grabbed the iron poker from beside the woodstove, positioned himself to the side of the door where the wall hid him from view, readied himself to take whoever came through that door first. Who knew? Might even be able to disarm one of them, make a better accounting of himself and slip away in the confusion, not much chance, but he would, at the least, make sure his death cost them something, face his end on his feet and fighting; it was the only way. Theyd better hurry, though, because he was suddenly beginning to feel awful dizzy again, an icy chill creeping up the back of his neck and his vision starting to go, and he strained against it, must not let them burst in that door to find him passed out, must stay awake, please and he did, but his eyes must not have been working right, brain malfunctioning somehow, because rather than the SWAT team he had expected to see pour out of the Suburban, a lone figure exited, and Einar blinked, shook his head, quite a diversion, never seen them use this particular tactic before, but Im not falling for it The woman, middle aged but dressed as if she did not realize she was a day over sixteen, nor that she had put on a good many pounds over the years, stood there with her hands full of grocery sacks, hair dyed a shade of red-orange that nature had never quite intended hair to be and her right eyebrow and nose garishly adorned with a variety of piercings. Something about the way Bob was standing there in the doorway to greet her--not something he ever did--made her hesitate, and Einar took her hesitation as a sign she was waiting for the rest of the agents to spill out of the Suburban, before rushing the house. He tightened his grip on the poker, fought to remain standing. Bob met the woman at the bottom of the steps, took a couple of the grocery bags and whispered something to her-knew it. Knew hed called them--but nobody else left the vehicle, and when Einar studied it through the crack between the decrepit window frame and wall that he had been using as a viewing port, he could see that it was empty. They had reached the door by then, stepped inside to find Einar standing there trembling and swaying against the wall with a wild look in his eyes and the fireplace poker gripped menacingly in both hands, raised just high enough to be really dangerous. Bob grabbed the poker and guided Einar, who was near losing consciousness again, back down onto the couch where he sprawled, eyes half open, still clinging doggedly to the poker until Bob pried it forcefully from his hands and shoved it across the table to Rhonda. Here, get rid of this, hide it. Whoa, Bobby, dudes seriously messed upwhatd you give him? He doesnt look too good. Who is this creep, anyway? I thought I already knew all of your old hippie friends. Oh, I didnt give him anything other than a knock upside the head, but Im afraid it kinda scrambled his brain. And you better not go calling him a hippie, dont think hed take too kindly to it. Rhonda stared at Einar for a second, glanced at the paper that sat spread out on the couch beside him, and quickly shoved the poker behind the refrigerator. Is that who I think it

is? Bob nodded. Found him down by the river this morning. Wowwell you could have at least got him out of his wet clothes, couldnt you? Look at him, still in his boots And given him something to eat? And a bath. He stinks. And look how cold he is, here, get me that blanket. Rhonda fussed over him for a while, got his boots off and stared in horrified fascination for a minute at his mangled, toeless foot before doing what she could for it, smearing on half a tube of triple antibiotic ointment and wrapping it in strips torn from a spare pillowcase, the ten or twelve old band-aids that constituted the couples entire first aid supply seeming entirely inadequate. Einar was still out, and Rhonda tried to talk Bob into helping her get him into the bathtub but Bob, seeing that he was beginning to show signs of life once again, thought that was a decidedly ill-advised idea. Which it would have been, Einar suddenly raising his head and blinking in confusion at Bob and Rhonda and at the brief but rather disturbing dream that he had just emerged from, in which a truckload of orange-haired, pierced-nosed feds had trapped him in a trailer, tied him down before he could resist and taken turns jabbing mercilessly at his injured foot for no apparent reason whatsoever. He glanced over at Rhonda--yep, definitely a dream, never seen an FBI agent dress like that, and theyd have had my by now, if they were really out there--tried to get up but sat back down in a hurry when his recently re-bandaged foot contacted the floor. Part about the foot must have been real, thoughwhats she been doing to me? Rhonda did not like the way Einar was looking at her, just a bit too cold and calculating despite his obvious confusion, and she got up in a hurry, went into the kitchen and filled three bowls with Bobs lynx stew. They ate, then, Einar managing to remain awake enough to get most of the stew down without choking on it or tipping the bowl over, though it was a challenge. The woman was asking him something--she never seemed to quit talking, and he hadnt been able to make sense of half of what she was saying, though it sounded of a generally friendly nature--and it seemed that she had repeated the same question several times and must expect him to answer, so he concentrated on sorting out her words. because youre about the same height as Bob, and we could give you a set of his clothes and a baseball cap and let you take the truck and get out of here before they figure out that youre in the area, so what do you think, will you let me do it? He didnt know just what it was she was asking him if hed let her do--something about a truck, it seemed--hadnt managed to pick up on that part of the conversation, and the next thing he knew the woman was coming at him with scissors, and before Rhonda knew what had hit her Einar somehow had the scissors in his own hand and was pressing her against the back of the couch with his arm across her shoulders, scissors inches from her neck, and then Bob was grabbing him, pinned his arms at his sides and wrenched the scissors out of his hand. Einar fought him, struggled until the room started going black

around him, but Bob just hung on, and Einar lacked the strength to keep up the struggle for long. Hey settle down man, youre a real mess, arent you? She was just trying to cut your hair so you wont stand out so much if anybody spots you, and it sounds like a pretty good idea to mewhat do you think? Einar shook his head, slumped to the floor and smiled apologetically at Rhonda when Bob released him. Ithink not. Kindaneed the hair to help keep me warm out there, and its past time for me to be going, anyway. Thanks for the stew. And he took off for the door, seemingly unaware that he was still without his boots or any of the other gear hed had when Bob found him that morning. He didnt make it very far, tripping over the door jamb and vomiting all over the porch when he fell. When he made no attempt to rise, Bob and Rhonda carried him back inside and got him cleaned up and situated on the couch again, but they couldnt seem to wake him, couldnt get any response from him at all after trying for a good while. It was then that Bob, fearing for Einars life, decided that he must go and get help. The newly-released Liz had greeted Susan happily when she arrived at the Sheriffs office to pick her up, but she was quiet on the ride out of town and up the hill, staring out at the evergreen-clad hills with their fresh dusting of snow, and Susan finally turned to her, breaking the silence. You dont really want to be here, do you? Liz shook her head, looked out the window to keep Susan from seeing the tear that traced hot and stinging down her cheek. It was my fault. Id been fighting snow blindness, and he told me to be back in the shelter before the sun came up, or I wouldnt be able to see. I wasnt, and they cameif they follow my back trail, find him Susan, her friendly, care-worn face framed by a halo of dark curls, frost-silvered, reached out and put a hand on Lizs shoulder as she turned into the driveway and started up. It snowed last night. A lot. You can see it, even down here, and theyre saying eight to ten inches, up high. Hell be alright. He will have lost those trackers in that storm. You know hes done it before. Liz, while grateful for the reassurance, wept silently as she stared out the window, praying that Susan was right but unable to get out of her mind the image of Einar sitting there by the fire the night before, their last night together, laughing about whether or not to name their child after his fictional grandmother Hildegard. He had, despite his attempts at cheerfulness, clearly been dead tired and keeping himself awake only with the greatest effort, and that had been before his long hike down to the marsh the following morning. And now she had through her carelessness forced him to run again, and she wondered if hed even had time to return to their camp at all and get a dry set of clothing before heading out into the storm. Much as she hoped so, it seemed doubtful that he would have thought it wise to take the time, and she shivered, picturing him out there under a tree somewhere, plastered with snow and prevented by the search from having a fire.

Up at Susans house Liz bathed, washing months worth of grime out of her hair and enjoying clean clothes, Susans company and plenty of food and rest for the remainder of the day, but her heart hurt for Einar, wondering where he was and how it was going with him, knowing the impact her being taken would have on him--if he even knew what had happened--and hoping he was taking care of himself, getting enough to eat. Susans wonderful, rich cooking--a chicken casserole with sour cream, green chilies and cheddar cheese, served with fresh rolls and home-canned applesauce--stuck in her throat whenever she thought of him wandering around out there on his bad foot, going without, but she made herself eat, did it for his child, because the child must have nourishment, and she had no idea how long she might be remaining at Susans where food was so readily available. Liz had not been sure at first whether or not she ought to tell Susan about the pregnancy, but had been spared the decision; Susan knew, and made sure she got more than her share to eat, and then gave her seconds. The next morning after a good long exhausted sleep in a soft, warm bed, Liz wanted very badly to head out there and start looking for Einar, knew that with his foot as bad as it still seemed to be, the task of coming up with enough food to keep himself going would be a difficult one for him; she had been doing a lot of the work around camp and on the trapline, even after her eyes had started getting bad. But, much as she wanted to try and go to him, she knew that she was being watched, had to be, and would only get herself arrested if she took off with a backpack full of supplies to find Einar, might, worst of all, actually lead the search to him if she ended up being even remotely successful in her endeavor. Susan wanted her to concentrate on resting and eating--really wanted to talk with her about the baby, too--but it was clear to her that Liz was quickly going crazy sitting around the house, needed something to keep her mind and hands occupied, keep her from worrying so much about Einar and what might happening with him. Taking her out to the greenhouses, Susan assigned Liz the task of keeping the small wood stoves in the two heated ones--one filled with her herb starts and the other with tomato plants in various stages of growth--supplied with fuel, and the plants watered. Liz threw herself into the work with tremendous energy despite the great weariness she was feeling as her mind and body began to adjust to the fact that she was in a place where she did not have to scramble and struggle constantly for every bite of food she ate and for the warmth to make it through the night, and Susan watched her, glad that she was able to keep herself occupied. Bob and Rhonda sat there on the couch after their lunch of stew, Einar sprawled out unconscious and half-sitting against the back of the couch between them as they smoked and debated what to do about him. Rhonda wanted to drive him into town to the house of a girl she had known years ago in school, now an ER nurse at the hospital in Clear Springs. But when Bob started asking her what she knew about the woman and discovered that Rhonda had not seen her for several months and had no idea what her thoughts might be on providing assistance to a federal fugitive while refraining from claiming the reward on such, he nixed the idea. The thought of driving Einar anywhere at all in his current state actually struck him as a rather bad idea, considering how he had conducted himself after waking, the past few times. There was no telling what he might

do--grab the steering wheel, attack the driver, open the door and jump outwho knew what else?--if he was to wake and find himself in a moving vehicle. That left few options, as far as Bob could see, the last one being to bring the help to him, and he mentioned the idea to Rhonda. Well, what about this widow of an anit-government activist that the paper talks about? You knew that guy, didnt you? Her husband? Bob sat up a little straighter, nodded. Knew Bill some, dont really know the gal and have no idea if she could help him--dont think she liked me much the times we did meet, come to think of it--but shes bound to know somebody who can patch him up. Theyve got a group, you knowyeah. Not a bad idea. Guess I better head up there and see if she can come down, or at least point me in the right direction as far as who to go get. Sure dont want to be discussing any of this over the phone Einar woke again, then, coughing weakly and swatting at the smoke that hung heavily around him there on the couch, and Bob apologized, told Rhonda maybe they ought to stop for a while. Not a problem, Einar replied, allowing himself to sag lower on the couch to escape the cloud. Its your house, your life, andyou seem to live your life for the joy you can get out of it. None of my business... Well, I figured maybe youd understand, you being so big on freedom, and all, giving up everything so you can live your version of freedom. This is how we live our freedom, how we enjoy life. Einar didnt seem to have heard him, had slid to the floor and sat staring half in a daze at the sunlight slanting and filtering in through the window, but then all of a sudden he leaned forward, squinted up at Bob through the dissipating smoke and launched into a fit of incongruous eloquence that rather startled his audience, coming from a man who had not made much sense all morning and had appeared very nearly dead, mere moments before. "Freedomyesits all about what we do with it, isnt it? I have chosen to conduct myself in a way that has severely limited my freedom to live what most people would consider a normal life, but it was my choice and I am free to suffer the consequences as well as the joy of the path I take. Met with a lot of both, and I never expected any more, or any less. A lot of people make choices of that kind, seeking the ultimate freedom whatever their vision of that looks likeand find themselves trapped by those choices. Enslaved. Nothing worse than slavery all dressed up as freedom, masquerading as freedom Could be Id have made different choices if I had known what would happen to my freedombut Im not so sure. I am not that different from a lot of people, just made different choices and now Ive got to live the life I have made for myself. Thats all I know about it.

Bob sat there for a minute staring at the floor, shaking his head and appearing deep in thought before glancing over at Einar and seeing that he had collapsed again, Rhonda doing her best to wake him but without success. Thats it, Ive got to go get him some help. For all we know he could be bleeding into his brain, or something. Youre not thinking of leaving me here with this crazy man while you go, I hope? Aw come on Rhonda, hes got to have some help, and I sure dont want to be leaving him here alone like this. You saw what he did to me earlier! Almost did to meand the way he looked at me when I first got home, wild eyes, practically foaming at the mouth Well thats just because he thought you were attacking him with scissors, remember? And earlier cause he had himself convinced you were a fed. Hes cool now, knows who you are, knows you arent going to be coming after him with any more sharp implements He was. Who knows what hell be thinking the next time he wakes up. You better be leaving me that shotgun, if you expect me to stay with him. Youre gonna shoot him if he wakes up, arent you? I might. Bob rolled his eyes at her, slipped into his jacket and went out to start the truck, knowing from past history that it was always a mistake to underestimate Rhonda. There were cameras. Cameras in the trees on the side of the road opposite Susans driveway, cameras concealed thoroughly but not well enough to escape Bobs notice at intervals along the mile-plus mining road that led up to the house, and probably, though he did not see them, cameras aimed at the house itself, as well. It did not matter. Susan ran a small nursery where she sold her herb starts and tomatoes and a variety of gardening products, and that day, Bob was a customer. He was certain that the cameras caught more than one customer heading up that driveway, every day. Bob was very alert to the cameras existence because of his profession--both of them--aware of the presence of such things and the risk they posed him when he hauled his finished product to the next county to sell, and also because he had, for the past month or so, been ambushing and collecting similar devices here and there in the woods as he made his poaching rounds. After carefully removing the federal cameras from their assigned trees, Bob had been cleaning them up and filing off the identifying numbers, delivering them to a fellow in Clear Springs who drove them three states away to sell, along with a good quantity of his other product.

When Bob reached Susans place, he backed his truck into the wide-open loading doors at the little one-room cement block shop that sat forward of the greenhouses and acted as storefront for her nursery business. Susan heard the truck--had been aware of its approach for the past five minutes, actually, as it had wound its way up the long, switchbacking driveway--and went out to the shop, meeting Bob there just as he left his truck and started looking around the shop. He greeted her, asked a couple of casual questions about potting soil and which was the proper fertilizer to use in soil that contained a lot of spruce duff, because he was thinking about starting a little kitchen garden in the sunny clearing beside his house, but was concerned because it was surrounded by spruces and would have a lot of the decomposed needles in the soil, and they talked for a few minutes as Bob browsed around the shop. When they reached the back of the shop Bob stopped, turned to Susan and looked her in the eye, speaking softly. You know theyve got cameras on your driveway? Cameras in the trees, watching who comes and goes, cameras pointed right at this place, most likely. Now Im gonna ask you something, and its real important. Have you swept this place for cameras? The shop, here? Real thoroughly? Because I have a proposal for you. Oh, great, thought Susan, here we go Bobs reputation as a pot grower was well known if little spoken of around the community, and Susan knew that her late husband had been approached by him once before about using their greenhouses to help start some of his crops. Bill had evidently refused his offer and after that hed had little to do with Bob, though Susan knew the two of them had spoken on occasion at some of the meetings Bill had held down in town, and that they had pretty much seen eye-to-eye, when it came to issues of freedom and government intrusion. Bob, were safe in here from the cameras, the guys checked just yesterday, but I dont think Im interested in your proposal. Ive got a successful little business going here, just enough to get us by, and Im not looking to ruin that by doing time for filling my greenhouses with your favorite sort of plants. Im not interested. We grow tomatoes, oregano, rosemary and suchand thats it! She took a firm step towards the door, motioning a bit impatiently for Bob to follow her. Bob snorted, shook his head and tried to suppress a chuckle. Aw, heck, Im not talking about growing. This is something that would bring a lot more prison time than that, if you were caught. Serious federal time, and lots of it. Thats how come I had to know about the cameras. Now come here, Ive got something to show you. She followed him back to the truck, where Bob opened the drivers door and glanced furtively around before easing the bench seat forward. Susan stood there with her hand on her holstered Glock, ready to warn Bob away if he started pulling potted plants--or something worse! More prison time? Federal time? Good grief, whats he into now?-out from behind that truck seat. Susan took one look at the crumpled figure behind the seat, a grotesque parody of a man

with raw bones, tight-stretched skin and thin, scraggly, grey-streaked hair and beard, realized who she must be looking at and shook her head in near disbelief when she saw the body shiver. It--he--was alive, though he certainly didnt look it. She hurried to help Bob hold the seat forward, putting a hand on his passengers neck--yes, hes got a pulse, so I wasnt mistaken when I thought I saw him shiver--and finding it to be very cold. His hands were bound tightly behind his back with some sort of yellow utility cord, the rope also wrapped several times and tied around his waist, leading Susan to wonder just what Bob might have been intending to do with him, before deciding to drive him up the mountain. Oh, what happened to him? Where did you? Dont ask questions. Better for all of us if you dont ask questions. Here, help me get him out, hes not very heavy but hes a dead weight right now, brought him here because Im afraid hes had a pretty hard knock in the head, doesnt seem to be getting any betterlong story, but it was for his own good, you got to believe me. I wasnt gonna risk driving him up here, but Rhonda was scared to stay there with him after we had a little incident this morning with some scissors--fellas wound pretty tight, and I can hardly blame him--and I was afraid she might shoot him if he woke up while I was gone. So, not much choice. Had to tie him up real good for the drive, because I just knew hed reach up over that seat and strangle me if he woke on the way up here. We better untie him real quick now before he comes to, though, or hes gonna be awfully ornery. He keeps passing outI was hoping youd know what to do for him. Or know somebody who would. Susan helped Bob pull Einar out from behind the truck seat--not an easy task, as limp as he was; she couldnt imagine how Bob had managed to get him back there in the first place, unless he had simply laid him on the seat and rolled him up and over the top of it, letting him slide down behind--and they carried him to the back of the shop and, at her direction, out a door than led into one of the attached greenhouses. Itll be warmer out here, Ive got the stove going. Here, lets put him over in the corner between the stove and that pile of bricks. They set him down on a pile of soft, dry soil near the wood stove with which she heated the place, Susan spreading her coat on the ground and getting Einar situated, helping Bob untie him and wrapping him in the coat. He had, still in his damp clothes and entirely immobile, become badly chilled on the drive up from Bobs, was shivering, and she wanted to get him into the house right away, but knew there was a possibility that the place was being watched. It would have to wait. Susan rose, took Bobs hands. You did a good thing here, Bob. Now lets get your order loaded up so those cameras can see you leave with something, make this visit look legitimate. Einar was stirring as they loaded bags of potting soil and fertilizer into Bobs truck, seemingly trying to get his eyes open but not having much success at it and making random, agitated movements with his hands, and Susan hurried into the house as Bob pulled out and headed down the driveway. Liz was in the kitchen, preparing a snack of

tortillas and cheese and chopping some carrots and onions for that nights supper. Liz, youd better go out and water the tomatoes now, and check the stove in that greenhouse, too. Oh, I did all of that just before lunch. Liz. Go. Ill be out there in just a minute. Liz went, not understanding the urgency in Susans voice but realizing that there must be something very serious going on, wondering if the customer who had just left the shop had brought some news that Susan did not want to discuss in the house, on the chance that it was being monitored. Entering the greenhouse and heading directly for the stove on the chance that it really did need attention, Liz spotted Einar lying on the ground beside it, looking strangely forlorn and out of place there removed from his natural habitat and she hurried to him, no, this is wrong, you cant be here Einar! Theyre waiting for you to come here! Wake up, you have to wake up Which he was clearly trying very hard to do, but, it seemed, without success, and she saw the knot and the bruising on the side of his head, realized that he must not have come there under his own power and wondered what the story could be. He was fighting and thrashing, appearing in danger of contacting the hot stove with his arm, and she put a firm hand on his shoulder, curled up behind him and held him, trying to rub some warmth back into his chilled limbs. Einar, I really thought I had lost you He smiled, stopped struggling and was still, recognizing her touch and believing that he has just wakened from a particularly long and nightmarish series of dreams to find himself safe in the shelter again with Liz, reasonably warm, dry enough to make it through the night, and wanting more sleep. Susan quickly gathered a few things--food, bandages, a wool blanket and a thermos full of tea into which she poured a generous helping of cream--loaded them into a five gallon pail so theyd look to anyone who might be watching like gardening supplies, and went to the greenhouse. Einar was still asleep when she got there, seemed to have calmed down significantly with Lizs presence and she supposed that was a good sign, hoped it might mean he was starting to recognize voices, people, might not be far from waking. Beckoning to Liz, Susan led her over to the opposite end of the greenhouse near the door to the shop where she could be sure Einar would not hear them. Bob brought him up here in his truck. Wouldnt tell me where he found him or how, only that hed been hit in the head and has been in and out of consciousness all morning. Theres not a lot we can do, Im afraid, other that to waitand keep him warm, in the meantime. I really think hes going to come out of it, but Im concerned that the head injury may not be his biggest problem. Liz nodded. You saw his foot. Foot? NoLiz, this man is starving.

Hes doing better than he was. Hes been eating more latelywe got some muskrats, and he was able to eat stew a few times a day. He cant go on like this. No one can. But he does. LizI dont think you realize how bad it is. Being with him every day I expect maybe you start to lose perspective. Look at him. He doesnt weigh what two of these bags of fertilizer do, not even, and hes got sores on his shoulders and hips where he lies on the ground, because the bones are so near the surface and his skins in such bad shape from lack of nutrition. Its a wonder he hasnt succumbed to the cold this winter, or gotten sick and not been able to fight it off The winter has been very hard. She was near tears. Why are you telling me this? Do you think I dont already know? Im telling you because I want you to talk him into staying here for a while. Im sure I couldnt do it, he doesnt know mebut maybe hell listen to you, and I really think youd better try. For both of you. All three of you. He needs help. Oh, I dont think I can do that. Im a little surprised he hasnt managed to drag himself up into the woods and disappear already, concussion or not. Hes not going to be very happy when he wakes up and finds out whats happened to him, and I expect its going to be all I can do to keep him here long enough to get warmed up and eat a good meal. I dont think well be staying long Einar was awake, then, had heard the voices and had finally got himself coordinated enough to roll over and prop himself on his elbows. His mouth was awfully dry, sandy, and he struggled to suppress a cough, realizing he was in an unfamiliar place and not wanting to give himself away before hed had a chance to look around. From where he was lying the first person he saw was Susan, didnt recognize her and grabbed for his spear, only to find it missing. Along with his knife. Gone. So he grabbed a landscaping brick from a nearby stack--thing sure was heavy--crouched there dizzily, staring at her, wondering why his head hurt and how he had ever managed to end up inside a building-greenhouse of some sort, is it?--with a strange woman that he had never even seen before. It was not something he would choose to do, he was sure of it, was relieved to see that the woman, though armed, seemed to have no hostile intent towards him and he glanced around in search of the nearest exit. Then he saw the girl. Knew her from somewhere. Couldnt remember what she was called, and it seemed that he ought to be able to, that she might expect him to, but he did know that he had lost her for a while, and now here she was again and that was good, so awfully, terribly good, and he got up and tried to go to her, but the ground moved beneath him and he fell. She was there, though, came to him, and he remembered. Some of it, anyway. They took you. You alright? Youhurt? I saw what they did, heard the chopper and

saw and I tried to get there in time but it was too far His voice broke as images came flooding back--the men fast-roping down from that chopper, surrounding her, beating, kicking, the catch and burn of his breath in his lungs as he tried with all he had to reach her, but he was just too far--and she grabbed him, clutched him to her, whispered in his ear. Its Ok Einar, Ok, it was my fault, I shouldnt have been out in that meadow when my eyes were giving me problems like that and I was so afraid that I might have led them to you but I guess you got away, and the babys alright I think because I havent been bleeding at all, and Im so glad youre safe and youre here but youve got to be awfully careful because theyre trying to use me as bait to bring you in, I know they are, thats the only reason they let me go in the first place andEinar, no! Settle down, you dont need to go anywhere just yet, its Okhere, sit back down, I can see that youre dizzy. Which he was, but not nearly as dizzy as hed been earlier that day, nor was his mind as muddled, and he remembered clearly the article in the paper, realized where he must be. Right where they want meand it seems in addition to mysteriously losing half of my wits and all of my weapons--got to do something about that, and fast--Ive somehow been relieved of my boots. Huh. Figures Susan had joined Einar and Liz there by the stove, seeing that Einar still had the brick close to hand and moving slowly and carefully so as not to give him reason to use it. He was studying the interior of the greenhouse very intently as if looking for a way out, still appearing rather cold and more than a little confused, and Susan could see that steps needed to be taken if he was to be prevented from hurrying out of there prematurely and without the necessary regard for the cameras that were likely to be trained on the outside of the shop and house. Susan offered him the thermos of tea but he looked at her rather suspiciously and did not take it, Liz finally opening it for him and holding it under his face so he could breathe its good, warming steam. Einar, this is Susan. You can trust her. I do. He looked at Susan for a long moment, cold, expressionless eyes studying her, trying to measures her intentions, Bob, you scoundrel, you must have read that article and decided to bring me up herenot how I would have chosen to handle this, not even close, but here I am, and it looks like shes expecting me to say something, so I guess Id better try and string together a coherent word or two Youve been real good to Liz. Susan let out her breath, relieved--all right, there you go--moved a bit closer and draped the blanket over Einars shoulders. Shes become like a part of the family, and I look at you the same way. Youre welcome here. Another nod from Einar--he wouldnt have known how to respond to that on his best day, and figured he had really better stick to nodding, under the circumstances--and he sat there for a minute clutching the thermos and breathing its steam, shaking under the blanket and trying his best to recall the events of the past day, but without too much

success. Bob. Hed somehow ended up at Bobsseemed to remember an indefinable amount of time spent in his living room trying to duck under smoke clouds and avoid Rhonda, who had apparently been set on coming at him with those doggone scissors every chance she gothe shook his head, took another long breath of the warm steam. None of it made a whole lot of sense, and he had to admit that he was not entirely sure how much of what he was remembering had really happened, and how much had been dream of one sort or another. One thing he did know for sure was that he had no clear memory of how he had ended up where he was, no idea how careful his benefactors had been in getting him there, and he did not like it. Nor did he like the fact that he was missing his boots and his knife, spear, atlatl, glanced around at the interior of the greenhouse for a solution and settled on a length of rebar that lay over on the other side of the stove; it would be better than nothing, could even be sharpened, given the opportunity. He threw off the blanket and started crawling for the rebar but the effort quickly left him dizzy, heart racing, and he crouched there with his head down, limbs rigid against the weakness that he felt trying to knock him to the floor. Liz saw, helped him sit back down, leaning him over against the stack of bricks. Susan had poured some of the tea into the thermos lid and was holding it out to him. Einar, why dont you have some of this tea? Itll help you get warm, make you a little more steady maybe. What is it? No funny stuff in there? Funny stuff? She glanced at Liz, not really understanding his concern. He means things like yarrow, chamomileanything that might possibly make him sleepy, that sort of thing. He wouldnt even let me give him yarrow tea out there, not once. Oh! No, no funny stuff, then. Its just mint. Here. Try some. He nodded gratefully, drank the offered tea and accepted a second cup full, found himself feeling a good bit stronger for the milk and sugar it contained, his thoughts slightly less fragmented. Just what I needed Now. Boots, weapon, and the best way out of here. Already been here way too long. He was having a difficult time converting his thoughts into actions, though, or even onto words, it seemed, because while he thought hed been speaking aloud to Liz about his missing gear, the way she was staring at him with a mix of questioning and concern in her eyes told him that he must have imagined it. Which he hadnt, had been mumbling something half coherent but rather emphatic about a knife, and Susan, seeing that he was upset and clearly growing more agitated, wanting to move, go, do something to remedy the situation--his failed dive for the length of rebar had not escaped her notice, and she was pretty sure she knew what was going on--took a chance and put a hand on his arm. He jumped a little, gave her a slightly wild stare, but didnt go anywhere. Your knife is gone, is that it? Somebody took it? Bob took it, maybe, and you dont

really feel right without it? Well you wait right here for a minute, because I know how that can be, and I think I can fix it. Susan disappeared for a time, Liz continuing to give Einar sips of the tea while she was gone--it was helping; he had not realized how far behind hed somehow managed to get on hydration that past day, as well as food--and when she returned it was to pull a knife and belt out of the paper bag in which she had concealed them for the walk from the house. Thiswas my husbands, was with him through some really rough times, and it seems right that you should have it now. Kneeling beside Einar she handed it to him, an older seven inch Randall with a worn stag handle, leather sheath aged but clearly cared for and the blade in similar condition, somewhat dinged up, but very sharp, maintained. Einar balanced the knife in his hand, jaw tightening and a brief shadow passing over his face as he read in a long glance some semblance of its story. He nodded, raised his eyes to meet Susans, fully understanding the significance of the gift. Thank you. I think you two would have got along just fine, you and Bill Now. How about you come to the house so we can get you warm and so my customers wont end up seeing you in here. They like to come back to the greenhouses to pick out tomatoes and herbs, a lot of times. Einar nodded, rose, Liz supporting him when he stumbled a bit, still dizzy, and she helped as he secured the belt--leather, Bill having long ago replaced the web belt on which he had originally carried the knife--around his middle. Need to make a few new holes in this thing, if its gonna work for me. Dont like the idea of sticking around here any longer than I have to, but I sure cant be staying in here at all if theres a chance people might be coming in, and Id kinda like to wait for dark to head out, now that I think about it Good idea to get out of the greenhouse. If theyre watching the place real close, theyll be able to see that theres an extra person in here, see my heat signature, especially as the sun gets lower and theres more contrast. But if theyre watching that close, theyll see me between here and the house, too Not if youre in the wheelbarrow under a load of potting soil, they wont! We can take you right from the greenhouse to the cellar that way--its got access from the garage and from the side of the house, both--and whoevers watching will be none the wiser for it. Here, Ill go get the wheelbarrow. Its just out there in the shop. Quickly returning with the wheelbarrow, Susan motioned Einar to climb in, Liz preparing to assist him, but Einar hesitated. How about you take one load, first, then Ill go in the second load. Let them think this is something real routine, something you do all the time for whatever reason. Maybe even spill part of the first load so the watchers can see that its all dirt, nothing underneath,

clean it up and come back for me. Sound alright? Sounds like youve thought through this sort of thing before! Yes, I can sure do that. While Susan was dealing with the first load of dirt, Liz saw that a car was headed up the driveway, hurried out to warn Susan but she had already seen, was returning with the wheelbarrow. Weve got to do this quick. Thats Marys car, shes a regular customer, and every time shes up here her kids run all over the greenhouse looking at the plants and playing with things. Theyll see you. Quick. Let us help you up in here and get you covered up. Einar had got himself into the wheelbarrow as Susan spoke, curled into a fetal position with his head on his knees, knife in his hand, and he fit surprisingly well into the allotted space. Susan spread her jacket over him, the two of them using shovels to dump potting soil overtop of that, concealing him, careful to leave an open space through which he could get air. Before they got done, though, the car had parked out front of the shop, and they could hear the shouts and laughter of children. Liz, you go help them while I finish up here. Mary likes to really take her time shopping, so maybe you can get the kids outside, make a snowman with them, do some sledding up on the hill, something, anything to keep them from coming back here before I get done! As Liz went to greet the customer, Susan finished burying Einar and snatched a couple of last years old dead plants from a pile in the corner to cover and hide the air hole, inspecting the load and finding it good. Quickly packing the thermos and blanket back into the bucket where they would not stand out, she wanted to wheel Einar out through the back door, but the path behind it had not been shoveled out after the last snow, and she knew there was a very good chance of the wheelbarrow bogging down and tipping over back there, considered leaving Einar right where he was in the greenhouse, all packaged up for transport, but a vision of the three children using the wheelbarrows load of dirt like a sandbox ruled out any such option, and she headed out into the shop with it. Mary saw her, though, had a question that could not seem to wait and Susan saw Liz was busy keeping two of the three youngsters occupied out on the sledding hill up behind the house. The youngest, a very inquisitive an lively four year old boy, had remained behind with his mother and was at the moment enthusiastically attacking a bale of straw with a tomato stake. Excusing herself briefly, Susan wheeled her load out and parked it just beyond the loading doors--sorry Einar, I know its cold out here, but if I leave you inside that kid is going to be stabbing this pile of dirt with a stick before we know it, and I have a feeling that might end rather badly for all of us--returning to help her customer. A good plan, and it might have been enough, had not a second car started up the driveway at that point Susan did not recognize the second car that wound its way up the driveway that afternoon, nor did she know its occupants, a conservatively dressed older couple who did

not look the least bit out of place as they browsed among the tables of herb starts and annuals and bags of fertilizer and topsoil in her shop. Busy discussing the merits of scented geraniums with her first customer, Mary, while at the same time trying to keep an eye on the ladys highly active little boy, who was venturing dangerously close to Einars wheelbarrow with his tomato stake lance, Susan never saw the newly arrived woman slip a very realistic replica of a lumpy grey rock out of her purse and nestle it down in a pot of rosemary on a shelf that overlooked the register. Einar did not see, either, couldnt see anything from down there under the dirt in the wheelbarrow, but he did hear the man--who had gone over to lean against the frame of the open door feet from the wheelbarrow as if bored and a bit exasperated with his wifes extensive shopping--talking softly to himself. Something about number two being in place, with one more to go, and that did not sound to Einar at all like something a person would reasonably say to themselves. Which left only one thing it seemed likely the man could be doing, and he hardly dared breathe until a few heavy footsteps told him the man had moved on. Time passed, then, as the customers went about their shopping and Einar lay immobile there in the wheelbarrow, praying that he might not be discovered. Knowing that he had ended up quite close to where the people were, hearing their slightly muffled voices and the crunch of their feet in the snow as they walked back and forth past him, Einar had worked very hard to keep himself from shivering as he waited for Susan to return and wheel him to the safety of the garage, controlling his breathing, using all of his strength to focus on keeping his core temperature up, but it had eventually become too much for him, lying there with the soil pressed in all around him and nothing but his damp clothing to shield him from the cold metal of the wheelbarrow, and when he could maintain his control no longer, he had to give up his effort and let the shivering try to warm him. They might see him. It was a real danger, and he knew it, knew that wheelbarrows full of dirt are not expected to tremble and shake and might very well draw attention if they were seen to do so, werent supposed to breathe, either, and feared that his breath might be showing in the chilly air, and he kept his ear pressed firmly to the metal of the wheelbarrow beneath him--not that he had any choice--and listened carefully for the approach of feet, holding himself rigidly still whenever they seemed to be drawing close. Another concern, and he had no way to check and see how great a concern it might be, was that the dirt that covered him might, over time, be systematically shaken to the side by his trembling, revealing the jacket that covered his top side and making it clear to passers-by that something was concealed there beneath the soil. Not much he could do about it, though, other than to strive to keep his movements to a minimum, which was becoming more and more challenging the longer he remained there. It is one thing to maintain some semblance of warmth in ones damp and underdressed body when a person is able to shuffle and dance and stomp his feet, swing his arms and beat them against his sides as necessary to keep the blood flowing, but quite another attempting to do so when to move a muscle is to risk immediate detection. Well, could be worse. At least it isntwindy in here It was, in fact, quite the opposite of windy there beneath Einars concealing shell of potting soil, his shaking having dislodged dirt from the edges of Susans carefully constructed breathing passage and sent it tumbling down on him to very nearly block his breathing. The coat--a fairly thin sweatshirt-jacket--had prevented

soil from getting into his eyes and nose and he supposed a corner of it could be drawn across his mouth as a last resort to keep the dirt out, if it seemed that the breathing passage was going to collapse completely. This potting soil is loose and lightweightsurely Ill be able to pull enough oxygen through it to keep me going, if I just use a corner of the coat as a filter to keep the stuff out of my mouth. One good thing, I guess, is that the colder your brain gets, the less oxygen you actually require to stay alivefor a while, anyway. Who knows? Few hours--uhhhhope its not that long--of lying here with a lowered body temperature may even help whatevers wrong with my head, the confusion and all that seems to be left over from having it bashed inI could really do without all of that, right now. If I can last through it. Which I know I probably can, but not without adequate oxygen. So the key may be to try very hard and stop shivering one more time so my core temperature has a chance to drop significantly before I lose control and start up again, so that by the time the tunnel finally collapses and I lose access to the air, my brains oxygen demands have been significantly reducedHa! Not likely to work, and I dont think I could stop shivering at this point if I tried. Oh, Ill eventually stop, if this goes on long enough, but it wont be a good thing. Just one short little slide from there to unconsciousness, and after that He shook his head, or would have, had he been able to move safely move it. This is all rather silly of course, because Im not, after all, trapped under a rock or in a collapsed cave tunnel hundreds of feet underground. Every one of these problems could be solved by simply sitting up, and yet I can no more do it than if I really was trapped undergroundmust not do it. And also must not, as he was very much aware, allow his knife hand to grow too chilled to perform its function if necessary. He had been carefully protecting it, slowly easing it closer to his body for warmth and trying to keep it up off the icy metal of the wheelbarrow and working his fingers, clenching and unclenching them around the handle so he would be able to use the knife if it came to that. He knew that he was not going to have an awful lot of strength in his chilled, cramping arms if that time came, but the effort of keeping himself ready gave him something to think about, to work towards, a way to pass the time. Time was not passing very quickly at all for Einar, and, beginning to feel an urgent need to get up and bolt for the garage but knowing that he absolutely must not act on it, he blew the soil away from his mouth--hope nobody was looking, just now--took a couple of slow breaths and fought to turn his mind towards planning for his escape with Liz, for leaving that place without being followed by whoever was watching it or leaving behind a trail that they would easily discover, as soon as they looked He needed to know more about the area--had never been up there on that mountainside before and had so far seen only the inside of the greenhouse--but tried to recall anything and everything he might be able to remember about the general vicinity, from before. Lying there freezing as he mentally flew up the valley, scouring and studying the contours of the land and the patterns of the trees and trying to see what was up behind Susans place, Einar began growing a bit sleepy, finding in his drowsiness a welcome relief from the agony of cramping limbs and icy, aching bones that had gripped him without remedy there in his forced immobility, the awful strain of waiting, vulnerable and unable to see what was going on around him, and he might very well have slept, then, had it not been for the

imminent threat of discovery for which he knew he must keep himself ready. They left, finally, Mary and the children because she had finished her shopping and got her order loaded up--Liz had spent the entire time entertaining the children and trying to keep them away from that wheelbarrow--and the older couple because they had completed their tasks, also, buying a few packets of summer squash seeds and a watering can and hose to help complete their cover. As soon as the last vehicle was gone out of sight down the driveway, Susan hurried to the wheelbarrow and got it into the garage, Liz, thinking it might appear odd for both of them to be rushing to the garage, making a brief detour through the house before joining Susan out there and closing the door behind them. They dug down in the wheelbarrows load of dirt then, scraping a good bit of it out and pulling up Susans jacket, exposing Einar, who appeared to be asleep, or worse. The breathing tunnel appeared to have collapsed against his face, recently, they could only hope, and though he had no dirt in his mouth or nose--a flap of the jacket seemed to have shielded them--it did not look like he could have been getting enough air. His lips and the skin under his eyes were an unfortunate shade of mottled purple, skin dead-cold, and if he was breathing, they could see no sign of it. Susan rubbed his shoulder, slapped him lightly in the face and got no response. Help me Liz, weve got to tip the wheelbarrow and get him out, got to get him on the ground where we can breathe for him if he needs it. Thats right, tilt it, easy now, watch that knife, hes still got a real good grip on ithere. Ill lower him to the ground Which she ended up not having to do, as Einar opened his eyes then and shook the dirt from his hair, coughing and wheezing and trying very hard to scramble to his feet, but prevented from it by the fact that his sleeve had frozen firmly to the metal of the wheelbarrow. Liz grabbed him, got Susans coat around him and freed his stuck sleeve, Einar coughing and clearing his throat and trying very hard to say something, but choking on the words. On the second try he got the words out, gripping Lizs arm for emphasis. Didguy in the carcome in here? In garage? Liz shook her head and Susan concurred that no, none of the customers had gone in the garage, though neither of them could figure out why he was asking about it, and supposed that he must be a bit confused still. Which he might have been, to some extent, probably was, but not about that particular matter, and he knew that he must warn Susan and Liz about the strange behavior of their customer, the man who had been talking to himself. There was little point in attempting it, though, before he had warmed some, as his ability to communicate effectively just then was rather limited, and growing more so all the time as he started shaking again, his body struggling to warm itself now that he was up and moving around once more. Susan had opened the door to the cellar and had her hand on Einars shoulder, was apologizing for leaving him so long in the wheelbarrow but he just grinned at her and said something to the effect of it being alright, because he was used to such things, and Susan shook her head--of course its not alright, it looks like youve got frostbite on your cheekbone and who knows where else after lying in that wheelbarrow for so long--helping him, with Lizs assistance, down the long, narrow flight of stairs.

Try as he might, Einars cold, cramping legs refused to do quite what he asked of them on the way down, and it frustrated him some, leaving him to collapse for a few seconds in a relieved heap at the bottom as Susan opened yet another door. Once in the cellar--it smelled of apples and smoked meat and reminded Einar that he really, really could use something to eat--they got him situated on a neat stack of empty burlap sacks beside some shelving, Susan pulling a faded old quilt from a box on top of one of the shelves and wrapping it around him. At which point Einar would have been more than content to simply get out of his damp clothes, curl up there in the blanket and shiver himself warm again over the course of the next several hours, an occurrence that had been all too common over his past two winters in the woods, and under far less favorable circumstances. They werent in the woods, though, and Susan had the means to help him and intended to use them without delay, hurrying up the stairs and returning with a big seventy gallon galvanized stock watering tank, sending Liz up to begin filling buckets with warm water. The bodies had been found, finally, the first fished out of the frozen marsh and then, after a good bit more searching, the second brought out from beneath the creek ice where it had been carried down below the convergence of the two creeks near the camera that had spotted Einar and brought the search back to his area. It did not take long, after the recovery, to determine the two agents causes of death--the one in the marsh still had the entire atlatl dart sticking out of his chest, the second, the man who had gone into the creek, a similar hand-fashioned point of bear bone embedded firmly in his shoulder. No fingerprints were found on the dart heads, in their condition, and there was speculation that day at Mountain Task Force headquarters that despite what appeared to be evidence to the contrary, there was still some chance that Liz had been telling them the truth during interrogation about Einars recent death. She had, after all, presumably been with him every day for the past several months, certainly would have picked up something of his skill with the weapon--assuming she had not been held against her will, which they had come very much to doubt--and might have killed the agents, herself. In which case they really were most likely searching for a frozen, snow-covered body out there, rather than the living, breathing and very deadly fugitive they had thus far been pursuing. That speculation lasted only as long as the autopsy on the second agent. The man had Einars DNA under his fingernails. Time for another talk with Liz Einar--huddled down in the blanket studying the cellar as he tried to get himself warm enough to begin functioning again--saw what Liz and Susan seemed to have in mind as they began filling the stock tank with bucket after bucket of steaming water from the utility sink in the garage, wanted to object but supposed that considering the circumstances, it would really be to his advantage to allow them to proceed. He had to be ready to move at moments notice, to get himself and Liz out of there before the agents he had heard talking into their lapels while he hid under the dirt came back with a search warrant--or a SWAT team--and he knew that he was in no condition to do much running or fighting, either, at the moment. Needed to warm up, and, despite his resistance to being helped into a tub of warm water in somebodys basement, that was looking like the quickest and most efficient way to do it. The tub was nearly full, apparently, because Liz was crouching there beside him and saying something about it being ready, was lifting

him, and he did what he could to get himself to his feet, hoping they had thought to make the water mildly warm instead of something closer to scalding, but supposing hed probably live through the experience, even if they hadnt got it quite right. The water would hurt something awful as it returned circulation to his numbed arms and legs if it was too warm, but he didnt think he was hypothermic enough for immersion in toowarm water to be life threatening, sending a rush of cold blood from his extremities to his heart and potentially shutting it down. Wasnt out there all that long, I dont thinknot long enough to worry about that. Liz was helping him out of his clothes--he didnt want to loose his grip on the knife, but she couldnt get his top off unless he did, told him so with a bit of exasperation in her voice and finally convinced him to set it there on a shelf within easy reach of the tub--so he supposed hed soon be finding out just how much of a problem the water was to cause him, wondered if he ought to try and keep his damaged foot out of the water. It was too late, though, because he was climbing in at Lizs urging--must be a little colder than I realized, dont seem to be communicating too good--and after that it was a good minute or two before he was really able to think about much other than attempting to breathe through the agony of the warm water--felt terribly hot, but he doubted it was much above body temperature, in reality--as it returned circulation to his badly chilled extremities. It put him in mind of the time hed lowered himself into the hot spring way up there above eleven thousand feet elevation early in the previous winter after very nearly reaching the limit of his endurance climbing through a snowstorm, running on no food and with clothes sodden and half frozen by the storm. That had hurt awful badly at first, violent stinging and then the deeper burning ache of returning circulation that had set his limbs on fire, but lacking any other choice he had stuck with it that time and had seen things turn out alright, and was determined to do the same there in Susans cellar. It took a minute or two, but the worst of the pain did finally begin subsiding, the warmth of the water creeping into his bones and setting him to shaking furiously as his temperature slowly began coming up. As soon as Susan became reasonably certain that their attempts at re-warming were not going to turn into a medical emergency for Einar--she had wondered there for a minute, the way he had looked upon first entering the water--she took his clothes and returned with another bucket of hot water and a bar of soap, after which Liz proceeded to scrub every inch of him clean for the first time in a good while, a process which Einar had to admit he might have found somewhat pleasant, had he not been so keenly aware of the danger he was putting them all in by his mere presence there at the house, of the pressing need to be on his way before circumstances conspired to make his departure a far more difficult and costly proposal. Which reminded him. Number one in place, two more to go Got to tell them about that man who was talking to himself back there while I was in the wheelbarrow. Talking--making himself understood, anyway--still proved to be very nearly out of Einars grasp, as hard as he was shaking, but he kept at it until Liz and Susan nodded and glanced at each other, Susan saying something about needing another sweep out there in the shop and greenhouses, and leaving the room to go make a phone call. Good. At least now they know

The warm water was making Einar sleepy, mind feeling more and more like drifting, and as Liz worked weeks worth of grime out of his hair and beard, he sat there staring at row after row of home-canned goods that sat neatly arranged on the sturdy cellar shelves-peaches, pears, apricots, salsa, chili, pickles, blueberries, venison, green beans, pumpkin, tomatoes, on and on, the produce of her greenhouses and of Bills hunting stored up for the winter--very nearly drooling as he studied them, wide eyes relaying a tremendous sense of wonder at seeing so much food all gathered together in one spot. Susan came back, then, bringing with her a fresh set of clothing--a thin fleece top, one of her husbands old wool hunting shirts and a sweater to put over that--the man has almost no body fat, and I dont see how he can have been making it out there in the cold dressed the way he was. Hell surely benefit from several layers of warm stuff, even here in the house, have more energy left over to put towards healing and starting to gain some weight, if he isnt having to shiver all the time--fleece pants and waterproof hunting pants that she knew would be far too big for him and suspenders to hold them up, wool socks and underwear and a good thick knit wool cap to replace the tattered and filthy one he had been wearing, and she set everything neatly on a five gallon bucket of barley that sat near the tub, herself taking a seat on an adjacent bucket. She saw Einar staring at the shelves of food, smiled at him. Ive got some stew just about ready up there, and rolls to go with it, as soon as youre warm and cleaned up and ready to eat. Should we open a can of those peaches to go with it? Maybe that would be good. And she chose a can of peaches, setting it aside to go with their meal. Or would you prefer pears? Or maybe both? Einar realized she was talking to him, waiting for an answer, and he shrugged, gave her a lopsided grin and stared at the peaches to keep from having to look at her. Whatever youve got. Ithink whatever it is will be very good. This is quite a pantry, here. Real nice. Come to think of it, someuhpeanut butter would be awful good. Kinda need the fat Or, Liz spoke up, just finishing with cutting his hair after securing his reluctant permission, but promising at his request to leave his beard alone, how about some Nutella? I think I saw a jar or two in your cupboard up there, and, she winked at Einar, Ive heard it has just the right mix of nutrients to help someone who has been running on too little for too long. And I hear the most efficient way to use it is just to sit down with the jar, and a spoon Oh, yes, Ive got some. In fact she moved one of the buckets of barley over to allow her access to a higher shelf, pulled out a flat that appeared to contain an entire case of the white-lidded jars, its right here handy. Now all we need is a spoon. I would say to wait so you dont spoil your dinner, but you look like you could use more than one dinner, for sure, so I wont worry. After a while Susan excused herself--Einar was relieved, as hed felt rather self-conscious having her there, had noticed her trying very hard not to stare at the prominent wolverine

scars on his arm and shoulder--and prepared some more of that wonderful tea, only this time it tasted of cinnamon and cloves, and seemed to be even richer in the sugar and cream that had done him so much good the first time around. Sitting there in the water, drinking the tea and feeling truly warm for the first time in days, he began to grow terribly sleepy. He was still a little shaky, and Susan urged him to stay in the water until he was thoroughly warmed but he was afraid of falling asleep, insisted on getting out. His hostess might not know it yet, but he had every intention of leaving that evening sometime shortly after dark, just as soon as he had got a look at a map of the place and planned their best route. He could not risk staying and, though Susan might not fully realize it, she certainly could not risk having him there any longer than absolutely necessary, either. She had already lost her husband as a direct result of the federal search for him; he could not stand the thought of potentially bringing her more trouble and grief by remaining there at the house. Susan, of course, did not know his plans, was carrying on about how she has already fixed up an air mattress for he and Liz in the basement room that adjoined the root cellar, outfitted it with quilts and got a fire going in the stove, would be bringing the stew down there as soon as they were ready, since the basement was more secure than the upstairs portion of the house, and Einar nodded gratefully, though he had no intention of taking advantage of the offered hospitality, beyond hopefully getting a good meal. Susan left the room again then as Liz helped him into his new clothes, very warm and good, despite hanging on him rather like a tent, and Einar realized for the first time then that Liz was wearing fresh clothes, also, and looked awfully nice in them, now that he was thinking about it. His foot was all puffy and swollen after its soak in the warm water, needed attention, and Liz, determined to make sure it got some through care before being wrapped up again, left Einar sitting on the bucket snacking on Nutella--better eat now, not gonna be able to manage it for a bit, after that foot gets messed with--while she went upstairs for some betadine, bandages and other supplies. Susan met her in the stairwell, face tense, motioned for her to close the cellar door. A vehicle, she said, was making its way up the driveway--the shop had been closed for an hour, by then, and she was not expecting any company--a black Suburban, as it turned out, and Susan did not recognize it, but Liz did. Liz had little doubt whose vehicle she was looking at as she watched the black Suburban grind its way up the first two steep switchbacks of the long driveway. The two agents who had questioned her, Slick and Auntie, had arrived at the Sheriffs office in a similar one, and they had made it clear upon her release that she was to remain in the area, that they would need to question her further in the near future. Not wanting to say what need to be said up there where she expected they could possibly be listening--she and Susan had carried on all of their serious conversations since her arrival down in the cellar--Liz put down the binoculars and led her back into the stairwell, closing the heavy door behind her and sitting down on the steps, up near the top where Einar would not be able to hear, either. Theyre coming for me, and I have to go with them. We have to act like everythings normal up here, cant let them suspect. Susan, realizing what Liz was saying, wanted to quickly send her up the hill to her sons

house, delay the vehicles--I can do that. Bill made sure I knew how to do that--and call in help to give her time to slip away. Several of the group members ought to be on their way already to do a sweep of the greenhouse, she knew, after she had called them and invited them up for a spaghetti dinner, and the others could be there within minutes but Liz said no. Scared as she was of going in with them again, she knew that her disappearance, her sudden unavailability at the place where she was supposed to be staying, would spark a full-scale search of the house and grounds, and very quickly, too. The way she saw it, Einars only chance of escaping discovery--she couldnt stand the thought of him dying down there in the root cellar, trapped with no way out but probably still managing to take one or two of them with him--was for her to go in with the agents, try to keep them from figuring out that she had seen him and hope that she might be released a second time. If her belief that she was human bait in a fairly well-orchestrated trap was correct, she expected that her release would not be long in coming. They would want her up there to lure him in, and would need her in fairly good shape, too, so probably wouldnt be too harsh with her, during interrogation. She could hope. The vehicle was nearing the top of the driveway by that point, had to be, and Liz stood, hurried up the stairs. Take care of him for me. Make sure he gets something to eat, and dont let him talk you out of cleaning up that foot. Silly guy wouldnt take the sock off during his bath, guess he didnt want you to see it and make a fuss, but its got to be quite a mess. I was just on the way up for some iodine and bandages She opened the door then, leaving Susan without time to ask what she meant about the foot, but she supposed she would be finding out before long. The Suburban was pulling into the driveway, parking over by the shop, and Liz watched from the front window as Auntie and Slick exited, casually dressed and looking as if they might be coming for a Sunday visit, and headed for the door. When it was all over--the agents hadnt stayed for long, had not even asked to come in, but also had not allowed Liz to return to her room for her bag, as she had requested-Susan headed down the cellar stairs, apprehensive about giving Einar the news, but knowing that she must. He sat stony-faced as she told him, wanted to go, to leave right away and get out of there, disappear into the woods and never look back, knew it would be the wisest thing, but he couldnt leave Liz, abandon her to whatever it was they intended to do with her, and Susan watched him as he paced around the cellar, could see the conflict in his face. Wait for her. Youre safe here. They obviously must not know youre here, or they would never have sent two agents in a truck to bring her in for questioning. They would have assaulted the place, grabbed her and tried to take youyou can wait. They dont know. His face went dark, creases deepening at the sides of his mouth as he clenched his jaw and ground his heel against the barley bucket that was serving as his seat. Not yet, they

dont. May change, before they get done with her. Susan was angry, leaned towards him with her hands on he knees. You cant mean that! All shes gone through with you, and for you--you cant really believe she would betray you like that! Einar glanced up, caught her eye for a second and held it with a cold fury that exceeded her own, wanted to say something but thought better of it, looked away and spoke softly but emphatically. She would. Give them enough time, and any of us would. I trust that girl with my life, but He shook his head, stood and limped heedless of his bad foot over to the wall, pressed his forehead against the cold cement and slammed it with his fist, staying there for the space of a few breaths until he trusted himself to speak. When he again addressed Susan it was in a flat, even tone that belied the spark of tightlycontrolled rage that she had briefly seen in his eyes, left her wondering but unable to ask about the context in which he had spoken. They were holding her at the Sheriffs last time, werent they? Before you brought her up here? Yes. They have two cells there, she was in the second, a the end of the hall... But please dont do it. They released her last time, didnt treat her badly while she was there, and they told her she had to keep herself available for more questioning. Give it time. I believe she will come back to you here. He nodded. When Bob brought me hereI had a pack. Little black nylon daypack, would have had a wolverine hide rolled up and lashed to the top of it, couple of muskrat furs inside, covering everything else. I need that pack. You seen it? Nono, he didnt bring anything like that. Im sure of it. If there was something in it that I can replace for you Einar didnt respond, got up again and shuffled the length of the cellar to the wall, turned, came back, did it again. I need maps. Topos of the area, plats of your property hereit was a mining claim, right? So maybe you have the original section map from when you bought ityou got anything like that? Her face lit up. Better. Oh, Ive got better than that. You wait right here, I wont be gone a minute.

Susan returned several minutes later to find Einar still pacing back and forth there in the root cellar--six limping steps out to the far end, touch the wall, turn around, six steps back, repeat--like some sort of restless and potentially rather dangerous caged animal, and she hoped the items she had brought might give him something useful to focus on,

get him to sit still for a while. She had promised Liz that shes take a look at his foot, though, had brought along the bandages and betadine Liz had said would be needed to treat it--whatevers wrong with ithes probably got some infected blisters from all that walking over rough terrain with worn out boots, or maybe even a little frostbite--and a basin to wash it in. Setting the basin and medical supplies down beside the bucket Einar had been using for a seat, she sat down on the one opposite it, waited for Einar to quit pacing and join her. Which took a minute. Brought you something. Got a box full of maps here, and some things that you may find even more useful. Brought some bandages, too, because Liz said your foot might be needing some attention. Will you let me tend to it while you look at the maps? Nodding reluctantly--he wasnt sure why, but had not really wanted Susan seeing his foot--he joined her, sitting on the bucket and beginning to sort through the box, which turned out to be nearly full of folded maps, dozens of seven and a half minute topos from Bills work with Mountain Rescue, Forest Service maps and plats of the property and, most significantly of all to Einar, a sheaf of hand-drawn maps of the mining claim and surrounding area, done by Bill during his extensive explorations of the place. They were filled with detailed geological notes and sketches of more than two dozen mine and exploration tunnel entrances that he had discovered, and, when Einar looked more closely, he realized that the little numbers beside each sketch corresponded to a separate sheet on which Bill had mapped out the inside of each tunnel, complete with measurements and details about conditions inside, telling whether each tunnel was timbered or seemed sound, whether it contained any standing water, where ventilation shafts could be found if present, and where they exited. As Einar lost himself in studying the maps, Susan eased off his sock and unwrapped the pillowcase strips with which Bob and Rhonda had dressed it, struggling to keep from crying out when she saw the toeless stub, inflamed, nearly black around the edges and looking very bad. She had grown up around animals, had dealt with the results of any number of accidents and injuries both with them and with her husband and children over the years and had thought herself fairly immune to being affected too strongly by such sights, but somehow it was different when the afflicted creature was a human one, in such poor shape to begin with and having been so badly mangled, presumably at his own hand. Seeing the condition of his foot, she could not imagine how Einar had been continuing to function with the level of pain it surely must have been causing him, let alone cover the amount of ground she knew he must have to reach the spot where Bob had found him. She wanted to ask him how it had happened, how long ago, what he had done for it, so far, but thought it best to wait on such questions. Adding a few drops of betadine to a basin of slightly warm water--I need to go get some tea tree oil to add to this water. That would be helpful, too--she carefully lowered his foot into it, seeing that the old bandage material had been soaked mostly free by the bath water, but expecting that the entire foot could benefit from being disinfected, especially after its time in that filthy bath water. Much to her surprise, Einar barely even reacted as the betadine water engulfed the foot-shed been watching him carefully, alert for signs that he might be about to jump to his feet and come at her or grab for the knife that sat within easy reach there beside him on

the shelf--but Susan could not stand the thought of tampering with the wound too much, without first offering him something to dull the hurt. Were going to get this foot all cleaned up for you. I need to run upstairs for some gloves and a few more things to add to the water. Will you be alright for just a minute? He nodded causally, fully engrossed in studying the maps as if having his raw, toeless stub of a foot immersed in disinfectant was a routine occurrence. Which she supposed it must be, actually--disinfectant of some sort, something he had been making from plants, most likely--or he would surely have succumbed to infection by then, and she hurried up the stairs, blinking back tears. Returning in a few minutes with hands and pockets full, Susan eased Einars foot out of the betadine water and replaced it with fresh, adding a few drops of tea tree oil, a substance which, being effective against a wide range of bacterial infections, promoting wound healing and acting as an anti-inflammatory, among other things, was one of her favorite medicinals. Allowing the foot time to soak in the new preparation, she sat on the bucket beside Einar, who still appeared thoroughly absorbed in the maps, put a hand on his arm. Liz was right about your foot. Im going to need to cut away some of the dead skin andtissue from around the edges so it can start healing, and I think you ought to take one of these, first. More effective if you take it now I think than to wait until I get started, or until afterwards Pulling a half-full bottle out of her pocket--pain pills that had been left after Bill had recovered from a back injury, the year before--she held it out to him, but Einar just squinted at the label and shook his head. Nah, Ill be fine. Got to keep my head clear, and Im just now starting to get over all the weirdness from Bob smashing me in the head withwhatever that was he got me with. Sure dont need anything that would slow my thinking, right now. Susan nodded, put the bottle back in her pocket so as not to appear too insistent. I understand. But I really do expect your head might be clearer in the long run if you went ahead and took it than if you let yourself get overwhelmed by the hurt of having me treat this foot. Imgoing to have to do a good bit of work on it, I think. And Liz told me how youve sometimes had trouble eating for a while after dressing changes, and you really do need to eat, so maybe Sitting up straighter, he pulled his arm free of Susans gentle grasp, edged away from her. She should not have burdened you with that information. Ill be fine. Just leave me that gauze and something to disinfect the knife, and Ill do it myself. Done it plenty of times. Susan sighed. No, thats not what I meant. Please let me take care of it for you. I was just trying to make things a little easier... Thanks. Iknow that. But Id rather deal with the beast I do know, right now, that with one I dont. Changed the dressings a lot of times, had that hungry critter gnawing on my foot, know what to expect from that, and I can kinda live with it. Never taken anything

like what youre trying to give me there, not even close, dont know how it might affect me, and Im not really interested in finding out. If youve got a willow stick or something, thoughmight save my teeth and the willow bark does help ease things just a bit. Willow? For the salacin? Well how about some aspirin, then? He nodded. Thanks. Working as carefully as she could, Susan cleaned the devitalized tissue away from Einars wounds, worried because it appeared the dead, potentially infected area seemed to stretch a good distance back from where his toes had been, and thinking that perhaps she had better get him started on a course of antibiotics just as soon as she was done. Above all, though, he just needed to eat. His generally malnourished state would, she knew, have interfered significantly with his bodys ability to heal itself, and she was determined to bring him a big bowl of stew, just as soon as she was finished with the foot. Applying a good layer of comfrey salve to a gauze pad she folded it over the end of Einars foot, wrapping it thoroughly and propping it up on a second bucket to reduce the inevitable swelling. Despite his confident words and the fact that he had somehow managed to keep silent as she worked, Susan could see that Einar was suffering, eyes bright, face pale and heart racing, and had she not known that he was apparently accustomed to dealing thus with the foot, and with the results of such treatments, she might have feared that he was about to go into shock. Regardless, she did not want to leave him that way, saw that he seemed to have temporarily lost the ability to concentrate on the maps, and sat down with him. Wanting to distract Einar for a bit until the pain began subsiding, Susan tried to think of something to talk about, but nearly everything she could come up with--anything related to Liz, his life on the run, their upcoming child--seemed as though it would most likely only serve to get him more agitated and thinking he needed to get up right then and try to do something about it, so she decided to stick to the topic at hand which, though decidedly unpleasant, had already been dealt with for the time. How did it happen, your foot? Einar had been staring at the ceiling, following cracks in the cement and trying to get his brain to form some coherent plan with the information he had so far gathered from the maps and from Bills notes, and it took him a long moment to acknowledge Susans question. Frostbite. Wanted togive the toes time to heal, tried real hard but then I re-froze a couple of them, started getting real sick from the infection, had no choice. Lost the rest a couple weeks later. Liz, shewell, I started bleeding real bad on those last ones, got in some trouble and she came in and finished it for me. Id been trying to keep her outside the shelter so she didnt have to seenever wanted to put her in a position like that, and sure never wanted to see her starving up there with me like she was doing before we headed down a while ago

Susan hesitated, not wanting to take advantage of Einars compromised state to get him talking about things he clearly found uncomfortable, but she saw a need, and continued. But she wants to be up there. You know that, dont you? She wont get into it with me, but I can see it plain as can be. Thats all she has wanted ever since last spring when she thought youd been killed in that explosion Shes told me that, but when I see how hard it is for her up there sometimeswell, Im just not sure its right that I ever let her Let her? What do you mean let her? It was her choice, that life you two live, you were her choice, and as for the sacrifices she makes to live itthats exactly what it means to love someone, you know? To give your life for them as a living sacrifice, every day, to die to yourself and live for them--its a wonderful thing, and a terrible one, too--youve done that for her more than once even though you may not realize it, I know you have. Thats how you got into this mess right here, isnt it? Coming down here after her to free her from the feds, to buy her back from captivity, maybe even at the cost of your own life? Well dont try to deny Liz the ability to do that for you, too, in her own quiet way, day to day. There has to be some give and take, in this Einar was staring at the ground, his foot all but forgotten. He saw the logic in what Susan was saying, knew there was Truth in it, but had no idea how to respond, remained silent. She could see that he was at a loss, rose and quickly spoke up to end the uncomfortable silence. Now. Do you think you could eat something yet? Because that stews ready and Liz will be coming back, sooner or later, and I sure want you to be in better shape than you are right now, when she gets here He nodded. Stew would be real good. Ill be right back with some. A couple of friends will be up here any minute to go over that greenhouse with a fine-toothed comb and find out just what sort of surprises our misbehaving customer might have left for us, earlier, so if Im gone for a while, thats the reason. And dont worry, I absolutely wont let them know youre here, even though I know the knowledge would be safe with them. You can count on that. She left, then, Einar resting for a minute with his head on his knee--felt like he hadnt slept in a week, and it was all beginning to catch up to him--before pulling the maps back out and once more giving them his full attention. The level of detail in Bills notes and tunnel diagrams amazed him, gave the caver in him something to be enthusiastic about, gave him a strong start on a strategy that he believed ought to allow them to bypass the numerous cameras and listening devices that the enemy had no doubt arrayed around the property, and, if the weather cooperated and the tunnels remained largely as they had been when Bill made his sketches some years earliergive them a good chance at a clean escape. But not without Liz, and sitting there alone in the cellar his mind turned to her once more, wondering where they had taken her, assuming the worst about the

lengths they might go to in order to obtain the information they sought, sights creeping unbidden into his mind, and before many minutes of that had passed--Susan was not coming back; her friends must have arrived--he found himself no longer able to sit still, rising to hobble around on his freshly bandaged foot. Pacing, he sought to drive those images from his mind--get rid of them, doggone it, theyve got nothing to do with her, and you know it--struggled to convince himself that he must remain where he was, must wait. Though he had no way of knowing it, his assumptions were, for once, not far removed from reality.

The pair of agents who had previously questioned Liz--the man and woman she had dubbed Slick and Auntie and who had treated her with deference and something approaching kindness in her first session with them--turned out to be nothing more than messengers, this time around. Saying little to her after they picked her up at Susans, they delivered her straight to the Mountain Task Force headquarters in the old warehouse outside of Culver Falls. The pair left, then, after delivering her into the custody of an agent she had never seen before, a short, slightly heavy man with narrow, black-rimmed glasses, close-cropped hair and unpleasant eyes who took her to a small cement blockwalled room that appeared to have once served as one of the office spaces there in the warehouse. The room, small to begin with, had been partitioned, divided in half with a ceiling-high barrier of chain link fencing stretched with white plastic, a setup that suggested the presence of another such room on its opposite side, but kept its exact nature and contents from being seen. Which came across for some reason as rather ominous to Liz--probably exactly what they intend, so dont let it get to you--as she stood there in the white-walled cell of a room, door closed behind her, finding it empty aside from a small metal table and two folding chairs. Liz was scared, did not like the silence that surrounded her there in the cramped little room, the uncertainty about what might be coming next, and as she stood there she prayed, asking that she might be given the strength and grace to endure whatever it was, to come out the other side and be reunited with Einar, and she knew she was not alone there. It was cold in the room, felt almost as if they had left a door open to the outside, and as Liz tried to reconstruct a picture of the building in her mind, she realized that on the other side of the white plastic and chain link partition must stand one of the former warehouses loading dock doors. And it must be open, because I do seem to feel a bit of a breeze in here, and it sure is getting chillyand even as she stood there wishing they hadnt taken her coat, leaving her in the short sleeves shed been wearing there in Susans house, she was wondering about the chance of escape, of listening carefully for the next agent to approach the room to open the door, grabbing one of those folding chairs and knocking him out with it as soon as he entered the room, and escaping through that open loading dock door. Sounds like something I should probably trydont like that they brought me here and sure dont like the looks of this little room, but as far as I know, they may have chain link or some other barrier across that open door, and my chances of making it off the compound grounds are probably pretty small, even if I do get out of the building. Be patient, Liz. Theyll let you out again. Besides, look at those cameras up

there in the corners of the room. Im sure theyre watching you right now, and would be in here knocking you to the floor as soon as you grabbed for one of those chairs. Just be patient Which she was trying to do, but it sure was getting cold in there, and she found herself walking around the room in an attempt to stay warm, not wanting to be shivering when they came in to question her, with the thought that they would probably interpret it as nervousness. She was, it seemed, soon to find out, because someone was at the door, the short man with the strange eyes, as it turned out, and as he entered, carrying a tripod with two powerful halogen work lights and a clipboard--looks like its about to get warmer in here, anywaytoo bad Im still feeling the effects of that snow blindness--she had the distinct impression that she was going to be missing Auntie and Slick and the holding cell at the Sheriffs, long before the night was over. Her interrogators actions, seating her in one of the chairs, cuffing her hands tightly behind it and aiming the two 1500 watt halogen bulbs at her face, only served to reinforce that suspicion. The man did not say a word to her, but took a thick sheaf of eight by ten color photos from the clipboard and began lining them up in front of her, demanding that she look at them.

Susan was gone for what seemed to Einar a very long time, and as minutes dragged on into what began feeling like more than an hour, he rose from the bucket on which he had been sitting, maps spread out around him on the cellar floor, and walked the length of the small room once again, beginning to feel a bit trapped down there. What, he began wondering, if Susan was not what she seemed? Was working with them, either willingly or under duress? What if the feds had simply come and taken Liz out of there to clear the way to raid the place, keep him from taking a hostage--not that he would, exactly, but they might not know that--and what if Susan was now gone, too, having called them and told them that everything was in place? It seemed likely, increasingly likely, as a matter of fact, the more he thought about it, and if such was the case he was trapped. Saw no way at all out of there aside from the stairway up to the garage--he tried the door, found it locked, further confirming his suspicions; Susan had trapped him in there, upon leaving-that, and a series of metal-slatted ventilation openings up near the ceiling, small, too small even for a half starved caver such as himself to hope to worm his way through. Well. He had the knife, would make an accounting of himself, at least, when they came, would not make it easy for them, would, if he had time, prepare a trap for them with materials available there in the cellar--got a lot to work with here, really--something to slow down the assault and make it more costlywho are you fooling, Einar? Theyll put fiber-optic cameras in through those vents--probably already got them in place--to watch you and see where you are and what youve got and what youre doing, and if it looks at all risky, theyll just pump this little cement box full of gas, suffocate you or, worse, render you unable to resist and come down here in their gas masks or respirators and take you, and thatll be the end of it. He studied the vents, then, scrupulously scanning every inch of their slats for the telltale fiber optic scope, no bigger around than a pencil eraser, that would tell him they were already watching. Which was silly. He knew hed never see it. They wouldnt make that mistake, would know or at least expect him to be anticipating it, and would take great care to be stealthy, and standing there with nowhere

to go and no reason to think anything other than that he had been carried right into their trap and left to await its springing, he found himself wondering if Liz knew, if they had perhaps got to her and forced her cooperation in setting the trap, but he did not believe it, would not believe it, Susan he could not be sure of but Liz he knew, believed he would have been able to tell, in his past hours spent in her company, if she had been influenced to that degree and had made the decision to turn on him. Hoped he would have been able to tell, anyway. As messed up as he had been from that blow to his head and his subsequent hour spent freezing and barely able to breathe beneath the pile of dirt in the wheelbarrow, he could hardly be sure, dismissed the matter, unwilling to think of it any longer. Footsteps in the stairwell, those of a single individual as far Einar could tell, and he crouched there with the knife, crouched down behind the door where its opening would conceal him, determined not to let them take him by surprise. So. It seemed they had decided against the gas for some reason--might not be using the cameras, either--were sending men down into the cellar to take him, and he grinned--big mistake--reached up and flicked the light switch. Susan saw that the lights were out in the cellar, the narrow strip of brightness that normally showed beneath the door dark when she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she hesitated, thinking that as long as she had been gone, Einar might have decided to get some sleep, and expecting that it might be very unwise to walk in on him unannounced, if such was the case. She hated to wake him at all if he had managed to fall asleep, knowing that he must need the rest very badly, but quickly decided that, not knowing how long he might be staying there or what the next hour could bring, food had to take the first priority. Knocking softly on the metal hollow core door, she heard no response and knocked again, louder, turning the key in the lock as she did so. Still no sound from inside the cellar, no indication that Einar was awake or had heard her, and she was about to open the door and reach inside to turn on the light and thus safely--she hoped--wake him, but something made her wait, a tingling at the base of her scalp that told her unequivocally of the danger such an action would bring, and though she didnt quite understand it, she knew that it ought to be heeded. She left the door closed, knocked once more and spoke softly, but loud enough to make herself heard through metal. Einar? Ive got your stew here. Didnt want to wake you, but thought you might be ready to eat something Still no response, and she eased the door open a bit, repeated herself. Crouched there behind the door, waiting, Einar had wanted to feel relief when he heard Susans voice, wanted to hope that he had been wrong about the possibility of her working with the feds to trap him, but expected that they might use just such a tactic to take him, give him just enough time to come to trust someone a bit, and then send her down the stairs ahead of the entry team to get him to let his guard down She was coming in; he knew it was her instead of one of them by the way she walked, and he opened the door just far enough to let her past, pulling her quickly around behind him before she had a chance to reach the light switch and crouching once more near the door,

just outside of the light that was streaming in through the opening. Nobody came. For several minutes he waited, listening, straining his ears for any sign of approaching footsteps, knowing they would be coming, his entire being alert and searching for vibrations from up above, but detecting nothing. Finally he relaxed a bit, lowered his knife hand and sank trembling to the ground, Susan taking advantage of the change to quickly edge along the wall and turn on the light. Still kneeling there beside the door Einar squinted and blinked at Susan for a good minute in the brightness of the florescent lights as she set out a bowl and plate on one of the shelves near the bucket he had been using as a seat, filling the bowl with stew from a thermos and spreading three rolls with generous helpings of butter and apricot jam, going about her work as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Einar finally put away the knife and got himself to his feet, closed the door and stood there trembling with his back to it, beginning to notice the mouth-watering smell of the food, but reluctant and a bit ashamed to approach Susan and ask for some. She looked up, smiled at him. Might as well have a seat and get some of this stew in you before it gets cold. Come on now, sit down, that door can hold itself up He allowed her to guide him over to the bucket, then, reluctantly accepted the bowl of stew she pressed into his hands and sat there for a time cradling it, head down, breathing the steam and finally speaking up, his words sounding a bit more gruff and clipped than he had intended. Sorry about that, I thought No, nono need to be sorry, I know. It cant be easy sitting down here in this little room with no windows and no way to know whats going on around you. But it was just me at the door. The others left a little bit ago. Turns out you were right about those customers being up to no good in my shop. The guys found what looked like a rock in one of the planters, only it had electronics inside, and he could tell that it had just been put there, because the dirt around it was freshly disturbed. Its gone now, and I had them go over the house, too, but they didnt find anything else. It might be safe for you to come up there now, if youd feel better being able to look out the windows and having more than one door in and out of where youre stayingits up to you. He nodded, took a bite of the stew--unbelievably good, and the instant boost in strength and focus he felt at that first bite told him that he was still dangerously far behind, when it came to eating--considered Susans offer but decided against it. Better down here. May not be any bugs up there, but there are windows, and if theyre out there with lasers they could pick up on me talking, or you talking to me when as far as they know nobody else is herebest stay down underground here. And I wouldnt want to be up there where I would end up touching things, leaving prints that they might findbeen as careful as I could down here, but you need to make sure these dishes really get scrubbed down, the silverware, cups, this bathtub, anything I touch, because if they search the place, theyre probably gonna be checking

Yes. Liz mentioned that, too. Ill be careful. Hey, I brought you something to have with dinnerlooks like you must have lost a good bit of blood when you had to take care of those toes, and its really hard for your body to heal things like that when youre anemic. Ive got a bottle of iron supplement here that Ive been giving to Liz--its just nettles and a few other things--and it would probably do you a lot of good to have some. Ill leave it here with you. Just drink a lid full of it now, and another in the morning, if you want to do it. Einar eyed the brown bottle suspiciously, scanned its ingredients and wanted to send it back with Susan, but took it, instead, poured a cap full of the brownish liquid it contained. Well, hope shes telling the truth about whats in here, because if its what shes saying I sure could use it, and at some point Im just gonna have to stop being so doggone suspicious of her all the timeshes had plenty of chances to hand me over to them or give them a call and get them up here, and hasnt done it, so here goeshope I dont fall over dead, or worse. Which he did not, the iron rich fluid instead greatly reviving him, leaving him feeling a good bit more steady and prepared to take on the task of solidifying his plans for escaping the property without being seen. That, and taking on the task of planning a way to retrieve Liz, if they did not return her as Susan seemed to expect. But not before finishing the stew, which he did rather quickly, going a bit more cautiously with the rolls, as he remembered the trouble hed got himself into, eating too much bread at Lizs that time when he had been so near starvation for so long. He didnt think he was quite so bad off this time, but could not be sure, and supposed it would be best to focus mainly on the protein and fat, for the time. With that in mind, and Susan offering more of the stew, he gladly accepted. Thanks! Sure could use some more. Im wondering thoughdo you have a cook pot of some sort you might be able to let me have? Coffee can, canteen cup, anything like that? Well, I suppose I do, but Ill heat the stew up for you. No need to He smiled just a bit at that, the first time Susan had seen him do so, and she was relieved to see that he might finally be beginning to relax a bit. Oh, Im not worried about heating the stew. Stews perfect! But for laterBob kept all my gear, and while a person can improvise a cook pot out there, given time, its one of the more difficult ones. That, and good strong cordagemaybe your husband had some paracord that he kept around? Sure would come in handy out there, since, again, you can definitely make cordage out of what you find in the woods, and good strong stuff, too, but it takes time. Oh, yes, Ill bring you a cook pot, then! And the paracord, andhe kept your boots, too, didnt he? Boot. Had rigged a bearskin contraption for the bad foot, couldnt get my regular boot on it too well, with the dressings and such. But yes, he kept them. If youve got any extras, sure would be appreciated.

Susan left, then, intent on bringing Einar another helping of stew and also securing him the items they had discussed, and perhaps a few more, as well. Liz, she knew, had prepared a backpack full of items that she intended to take, the first night shed been up there at the house, but when she looked she could not find it, and didnt know where Liz had concealed it. Having those items would, she hoped, help Einar settle in and find the waiting a bit easierthat, or cause him to take off up the mountain at his first chance, but she doubted hed do anything like that, as he seemed quite determined to wait for Liz. Which he was, and as the hours dragged by that night with no sign of Lizs return, Einar sat there in the cellar poring over the maps and, though he repeatedly shoved the matter out of his mind with the stern rebuke that it was not a productive line of thinking, at the moment, wishing strongly that hed never made the decision to venture down out of the high basin and seek the less stark terrain near the big creek. The prospect of slow starvation up there in the snow, of day after day spent searching and struggling for enough sustenance to keep them going until things began thawing, seemed just then a small price to pay, if it would have allowed them to avoid their present circumstances. We would have made it. Would have made a good effort, at least, and might well make it out of our current dilemma also, but he had to admit that he had no idea where they had taken Liz or just what they might be subjecting her to in order to convince her to reveal whatever it was they believed she knew, and he shook his head in disgust at the decision-his decision--that had led them down out of the basin and to the big creek where they had been discovered, taking the easy path, and suffering the consequences. Not knowing what size boots Einar wore, Susan sorted through Bills closet--she hadnt gone through it yet, since his death, had not got rid of anything, though she kept telling herself she needed to get it done--until she found a pair of his old Sorels, thinking that they looked about right for Einar, but knowing that he would need a larger boot for the injured foot, to allow for the bulky dressings needed to protect it during healing. By removing the wool felt liner from the right boot, she knew it could be made to fit the dressings, but the loss of insulation would be putting his foot and much greater risk of further damage. I could try and rig a layer of insulation for the outside of the boot, a wool scarf wrapped around the top part of the boot and secured in place with a gaiter, maybe, but I doubt that would insulate as thoroughly, and he might end up losing more easily than he would the internal insulation that came with the boot. That wont do. Im afraid hes already in danger of losing the foot, and further frostbite would only increase the chances of that. What he really needs is a larger boot for the right foot. And she knew just where to get one, too. Her son, who lived just up the hill from her, wore boots a size larger than his father had, and Susan, always looking for bargains, had picked him up a pair of good quality used boots at a recent yard sale, stashing them away until the next winter, and she pulled them down from the top shelf. All right, I think this may work! Next came the cooking pot Einar had requested, and while she did have a number of large tin cans out in the garage, acting as containers for nails and screws of various sizes, Susan decided instead to get into one of the large tubs that held their backpacking supplies, retrieving a stainless steel cook pot with a handle and clip-on lid, thinking that it would be just right for Einar. Into the pot she put a small jar of the tea tree oil that she had used to treat his foot, hoping hed go on using it whenever he left, along with an extra

pair of wool socks and a bottle of Fish Mox amoxicillin capsules from her supply of stored medical supplies. She had offered them to Einar earlier that afternoon but, seeing that his foot seemed to be doing quite a bit better since her cleaning and treatment of it, he had refused, saying that hed prefer to give the foot some time to heal, first. The antibiotic would, he knew, wreak havoc on his gut bacteria and impact his ability to successfully digest what little food he was likely to have access to out there, potentially for a very long while. Not a situation he wanted to put himself in, if there were other options, and there was also the fact that hed never taken a penicillin-based antibiotic before, and had no way to know for sure that he would not have an allergic reaction to it. Susan had understood and had even agreed with him, but wanted to make sure the capsules went with him in case he ended up in a situation where the foot was not healing by other means, and began to make him sick and even threaten his life, as she knew could easily happen. She wanted, actually, to keep him there until the foot healed completely and he put on a good twenty or thirty pounds and was well on the way to being in what she considered suitable condition to go traipsing around the mountains and living off what he could trap and hunt, again, but realistically she knew there was no chance of Einar agreeing to any such thing. The best she could do was to feed him as well as she could while he was there, and send with him the items that seemed most likely to help with his further healing and survival. Approaching the door somewhat cautiously after the last time--she had, at Einars request, left it unlocked, supposing that while she might have rather kept it secured, he could not reasonably be expected to share that preference, and might do a lot better down there if he did not feel so trapped--Susan returned to the cellar, speaking to Einar before opening the door. Entering, she was relieved to find him sitting on the bucket instead of lying in wait with the knife--an improvement, for sure!--though he did appear rather tense and ready to get to his feet in an instant, if need be, looking at the same time so dead weary that she half expected him to topple forward off the bucket at any moment, fast asleep. The boots worked out well, Bills being just a bit large for Einar but manageable, and the larger right boot fitting quite well over his bandaged foot. Einar sat there grinning-despite the initial pain of stuffing his injured foot into that boot--at his feet and thanking Susan, tremendously relieved to see that his chances of having to run out into surrounding world of snow and rock in his sock feet had just been greatly reduced. The cook pot and paracord met with his grateful approval as well, and by the time Susan got around to pouring him a second bowl of stew, he was thinking himself pretty well equipped--head full of information about the terrain features (and perhaps more importantly, the subterranean features) of the property and surrounding forest, good knife, boots and several layers of warm clothing, cook pot, cordage, fire steel and striker in their pouch hung around his neck along with his small bag of tinder pellets, and the bottles of antibiotics and tea tree oil she had given him wrapped in the spare pair of socks for protection and stuck in his pockets. All he lacked was Liz. And maybe a few hours of good sound sleep, since there was not telling when he might have the opportunity for such, once he left the place, and as reluctant as he was to let his guard down to that degree in his current location, he supposed he had better be giving it a try. Susan guessed

his intentions when he rose and dragged the pile of burlap sacks over to the row of shelvs immediately to the left of the door and shoved them into the empty space beneath the lowest one as if to curl up on them and sleep. Wait, Ive got something better. Let me go get the air mattress and a sleeping bag, alright? Youre going to get cold down there on the floor. Einar smiled, shook his head. Not likely Ill get cold under this quilt and in these good thick layers of wool and fleece, with my belly stuffed full of that wonderful stew. Its dry in here and theres no wind, and thats a lot more than I can say for a lot of the places Ive slept, over the last couple of years. Thanks for the offer, but I wouldnt want to go getting too comfortable. No chance Ill be able to sleep unless I know I can do so with both ears and at least one eye open, and thats easier to do--for me anyway--if youre on the ground where you can feel vibrations and such, be alerted to whatever may be coming. Been a few decades since I slept in a regular bed; found the floor to be best even when I was living up there at my cabin, so itll do real well tonight. And he crawled in beneath the shelf, curling up on the pile of bags with the cook pot beside his head, knife sandwiched beneath him and his boots still on. Mighty comfortable Susan nodded, seeing that it would be useless to try and dissuade him and glad that he had decided to try and sleep, even if not under what she might have considered the best circumstances that could be provided. I will be awake for the next few hours at least, and then my son and a couple of his friends will take a turn watching the place. We were doing it that way even before you came here, so it shouldnt make anyone suspicious, if they happen to notice. Nobody will come onto this property without us knowing, and Ill be down here immediately to let you know about it, if we see anything unusual. Ok? There was no response; Einar had no sooner let his head rest on the ground than he was fast asleep. The faces in the pictures set out on the table before Liz were grotesque, bloody, bloated, some of them, as if their unfortunate owners had spent far too much time in the water, others very nearly unrecognizable as human visages because of what appeared to be blast injuries, horrific, shattered, starkly highlighted in the shine of the halogen spotlights, and Liz wanted to look away as the agent lined them up in front of her, eight, ten, fifteen, until there were well over two dozen arrayed there on the table, and she lost count. Remaining silent, the agent gave her time to look over the photos, far more time than she would have liked, before sitting down in the chair opposite her and speaking. He is a murderer. A mass murderer. These men are just some of his latest victims, agents who died in the line of duty trying to bring him in, ambushed and trapped and shot and blown up, stabbed and drowned and crushed under the snow in avalanches, and these he began laying other photos on top of the first batch, a mother holding a newborn, two teen-aged boys standing on top of a mountain peak with a man whose face vaguely resembled the dead man in the photo beneath it, a set of golden-haired twin girls laughing in a stroller, on and on, these are the families they left behind.

Waiting for a response, the agent got none, adjusted the halogen lights so that one set of them shone down at Liz, the other up at her from near table-level, preventing her from shielding her eyes from their intense glow. You need to help us end this. Einar did not remain asleep for long, an hour or two at most, but what little sleep he did get was the deep black rest of total exhaustion, seamless, dreamless, empty, allowing him, for once, a near total absence of awareness of the world around him. Being dead to the world like that was not something he would have either chosen or been remotely comfortable with, even under the best of circumstances, certainly would have fought it in his present situation if he could have, but the respite had been desperately needed by both body and mind, and he woke refreshed and terribly hungry, images of mine shafts and tunnels dancing before his eyes. Though he could not remember having any dreams, it seemed his mind had been working, nonetheless, as he slept, constructing from the maps and notes he had studied a complete picture of the world that stretched into the mountain up behind the property, tunnels, turning, descending, damp and dripping and partially collapsed in places but still appearing to him the most welcome sight he could have imagined, for they spoke of escape, of freedom, of a new start out there with no one in direct pursuit, if all went well, and he wished very much that Liz was back already, so they could depart without delay. She was not, though, must not be, as Susan had promised to wake him if anything changed, which she had not done, and he shook his head, praying that she was alright out there, wherever they had her, wishing he knew where it might be. He was chilly, had begun shivering slightly in his sleep, it seemed, despite the quilt and layers of wool and fleece, and he dragged himself stiffly out from beneath the cellar shelves and felt his way over to the bucket in the dark, sitting on it to put a bit of distance between himself and the cold floor. It was pitch black down there in the cellar, the ventilation openings showing as slightly less black smears up near the ceiling, star glow on the remaining snow, visible only when he averted his eyes slightly and did not try too hard to focus on them, and Einar knew that morning had not yet come. Crouching on the bucket he rubbed chilled hands together, swung his arms to get the blood flowing and pulled the new knit cap Susan had given him down nearly to his eyes in an attempt to retain as much heat as possible. Hungry. Achingly, painfully so, and he pressed a fist into his cramping stomach, knowing that the discomfort was to be expected as his body, flooded with what it would assume to be a ready supply of food, gradually shifted back into a mode where it anticipated receiving more than just the occasional bite, stopped consuming itself and began to rebuild just a bit. Feeling around carefully with a hand so as not to knock anything over, he found the jar of Nutella Susan had left for him, dug into it to help quiet his hunger-cramping stomach, the rich mix of fats and proteins and sugar seeming just what he needed, at the moment. Light. He wanted light, wanted to be able to take another look at some of Bills mine sketches to make sure they matched with the picture that had emerged in his mind upon waking, but it seemed a bad idea somehow to turn on the big overhead florescent lights, and he hesitated, huddling there on the bucket as the globs of Nutella he had

consumed made their way down to the cold, empty corners of his stomach--corners? Thats a silly way to put it, stomach doesnt have corners--and began to warm him. Despite the badly needed food and rest, his head was still not feeling as clear as he thought it ought to have, thoughts coming a bit more slowly than he was used to, and he knew that he must still not be fully recovered from that blow to his head, hated the lingering fuzziness, knowing that no matter how things went, the next few days were likely to require of him all the clear-headed thinking and planning and stamina he could muster. Well. Better eat some more, then. It can only help matters. And better find a way to get some light, too, so you can have another look at those maps. If the big light is not an option for some reason, maybe you could use that little battery lantern you noticed on one of these shelves last evening. Remember? It was just inside the door, I think Crawling along with the bottom row of shelves as his guide he found the door, stood, felt around until he found the lantern and switched it on, glad to find its batteries fresh. Returning to the pile of burlap that had served as his bed, he took the lantern with him beneath the shelf, lying on his stomach and spreading the maps out around him, pleased to see that the picture in his mind matched very nearly with the one spelled out on the hand-drawn charts. The likelihood--he yawned, shivered, rested his forehead on his arm for a second until a wave of dizziness passed--of these little side tunnels and ventilation shafts being in the same condition today that they were in when Bill explored them is probably not too great, although if they had remained pretty stable since the closing of these mines some hundred or so years ago, then maybe the twenty years that have passed since he drew these maps are not of too great a significance. I can sure hope. Because if the route Im looking at is still accessible, it could offer us a way up off of the property, which we know is being watched, that does not involve climbing some fifty or sixty feet of nearly vertical, exposed granitepossible, I suppose, if we wait until its storming heavily enough to offer us some concealment, but that same storm would turn those cliffs into a slippery, icy mess, slow us down real significantly and increase the chances of being spottedor coming off the wall and splatting in the rocks beneath it, for that matter, and being discovered the next morning. The tunnels, thoughlooks like if we can hold out here until that storm Susan mentioned starts up real good, sneak out the back and drop down right away into this rocky little gully, follow it up to the first mine and take the side entrance, the one theyre less likely to know about and be monitoringwe can make our way into the tunnel system and hopefully, if nothings collapsed in there, find our way to back to this ventilation shaft that looks like it comes out up above the cliffs somewhere. And thenthen we have to get as far from here as we can, just as quickly as we can, because itll be only a matter of time until they come back to check up on Liz again, and find her missing. Hopefully a matter of days, and not hourslooks like it may be real critical to head out as soon as possible after she comes back, to increase that window. Sounds on the stairs, footsteps that he recognized as Susans, and though his breath caught a bit in his throat at the possibility that she might not be alone, he made no effort to conceal himself behind the door, crawling instead out from beneath the shelf and perching once more on the bucket to await her arrival. Though he heard no second set of footsteps descending behind her, he hoped very much that she might at least have some

word of Liz. Susan tapped on the door, spoke softly and entered, seeing Einar awake and sitting down on the other barley bucket near him, relieved that he apparently no longer felt the need to hide behind the door and make her hair stand on end when she entered, but concerned that he appeared not to have slept. Brought you some more stew when I saw the light under the door, but I was really hoping you might have been able to get some sleep... Thanks. I slept. Had to get up and go over these maps again, though. Liz? You havent heard anything? Here, why dont you have some more stew, she answered, deliberately putting off his question for the moment. You still look hungry. Einar took the bowl, started in on it but could tell Susan was holding something back, something she would rather not talk about, stopped eating and fixed her with an intent stare that quickly made her look away. Yes, Ive heard something. A friend of my sons who came up here to help us keep an eye on things tonight said an acquaintance in the Sheriffs Department told him that Liz is not there, this time, that she hasnt been there at any point today. Which, she knew and so did Einar, still left plenty of uncertainty as to whether she had been taken to the Mountain Task Force operations center just outside of town, or perhaps whisked away to the FBI Field Office way down in Clear Springs, but either way it did not seem to bode well for Liz, as there would be no local oversight of any kind, no witnesses to whatever it was they chose to do to her, and Einar was on his feet once again, pacing back and forth there in the small room and silently raging at himself for bringing them down out of the basin, for putting her at risk of capture. Stop it. Not useful. That is done, cant take it back, so now what? I need to get to town. Down where I can have a look at that Mountain Task Force place, try and figure something out. And I need some thingsmaybe Bill had a workshop? Bet I could find what I need in there, if youre agreeable Youre going after her? He nodded, eyes dark, face stony, unreadable there in the dim glow of the lantern. But thats probably just what they expect you to do, isnt it? What do you think is going to happen to Liz once they have both of you? Or when youre dead because you walked down there into their trap? I really doubt theyll be releasing her, after that. Theyll never know what hit them.

You dont even know for sure that shes there. They could have taken her all the way in to Clear Springs. Think about it, please, and give it a little more time. They released her before, they brought her back. How long was it, that first time? How long did they hold her? Overnight, and most of the next day. I got a call to come pick her up that evening. And I know things might be different with her not at the Sheriffs this time, but she said they treated her just fine, before. Whole different situation now. Completely different. I know. I was held at both places And his fist tightened at the memory of how quickly they had changed tactics with him when, after his capture, they had taken him from the Sheriffs to the small cement and chain link holding cell at the FBI compound outside town. For a day and a night they had allowed him nothing to eat, no shelter from the icy blast of air that was directed at him by a powerful fan, no rest as they poured icy buckets of water over him at regular intervals until they thought he might be more ready to cooperate with them, and he was angry not at the memory of what they had done--it had been nothing, no more than mildly amusing to him, in context, though they had apparently not realized as much--but at the thought of them trying something similar, or worse, with Liz. Which they have every reason to do. There is more at stake this time, they already had me before, but this time are trying to get at me There was wisdom, though, in what Susan had said., he knew it, knew he ought to wait, difficult as it would be, and see if they intended to release her again before committing to a series of actions that might well leave one or both of them dead or seriously injured. Susan saw the conflict in his eyes, the struggle, and she was holding something out to him, a folded newspaper, it seemed, and he took it. A weather forecast. Major spring storm expected to hit the valley in two days. They knew. It was plain to Liz, as she sat there staring at the photos of dead agents families and listening to their lifes stories, that her interrogator knew or at least strongly suspected Einar was still alive, and believed her to know how and where to find him. Which, or course, she did, unless he had managed to get himself away from Susans and hole up someplace more secure--Einar, I hope youve done that. I know how anxious youd normally be to extract yourself from such a situation, and I just hope youre not waiting there for me--and she must not let them know she had any knowledge of his whereabouts. Neither, she knew, must she allow them to know just how she was receiving their blatant attempt to play on her emotions by bombarding her with gruesome death photos of the men who has tried to take Einar, more than one of whose lives she had herself ended, though it seemed her interrogator did not know it, as he made no special effort to give those particular photos a place of prominence. Rather than the shock, horror and sadness that she supposed the photos were meant to inspire, they filled Liz with a righteous outrage at these men who had sought to violently end her husbands life, and, more than anything, at the pasty-faced, dough-bellied desk-ridden bureaucrats back East in a stuffy office somewhere who had made the decision to keep sending them

senselessly to their deaths, apparently heedless of the value of the lives whose loss their minions now wished her to mourn. The only photos that did get to her just a bit were those of the infants in their mothers arms, tiny, innocent, never to know their fathers--stupid hormones, this wouldnt have affected you so much, before, and besides, you have no way to know that these arent just random photos that they cut out of magazines and photocopied. You know its perfectly acceptable in their eyes to lie through their teeth during an interrogation--but she reminded herself that these men whose families were now without them were exactly the same agents who had been pursuing her husband relentlessly and without mercy--the same ones who have been doing their best to take him away from me, from our child-trying at every opportunity to end his life and very nearly succeeding by keeping him on the move, preventing him from using the bounty the land could have otherwise provided him and causing him more than once to go through all the motions of enduring a rather miserable and drawn out death by starvation, only to somehow find enough strength and sustenance to keep body and soul together for a bit longer. After that she kept Einar there before her in her mind, telling herself that if he had endured through the months of excruciating hunger and deprivation, the forced travel on his fractured leg and the unspeakable torment of having to chop off his own frozen and infected toes to keep them from sickening and killing him, then she could certainly endure the next few hours or days of whatever they had lined up for her. Thinking of Einar she felt him there with her, reached for him with her mind and spoke to him, almost smiling as she did and restraining herself, lest her captors wonder about the sudden change in demeanor. I can do this, Einar. Youve taught me to be strong with your words and with the testimony of the life you live every day, and I can do this Please, God, give me the strength to do this. I have to, for him, for his child She would be needing all the help she could get, as the merciless glare of the halogen lights seared into her already snow-damaged eyes, their burning quickly becoming very nearly more than she could bear as her interrogator insisted that she keep her eyes open, keep looking at him. Finally she could do it no longer and laid her forehead down on the table, or tried to, prevented by her tightly cuffed hands from lowering it that far. Her actions seemed to anger the interrogator, and she thought for a moment that he was going to strike her for it, but instead he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back up, quickly running a strip of duct tape across the front of her shoulders and securing her upper body to the chair so that she could no longer lean forward in an attempt to shield her eyes from the light. More questions, more photos, and she was getting hungry, a bit faint, remembered ruefully a time only a few weeks ago when she would have had no difficulty whatsoever going all day without eating, but that had been becoming increasingly difficult over the past few weeks as the new life within her demanded a steady stream of nutrition, and sometime in the second hour of questioning, still having said not so much as one word to the short, evil-eyed man or to the two companions who had joined him from time to time, Liz began growing nauseous, and the longer she sat there, lights glaring in her eyes and not so much as a sip of water allowed her, the worse the nausea became. Finally she could no longer hold it back, broke her silence to tell them she needed a bathroom, was going to be sick, but they refused to un-cuff her from

the chair, and she leaned over and vomited all over the floor. They didnt bother to clean it up, did not allow her to wipe her mouth, even, the smell leaving her feeling terribly off balance, stomach tied in knots. When the interrogation turned from generalities about why Einars reign of terror must be ended with all haste, and began focusing in on specifics of where he might be, might go for refuge, Lizs first inclination had been to try and mislead them, give them information that would take them on a wild goose chase far up into the wilderness and waste their time as they scoured an area far from his actual location, but she knew they would likely be able to see through that deception, given enough time. The only answer, as she saw it, was not to speak to them at all, which would undoubtedly do nothing for her appearance of innocence--not that they believed her innocent; it was clear to her now that the deference shown her by Auntie and Slick had been nothing but a ruse intended to gain her trust--but at least it would establish a pattern well before the specific and inevitable questions about Einars current location came up, and she proved by her sudden silence that she knew the answers to them. That had been it, then, simple, uncomplicated, had left her nothing to worry about besides maintaining her silence and enduring, and for a good while she managed to keep it up, her eyes eventually swelling shut and blocking out a bit of the light, but not enough to prevent the progressive agony of her returning snow blindness from continuing to worsen. Two days. It was too long. Pacing--it seemed that was the only way he could really get much thinking done, there, and he guessed that must have something to do with the haze that seemed to be lingering from being clobbered in the head--he studied the newspaper article Susan had handed him, weighed his options. He needed to get out of there, had been needing to do so since the moment he had been shoved behind the seat of Bobs truck and hauled up there against his will, but he could see no good way to do it at the moment, no way tohe fell, having tripped over the barley bucket that had been serving as his seat, crouched there for a moment before struggling back to his feet with Susans help. Useless, Einar. You sure arent good for much. Got a lot of thinking to do and then an awful lot of acting, and it seems you cant even walk across the room without making a fool of yourself. How do you expect to manage the rest of this? Frustrated, wanting to prove to himself that he was perfectly capable of handling whatever came up, he lifted the bucket of barley to move it out of the way, putting too much of his weight on his still somewhat unstable right leg in the process. Taken off guard--the leg had been the last thing on his mind--he winced slightly and lowered the bucket to the ground, sliding it the rest of the way. Susan had noticed. Your leg. Is it giving you trouble? Or is the foot hurting? He shook his head, didnt really want to answer but figured he had better. Foots a lot better since you cleaned it up. The legyeah, broke it last fall. Big old cinnamon bear apparently decided I looked good to eat, too far gone to be much of a threat and I fought him when he came at me, but before he ran off he gave me a good swat and I guess I got

slammed into a leaning dead aspendont really remember how it happened, but the next thing I knew I was lying there with my breath knocked out and that tree crushing my bottom halfLiz helped me out from under it, and helped set the leg, too. Pretty clean break I guess, but under the circumstances I couldnt really stay off of it like I needed toor didnt, anyway, and it took a real long time to heal. Led to the frostbit toes, too, I guess, because the cast must have interfered some with circulation, made it harder to keep adequate blood flowing to the toes when it started to get real cold. Legs better now, though. Still not a hundred percent, tends to swell up some if I try and carry too much weight for too long, but for the most part it gets the job done. Maybe youd better sit down for a while and give it some rest. I can see that its hurting you to put your weight on it. Here. Sit down and have a little more stew. He shook his head, continued pacing. Its nothing. Be fine in a second. What was not fine, though, was the fact that he was still unsure of his immediate course of action. Much as he wanted to head out early that morning before it got light, find a vantage point above the property where he could feel a bit more secure as he watched the place and decided when the time was right to return for Liz--assuming they brought her back--he was concerned about the potential consequences of leaving the house prematurely. He knew that if he left to watch and somehow managed to get spotted leaving, hed be forced to run, wouldnt be there for Liz when they released her and would greatly worsen the situation for Susan and Liz. It seemed that, as closely as the house was surely being watched, there ought to be only one departure, no venturing outside into their potential view before that moment and no hanging around or returning to the house after it, and he meant for that departure to be with Liz. Though--he shook his head, hating the fog in his brain, his own indecision--if they end up searching the place on a whim or--I realize you dont want to think about this, but you know very well that its at least a possibility--somehow prying the truth out of Liz and raiding the house while youre still here, the consequences would be far worse for everyone involved. Susan was finally able to talk Einar into sitting down for another serving of stew and some slices of cheese, concerned that if he kept up his restless pacing, the confinement of the cellar might become increasingly intolerable to him, leaving him to head outside foolishly before the time was right, simply to escape it. Which he wouldnt have done, but nonetheless found himself grateful for the food, for a momentary interruption in a train of thought that had seemed to be going nowhere, and fast. Susan sat with him as he ate. I know youre probably planning to leave here just as soon as you can, and Im aware that it would be unwise for either you or Liz to come back any time in the foreseeable futurebut I was thinking that we ought to try and arrange something in the meantime, a meeting place, or if not that, then at least a spot where I could occasionally leave things for you, food, medical supplies, a new pair of boots or socks or some clothes now and then. Bill and the group had all sorts of drop locations like that--the group still does, but I know you wouldnt want to involve other people in this--and they generally use five

gallon buckets with those screw on Gamma Seal lids so they could be easily opened and then resealed, over and over again. Is there someplace you can think of that would make sense for me to leave a bucket for you and Liz? A couple of different places, even? Einar considered it for a minute, shook his head. Real good idea for your group, for any group, everybody ought to have something like that in place, as long as you dont let word of it leak out to people who you arent absolutely sure you can trust with your life, but in this caseno. Real bad idea. Theyve been watching your place and Im sure theyve been watching you, too, whenever you leave it, looking for some clue that you know where I am or where Liz was, before they took her, and after she disappears from here, you can be sure that the scrutiny will only be increased. Theyre good, these agents, professionals, and most of the time you wont even know theyre keeping an eye on you. They blend in. Not so much in the woods he chuckled, but in town, on the highway, youll never even know its them, unless they want you to. Theres a real good chance that theyd follow you to wherever you were placing the buckets, put tracking devices in some of the items and cameras in the nearby trees, and neither you nor Liz and I would ever be the wiser for ituntil one day when we were captured retrieving the cache, after which youd be arrested for aiding us. Whole different situation than you and your group members leaving things for each other, having plans in case things go bad in the future. Only way this can work for me--living like this, on the run, keeping out of their hands--is to avoid all contact. I violated that rule with Liz a couple times, met up with her last summer when she was out picking berries instead of turning and walking away and never looking back like I should have done andwell, you got to realize that wed both be better off right now if I hadnt done that. In some ways, Im sure, but in othersI really doubt it. And I dont think your child will see it that way. He shook his head and stared into his stew, didnt know how to answer that, but would not soon forget her words. Thank you for offering, about the bucket. There are a couple of things I really could use, and Im wondering if your husband did much reloading, that sort of thing Yes, he did, and Ive kept everything. Youre welcome to whatever you need, but its all up at his machine shop just up the hill from here, and thats where the guys stay when they come to help watch the place. Therere three of them up there right now, just got here a couple hours ago. They get to work on projects in there, and in turn theres always somebody here in case the feds decide to try somethingit works out well for everybody, but I cant really go in there and start gathering things for you, without them asking my what Im up to. It would mean letting them know about you, or at least causing them to suspect, and No! Please dont do that!

I wasnt going tobut tomorrow evening theyll be leaving, and therell be nobody up there but maybe my son on and off, until the next morning early. I can go in then, and get whatever you need. Thank you. They spoke then at some length about the items Einar would find handy, how they could best be packaged for travel and what he might use to carry everything in--she mentioned that there were a number of different backpacks, both daypack size and larger, up there stored with the rest of their outdoor gear in the back of the shop--and by the time Susan left to head upstairs for some more sleep, Einar was quite pleased at the resources that were to be made available to him. As long as they dont show up here at the door, first The remainder of the night he spent sleeping lightly and intermittently, waking frequently to lie there in the darkness listening, staring at the ventilation grates and wondering about Liz, praying for her safety and her return, until finally the shade of grey that showed through the slats began lightening, brightening with morning. With daylight Susan returned to the cellar, bringing breakfast but no word of Liz, and Einar gratefully ate a healthy portion of scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage, finding himself ravenously hungry almost all the time as his body scrambled to begin rebuilding itself from his latest period of near starvation. After the meal Susan wanted to change the dressings on his foot again and he allowed her to do it, wanting to keep the wound healing and heading in the right direction, a task which he knew would be far more challenging, once he was back out in the woods and--at least at first--having to cover a good bit of ground in a hurry. That afternoon they returned Liz to Susan, sending her up the hill in the custody of the two agents she had earlier nicknamed Auntie and Slick, and when they left her at Susans door, it was with the admonition that she must stay in the area and keep herself available for further questioning. And, they told Susan, she ought to be kept out of strong sunlight for the next few days, as she had apparently not quite got over the snow blindness that had been afflicting her when she was rescued from the backcountry. Lizs eyes were indeed red and puffy, swollen shut, but there were no other marks on her body, aside from some bruising and rawness around her wrists where she had at some point struggled against the cuffs, and when Susan asked her what had happened, she did not want to talk about it, feeling her way over to the kitchen table and sitting slumped forward with her head on her arms, wanting to block out even the soft light of the room. Susan sat with her and cleaned her eyes, which had oozed and dried and become encrusted and terribly uncomfortable-looking, and wrapped them with a cold washcloth soaked in goldenseal water to help reduce the chances of infection, talked her into eating some badly needed food and led her down the stairs to Einar. Liz had maintained her composure very well throughout Susans treatment of her eyes and through the meal, as she had during the nearly thirty six hours of fruitless questioning to which they had subjected her, but when she felt Einars hands on her shoulders, a gentle touch to the cloth around her eyes, she grabbed him and laid her head against his chest, trembling, too spent to even to sob as she wanted to do, but at last the tears came, and he led her over to the bed of burlap sacks and

sat there with her, arms around her as she wept, and, finally, spoke. I didnt tell them, I didnt tell them anything, they wanted me to turn on you and they kept showing me pictures of the dead agents and their families and then somebody guessed about the baby and they took blood and did a test, I tried to stop them but I couldnt because they had me cuffed to a chair and they found out, they know, and they threatened me with it, threatened the baby, and I still didnt tell them, I didnt say anything at all but EinarI dont think I could have kept it up much longer, I really dont, if theyd kept me sitting there much longer with those lights in my eyesIm sorry, Im so sorry for even thinking this, I would have tried, but I really dont know that I could have gone indefinitely without telling themsomething. Ah, LizLizI wouldnt have asked that of you, nobody would have asked it of you And he held her, his own tears wanting to come hot and angry to join hers in further dampening the eye-cloth, but he knew he absolutely must not let them, must not go down that road. You did great Liz, you did real good. But if it had been youyou wouldnt have been consideringwhat I think I was about to do, there at the end. Would have done better, I know you would have. No. No, you dont know that. I He shook his head, scowled with clenched teeth up at the cement ceiling of the cellar, couldnt quite bring himself to say it. I wont let them touch you again. Even as he did his awkward, clumsy best to comfort Liz, a terrible black anger was rising in Einar, a determination that they would pay, and pay dearly for what they had done to her, that they mustbut he swallowed the anger, kept it from reaching the surface. Not now. Not before I get Liz to safety, get her out of their reach, and quickly, before they decide to come back and take her in for more of this. They will not touch her again. Darkness was coming, and so--he could hope--was that storm. Much as Einar wanted to take Liz and hurry off of the property right then before her captors could decide to come back for her, he knew that he must wait several hours until the joint arrival of darkness and snowfall would hopefully combine to help cover their retreat. And Liz, it seemed, would greatly benefit from some rest; she had not mentioned it, but Einar knew that she would not have slept since they took her, and while she might have been able to travel in that condition, normally--well, I would, and have, anyway--her need for rest seemed to have increased greatly over the past few weeks, due, he expected, to the child. So. Were here for a little while more. Should be alright. If they had got the idea from her that I was here, surely they wouldnt have brought her back before raiding the placewould have just done it last night while they still had her, or kept her for another few hours and done it tonightmight as well give her an hour or two to sleep, if she can. Which she could, apparently, having fallen asleep there in his arms, and

he leaned back on the barley bucket, not wanting to risk disturbing her by rising. Susan was still there, spread the quilt over Liz and stood. I heard her whispering something to youdid she say much about what happened? He looked up slowly, shook his head and stared for a moment at the rows of canned goods on the shelf, applesauce, peaches, green beans, couldnt quite bring himself to look at Susan. No. Not the sort of thing a person wants to talk about. Some thingsare best left alone, stuffed as quickly as you can into little boxes and shoved in a corner and forgotten, or as near as you can come to it. Dont figure shell ever have too much to say about it, and I wouldnt ask her to. But she did saywell, they found out about the baby. Did a test, found out, used that to threaten her somehow. Wouldnt say how. She cant go back there. No! No, she cant. We mustnt let that happen. The babyhow could they? Evil people, evil. I dont blame her for not wanting to say much. But about those boxes well, I dont know if thats the right way to look at it. Maybe shed be better off talking about it at some point, because it seems to me that the boxes are bound to come back open sometime in the future, otherwise, and be nothing but trouble. Einars eyes narrowed and he shrugged, looked at the floor. Duct tape. Lots of duct tape and hard work, and you can keep the boxes shut. Most of the time. Duct tape? Is that what you use? Got nothing to do with me, he practically snarled. Were talking about Liz, here, and yeah, if she wants to talk about it Ill listen, but you cant push a person when it comes to He shrugged again, turned to face the wall, out of words. I know that. I know. Im sorry. Youre right, we were talking about Liz, and Id been about to tell you that Ill bring down some sunglasses for her to wear, as soon as her eyes can tolerate some light. Ive never dealt with snow blindness, so I dont know how long that might be, but she told me that before, she was able to see a little the second day, with those goggles you made her. Im guessing this may be worsebut she ought to have them available. Yes. Thatd be real good. Sunglasses, ski goggles, whatever you have. And itd be real good for her to have a knife, too, even if its just a pocket knife of some sort, something she can keep on her, and a way to start a fire. Fire steel would be great if you got one looks like they took everything from her, before. Yes, I can do that. I have a fire steel on my keychain that she can have, and my sunglassesgoggles probably would be better, would keep more of the light out, but I dont have any here in the house. All of that stuff is up at the workshop, but I can get some later in the morning after everybody leaves, when Im getting those things we talked about earlier. The guys have to leave in time to stop by their houses and get ready

to head into work in the morning, so if you can wait until four or five tomorrow morning to head out, I can send you with that whole list, and maybe a few other things, besides. Now. I have to go do a few things out in the greenhouse to get it ready for tonight, and then when I come back in I can bring you some more to eat, if youd like. Theres still a little of that stew, and Ive got some scalloped potatoes in the oven, too, with ham and cheese Thanks. Would sure appreciate it. Cant hardly seem to get enough, now that Im eating again. Ive noticed! I expect you have a whole lot of catching up to do. Sostew, or potatoes? Both! Please She gave him a quick smile, rearranged the quilt so that it would cover his shoulders, as well as the sleeping Liz, and headed up the stairs. The smell of the food--reheated stew and a dish of freshly baked scalloped potatoes, cheese browned and bubbling around the edges--woke Liz just under an hour later when Susan brought it down to them, pulling her out of a dream that had not been going in the right direction, at all, and she sat up with a start, hand going to the cloth around her eyes as she fortunately remembered the details of her situation in time to avoid pulling it off and allowing the light in. They ate then, both of them, as soon as Liz had been reassured that she was safe--it didnt take long, and she was, it seemed, remarkably cheerful considering how she had spent most of the last two days, even joking with Einar about how he had better start looking for another piece of deer bone to make her a replacement pair of goggles, because she would probably be needing them for a while--and Einar paused between servings of scalloped potatoes to make sure the sunglasses, knife and fire steel that Susan had brought ended up securely tucked away in the pockets of her sweatshirt. As soon as her plate was empty, Einar heaped it up again with more of the potatoes. Here, have some more. We got to leave in a few hours, so best start out on a full stomach. Leave? Einar, I cant see Youll be alright. Where were going, there is no need for sight. Liz let her breath out slowly, nodding, taking the plate that he was pressing into her hands, somewhat fearful but not wanting to let him see it. When are you wanting to go? This morning just before daylight. As soon as Susans friends leave shes gonna head up to the workshop and get us a few things that I need, and then I want to head out. Itll still

be dark, and hopefully will be snowing by then, too. She nodded. What? Four or five hours, then? Yes. Youd better try and get some sleep, and Ive got to spend some more time with these maps here, make sure everything is fixed in my mind. Sleep. Youve got time. But not, as it was to happen, quite as much time as they thought. Before heading up to the Quonset hut early that morning--the two trucks driven by the night watch had just left--Susan hurriedly scrambled up some eggs and prepared to take them down to Einar and Liz, aware that Einar intended to leave that morning and determined that they ought to have a good breakfast before doing so, despite the midnight snack of scalloped potatoes. The thought of them heading out there into what was, according to the morning weather report, shaping up to be a larger than usual spring storm troubled Susan, though she knew that the predicted arrival of at least eighteen inched of heavy, wet snow would be welcome news to Einar, and would go a long way towards covering their retreat. She had known this day was coming, knew, intellectually, that it was best for them to go, that the danger of staying was too great, but still it was a difficult thing for her to think about, with Liz expecting and needing the best possible nutrition and Einar so far behind on his eating and rest andnow you stop it, stop worrying so much. I know youd like to lock them away down there until the baby comes and feed them fresh-cooked meals five times a day, but its not happening. This is out of your hands, but breakfast is not. Take them breakfast, and then hurry up to the shop and get that stuff ready for Einar, get them packs to carry it in and make sure plenty of food ends up in those packs, too. Fat, protein, things that will help Liz with the baby, and help Einarwell, help the poor guy stay alive until he can get his foot healed up and start hunting and trapping again. And she headed down the stairs with the breakfast, but not before taking a sheet of notepaper from a pad near the telephone and hastily filling both sides of it with a small, neat print, leaving it unsigned and folding it in half, then in half again. Einar was already awake when she tapped on the door but Liz still slept, and Susan quietly got him set up with his breakfast of eggs and cheese, leaving Lizs plate for her to eat whenever she woke. Im headed up to get the things we talked about. You make sure she eats when she wakes up, alright? Einar nodded, thanked her, wondered about the piece of paper that she had slipped into Lizs pocket when she had thought he wasnt looking, but decided to respect her apparent wish not to have the matter brought up, just then. Susan had not been gone fifteen minutes when Einar heard, muffled but unmistakable, the soft buzzing tone from up in the garage which indicated that a vehicle was headed up the driveway--great, looks like they were just waiting until the reinforcements left--and Liz woke with a start as he scrambled to his feet. He told her, briefly, about Susan having

just left, and Liz wanted to run up to the garage and have a look down the mountain, knowing Susan was several minutes away by that time, up in the Quonset hut, but she still couldnt get her eyes open, even when she tore away the washcloth and tried. Einar, you have to go look! Theres a little window in the garage, on the wall right above where Susan parks her truck. Binoculars in the windowsill. You can see down the driveway from there. I guess its too dark to see much, but Einar was already gone, limping up the stairs with as much speed as he could muster and squinting into the darkness of the garage, scanning the walls for a smear of less black darkness and finding it, reaching it quickly and crouching on a table that sat beneath it-good, this garage is mostly underground, looks like the windows at ground level, real thick cement walls, should be pretty well hidden from IR in here, if anybodys looking-and finding the binoculars, resting his elbows in the sill of the short, squatty window and peering down the hill. Headlights. One, twoit looked like four sets of them, close together, the vehicles taking the hill at what appeared to be a somewhat unreasonable speed for all of its steepness and switchbacks, and hed seen all he needed to see, wanted to head up to the Quonset hut at full speed, outfit himself and scurry up the ridge that paralleled the driveway to engage them as they neared the house, make they sorry theyd ever ventured out of their safe little compound that morning, but knew that his first duty at the moment was to Liz and the child, and to Susan, who had welcomed them into her home and who so far as he knew was not yet suspecting of having harbored him. He shook his head--later--swallowed once more the fury that had been building in him, the readiness for battle, and rushed back down the stairs to Liz. Theyre coming real fast up that hill. We need to get out to the back of the house somehow, the side that faces down the mountain. Theres a little gully there that I was looking at on the map, and I think if we can get down in it , itll shield us from where theyre most likely to have cameras. You know this place. Is there any access to the back of the house from up there in the garage? Anything we can get to without having to go in the house and maybe getting seen through the walls? Liz thought for a second. Yes. Sort of. Theres an openingnot very big, kind of like a dog door with a sliding wooden cover, that goes out to the woodshed. They use it to pass firewood in through, to cut down on heat loss from opening the door every time they come in with a load of wood. Ive never tried to crawl through it, butI think it might be big enough. The woodshed is right near the edge of that gully, if Im picturing right which one youre talking about. Good. Thats good. Got to move quick here. Eat your breakfast, or as much of it as you can in the next few seconds He grabbed two of the jars of Nutella from their cardboard flat on the top shelf, a candle and a book of matches from the shelf near the door--put there by Susan so the place could be quickly and easily lighted in the event of a power outage--and stuffed them, along with his chosen packet of maps, into the cooking pot. Wrapping the pot in one of the burlap

sacks he had been using for a mattress, then, to keep it from clanking loudly against rocks as they made their escape, he stuffed it into another bag for transport, rolling up the remainder of the sacks and shoving them beneath the shelf where they would be hidden from view. Glancing quickly around the cellar in search of a sheet of plastic, a garbage bag, anything that might later prove useful as a ground cloth or poncho he saw nothing, took the remaining maps and quickly shoved them beneath the flat of Nutella for concealment, hid their empty breakfast dishes--Liz had managed to finish her helping of eggs, the chance to eat and the knowledge of what it was to be without more powerful for her even than her consternation over who might be coming up that driveway--and led Liz up the stairs. There in the garage he felt along the wall, looking for the opening she had described, found it, but she held back when he tried to lead her over to it. I have a pack in the house, things we needmaybe I have time to run in there and get it? I know I cant see, but I can feel my way around, and Where is it? Upstairs in my room, top shelf in the closet. Upstairs? No. No time. Id much sooner run into a burning house, climb out on the roof and sit down to a picnic lunch. Not worth it, and he had found the little door, square, some two feet off the ground, was exploring it, probably wouldnt fit through this opening, anyway, unless its an awful narrow pack. Ive got a few things in this sack here, more in my pockets, well be alright. As he spoke, Einar had been feeling for the slide latch that held the door closed, found it and got the thing open, quickly measuring the vacant space with his hand. Pretty small. Gonna be like a caving problem, but without the traction. He tried it, one arm out in front and the other plastered down against his body to narrow the profile of his shoulders and allow him passage, and it hurt, his shoulder still not fully healed, it seemed, from its old injury but he made it, head, shoulders--overestimated the amount of weight Id gained here in the last couple days I guess, because this is a lot easier than it ought to be. As he squirmed out through the tiny opening, he felt a momentary stab of regret for the things they were leaving behind, as Susan had promised him not only goggles to better protect Lizs eyes, but two dozen good strong cable snares that would have made food acquisition a good bit easier, a rifle and--hed been a bit surprised to learn that Bill had access to such things, but not terribly so--explosives and caps that would have gone beyond replacing what he had lost when Bob inadvertently forgot to send his pack along with him, giving him the opportunity to dramatically slow a pursuit, should it come too close to them at some point. There was no time, though, no time to worry over anything but the matter at hand, and he squirmed himself the rest of the way through the opening--good thing I didnt have another day or two to eat, before having to crawl through this thing. At the rate I was going, Id never have made it--dropping to the wood-chip littered ground beneath it and reaching up to help Liz through. She had an easier time of it than he--smaller build, no

trouble with her shoulders trying to get stuck, though she probably still weighed a bit more than he did, at the moment--and he whispered to her to keep still there against the wall of the house while he took a look outside. It was windy, long, restless gusts tearing up the mountainside to send skiffs of hard, icy snow hammering into his face when he peered carefully from beneath the shelter of the woodshed, and Einar smiled a cold, humorless smile, some hope, thenand we better get moving, because those lights are looking awful close now, what I can see of them through the storm The slope below the woodshed was rocky, timbered, and Einar quickly led Liz down into the small draw at whose mouth the building stood, praying that it would be enough to conceal their movements from whatever cameras might be trained on the house. The place was rocky, narrow, looking--what he could see of it in the dim storm-glow that reflected off the low cloud deck--much as he had pictured when studying the maps, and he believed that it ought to offer adequate concealment, especially considering the fact that there were no obvious entry points on that side of the house that would warrant close observation. Focusing on keeping to the rockier areas and helping Liz to do the same, Einar hurried the two of them down the gully and around to where it joined a large one that took off up the hill, towards the place where, a good distance above the house, the first entrance to the larger of the three mine complexes on and above the property awaited their arrival. The snow was coming harder, blowing in their faces even there beneath the spruces that lined the narrow gully and beginning to stick as the temperature dropped, and Einar was hopeful that it might soon cover the minimal sign that he was sure they must be leaving there on the dark, rocky floor of the gully. Up through the sheltering spruces they climbed, eventually leaving the gully to make their way hastily up and over a low ridge that ran nearly straight up the mountainside. They paused there near the top of the ridge, Einar lagging and seriously out of breath, feeling his bad foot in a way that was increasingly difficult to keep in the background, and as they crouched there beside an escarpment of quartz-seamed granite for a rest, he stared down at the house-clearing, which was dimly visible in the morning twilight. The newly-arrived vehicles were arrayed outside the house and shop, a number of people milling around out there, and he squinted through the dimness in an attempt to get a better idea of what was happening. Liz was there beside him, had ahold of his sleeve. Susan? What are they doing to Susan? Cant tell. Too dark. Here. She felt around in her pocket, pulling out the pair of compact binoculars that Susan had kept in the garage windowsill for observing the driveway, and which Liz had grabbed on the way out, pressing them into Einars hand. Look, and tell me. Einar took a few seconds to find the group of people down below once more, could clearly identify Susan among them, and two or three other people, besides, who clearly werent agents. Nobody was lying on the ground with their hands on their heads and rifles pressed into their backs, so he supposed things must be going fairly smoothly for

the moment, whatever might be the nature of the feds visit, and he told Liz so. Liz, feeling some responsibility for bringing the trouble to Susan, did not want to abandon her, wanted to stay close in case there was anything they--meaning Einar, as she was without the benefit of sight, for the moment--might need to do to try and help her, but Einar assured her that things would go much worse for Susan--not to mention themselves--if any trace of his presence was found around the property. The best thing they could do for her was to get themselves far, far from that place, and in a hurry, too. Hopefully, then, when the agents demanded Susan produce Liz and she could not--delay them, please delay them if you can, delay their finding out about her absence--they would assume he had been watching from somewhere outside and had swooped in at the first opportunity when Susan left the house, to seize her. Or that Liz had left on her own and on foot, seeking to find him. In either case, the inevitable outcome would be a scouring of the house and the grounds, a process for which they would likely not wait on a warrant, unless a good number of Susans friends and group members showed up in a hurry and forcefully demanded it. Time to move, Liz. You doing alright? Yes. Yes, lets go. Up the ridge, then, Einar keeping them on its backside where the house was not visible nor they, more importantly, visible to anyone down there in the clearing or on the ridge opposite, which was far closer to the house than the one they were climbing and, Einar expected, the far more likely spot for a surveillance team to have placed themselves, if such was in use. He led them up to a point that he estimated to be somewhere within forty or fifty yards of the main entrance to the mine whose maze of tunnels, mapped by Bill and fixed firmly in his head by many hours of study, he hoped would allow them safe passage to the top of the cliffy area that stood above the house and workshop. It was either that, climb the cliff or make a very long and time-consuming detour around the steep, rocky area, traveling well over a quarter mile to the south before they could be sure of being able to find a way up through it, a course which, to Einar, brought with it far too much risk of being trapped between the road and cliffs with no way out, should an air search go active. Not that it could, in this storm, but who knows how long that can be expected to last? A detour through the mines seemed to offer the best chance of getting themselves undetected out of the area and would also shield them for a time from the ongoing fury of the storm, not that conditions inside the mine would necessarily be significantly better He shook his head, guided Liz over beneath the shelter of a big spruce. You stay right here, Ok? Dont leave this tree, and Ill be right back. Got to go take a look at the area around this mine entrance, make sure everythings alright, and then well head in. Get out of this wind. Frightened at the prospect of what she would do if he was delayed in returning or, for some unforeseen reason, did not make it back, but not wanting him to see it, she grabbed his hand and gave it a confident squeeze. Ill wait for you.

While the main entrance of the mine would, if he had understood the maps and Bills notes correctly, provide the quickest and easiest access to the tunnel system, the thought had also occurred to him that mine patents, maps and other documents were a matter of public record, easily accessible to anyone with a few hours to spend at the county courthouse, and with the level of surveillance that seemed to have been concentrated on the house and grounds--they were expecting it to function as a trap, after all, to end the search once and for all with his capture or death when he came in after Liz--it seemed reasonable to him to expect that the main entrance to the mine might be monitoredor worse. A suspicion which turned out to have been well founded, as, creeping on his belly through the trees at the edge of what appeared to be a small clearing immediately below the short tailings pile that led up to the tunnel mouth, he heard the sound of hushed voices, stopped and pressed himself into the snow-damp spruce duff, straining his ears to pick up on their words. Which he could not, in the wind, but could tell, after a minute or so of listening, that the voices were coming from the tunnel entrance itself, or from the top of the tailings pile, which was essentially the same place, and he knew that they must turn back and get as quietly and carefully as possible out of the area. So. Theyre watching it. Why would they devote this kind of attention to a mine way up here on the hillside? They dont know my plans, couldnt know my plansthat would have required a camera down there in the basement, watching as I sorted through maps and zooming in as I traced out my planned routeand theres no way they would have waited to take me until I was actually out here. Not their way. Would have raided the house, kept things under better control. Then, it occurred to him. Its a listening post. A place where they can hunker down and keep an eye on the cameras, the bugs, be close enough to easily pick up the signals and run down there in the night to repair and replace things, without risking detection. Watch, listen, have a few bodies nearby in case quick action becomes necessarywe are clearly not using this entrance! Sure cant go back down, thoughlooks like were headed around the side of the mountain a ways, to that side entrance. Wanted to avoid that if possible, Bill talked about a good bit of rock fall in there, some water back when he was exploring it, but looking like our only good choice, at this point. And he returned to Liz, easing silently back through the damp, wind-tossed forest and explaining in hushed tones what he had seen, where they needed to go next. They reached it, finally, the tailings pile beneath the mouth of the side tunnel, far less noticeable than that belonging to the first, and once more he left Liz hidden beneath a tree and scouted it, circling below it and climbing around above, keeping to the trees and listening, testing the air, finding the place to be devoid of other human presence, the ground clear of recent sign. The side tunnel had not been tampered with, as far as he could tell. Making his way over to the opening, low and squat and looking partially collapsed, surrounded with gooseberry and other shrubs but still appearing large enough to allow human passage, he inched his head into the blackness, listening. Silence. Good, comforting silence, broken only by the slow drip of water. Were doing it. But not before taking off a layer or two of clothing to preserve it from the inevitable dampness of the tunnel, for later use. Returning to Liz and giving her the good news he slipped off his outer layer of pants--the waterproof hunting pants Susan had given him--stuffing them

with his sweater and the thin inner layer of fleece that he was wearing, and encouraging Liz to do similar. Rolling and tying their clothes up in the pants and securing the-hopefully--water-resistant package in the burlap sack with their other gear, he led Liz to the entrance, creeping inside and waiting for her to join him there in the gloomy dimness just inside the tunnel mouth. Taking her hand, he wrapped and tied a length of paracord around it, tying the other end to his belt and telling her to keep close behind him, and he started forward, knife in one hand, carefully exploring the path ahead for obstacles, dangers, feeling, probing, inching ahead into the damp, inky blackness The tunnel, as they slowly ventured in beyond the first few yards, quickly dipped down and grew progressively wetter, very soon going beyond the initial chilly dampness to be swamped in places with mostly-frozen water--sure hope this thing doesnt require us to duck down underwater at some point, but its looking like a real strong possibility--and though the temperature went up a bit as they got deeper in and they were, after a while, no longer breaking ice with their knees as they crawled, the water was still very cold, and at times came up to their stomachs and beyond as they inched along through the darkness. Liz, who had worried at first about the possibility of losing her grip on the length of paracord that was tied to Einars belt and losing track of him, even if only momentarily, soon realized that she need have no such concern, as she could easily follow him by the sound of his shivering breaths and the occasional clicking of his teeth as he briefly lost the ability to keep his jaw clamped tightly enough to prevent their rattling. While reassuring to Liz, the inability to keep totally silent was aggravating Einar greatly, as he was used to relying on sound only slightly less than touch to find his way and search for potential dangers down in dark, close places like that, and he struggled to keep himself quiet. Einar had bound the burlap sack holding their dry clothes to his back with part of the length of paracord Susan had given him, doggedly keeping himself from slipping and submerging it, in the knowledge that they must have those dry clothes to put on when the ordeal was finished. Fire--unless in the form of the brief and very judicious use of the candle--was not going to be an option for them for a good while, and he knew that they must, as soon as possible, head back out into the storm and use its cover to get themselves far from Susans property, and from any search that might take place. Got to have dry clothes to change into when we do that, or werewell, were in an awful lot of trouble. Probably are anyway, as slowly as weve got to move through here, way too slow to start warming up much, even if we do get out of the water at some point The thought had occurred to Einar, crawling along through the icy blackness and dreading the idea of taking Liz out into the storm, blinded and badly chilled from what was promising to be a rather long and slow crawl through the mine, that perhaps they would be better off finding a wide spot in one of the tunnels, a place with a bit of ventilation but far enough from the surface to prevent a heat signature from showing on the surface, and hunkering down there for a few days. They could get into their dry clothes and warm the place with the candle, eating Nutella and letting the mountain shelter them as whatever activity might be stirred up outside raged above them and spent itself, and Lizs eyes healed. Tempting as it was, he shook his head, continued feeling his way along with numbed hands deeper into the mountain. Cant do that. Would work fine if they dont decide to do a thorough search, if they assume Liz walked off the property

and headed down to the road to be picked up by somebody, but theres always a chance that I wasnt careful enough around the house, that they may find a print or two if they search it, and in that case theyll assume I took her, start going over this place with a fine-toothed comb, and may decide to do their best to cordon off the property, or even a wider area. Could make it real difficult for us to escape if they do that, once we decide to leave here and head up the mountain. No. We got to assume the worst, use the storm to our advantage and get out of here just as quickly as we can. Hopefully the storm will keep them off our immediate trail, and the tunnels cover us as we put some distance between ourselves and the house. After a time the water became shallower and, as they climbed a bit over broken rock, every inch of it explored thoroughly by Einar before he would allow them to proceed, disappeared altogether, though the walls and floor remained damp, and when he was sure that they had left the largely submerged portion of the tunnel behind for good, Einar allowed Liz to catch up, pulled her up beside him and they huddled there shivering together for a brief minute, each trying somewhat in vain to wring the icy water out of the others clothing and restore some feeling to badly numbed hands and legs. At least, Einar mused silently, it isnt windy in here. Wind would be killing us right now. Despite the obvious discomforts and, he had to admit, an uncertain knowledge about the condition of the passages by which he intended to bring them back to the surface, Einar was very much at home there inside the mountain, freeing himself from Lizs grasp and continuing to feel his way forward after a brief rest. Not that the place was without its dangers; he knew better, the knowledge reinforced by his discovery of the men near the main entrance, and he knew there was at least some possibility of meeting one or more of them there in the tunnels, but the thought did not overly disturb him; this was his territory, not theirs. He was the hunter. Though--the thought accompanied by a humorless grin that Liz was better off not having seen--you would do well to remember that the slimy critters almost certainly have NV goggles this time, meaning that you dont necessarily have the advantage, even with your light out andha! What light? You dont have a light, remember? Even with that taken into account, he still had confidence in his ability to be aware of the enemy before they managed to detect his presence, wished only that he was alone there to do what needed to be done, rather than having to worry about Lizs safety, as well. But that would kinda be beside the point, right now. Idea here is to get her out of here and to safety, not to engage these snakes. No hunting, not todaynot unless they leave you no choice. Now, need to find that ventilation shaft, see if we can hopefully climb up out of it and be on our way. Some time later, Einar still guiding them forward at the same careful, probing pace he had maintained the entire time, feeling for changes in the terrain, for anything that might be out of place, blocking their path, stopped dead in his tracks. Something was not quite right, his scalp crawling and prickling even before his fingers met the crumbled, fractured rock where the tunnel floor dropped away sheer and broken, a vague sense of the open space ahead increasing his caution, and when he lay flat on his stomach and felt down into dropoff to get some sense of its depth, leaned forward and peered down, he could see a bit of faint light down there at the bottom. Stope hole, then. Place where they drilled

from one tunnel up to the other, to connect them. The glow, heavily filtered daylight, it looked like, was just enough to allow him to make out the jagged texture of the rock where a piece of it had at some point calved away from the side of the stope and fallen to shatter on the floor below. He realized, then, that the small side tunnel they entered through must have angled sharply enough to the side that it intersected the main one near its entrance, thus the faint glow of reflected daylight from beneath. Being so close to the main entrance Einar knew that they must be extremely careful not to knock any rock down as they passed, lest the men who he had heard up in the tunnel mouth discover their presence; a challenge, as it seemed that with the previous falling of the large rock chunk from the side of the stope, there was little room left to edge around the hole, the merest rim of rock to be navigated in the near-darkness and with one party entirely unable to see. He was not even entirely certain that the tunnel continued on the far side of the stope, but, averting his eyes to get a better look at it in the dimness, it did appear to him that there was an opening over on the other side, a cavity, rather than the solid blackness of a rock wall. And, the map had shown the tunnel continuing. Of that he was sure. He sighed, shook his head, led Liz over to the edge of the yawning gap. Sure could use Your help here, because if we knock any rocks down, theyre bound to hear us out there at the entrance, let alone if one of us loses out footing Liz, he spoke quietly, his voice barely audible, we got a little obstacle here that we have to go around, and the usable bit of rock is pretty narrow. About the width of your boot, Ok? So youre gonna be facing the wall here and kinda shuffling along it, feeling your way with your toes. Ill have your hand, unless you want them both to be in contact with the wall. Do not step back, try real hard not to knock anything loose, and keep your toes against the wall, at least one hand on the wall to help with balance. Got it? Yes. Yes, let me have your handplease. She wanted to ask him what was back there, what she was avoiding by not stepping back--had been a bit alarmed when Einar insisted on untying the paracord loop from her wrist and tucking the string into his pocket--but at the same time was not entirely sure she wanted to know, at least not until she was on the other side ofwhatever it was. They started across, then, the rim being a bit easier to navigate than Einar had imagined--though he paused somewhere near halfway across, sure he had heard a faint scuffle and scrape from down below, but seeing nothing in the gloom when he glanced over his shoulder--and before half a minute had passed, they had inched their way around the vertical drop and were crouching once more in the tunnel, which did, much to Einars relief, continue on at a slight upward angle. He led Liz back in a bit further from the hole, stopped, knowing that he must go back and try to determine the source of the sounds he had been hearing. Liz felt him crawling away, reached out and grabbed him. Was that it? What was it? What did we just do? Stope hole. Fifteen, twenty foot drop to the other tunnel down below. Side had crumbled some, we just edged our way around the drop, heels hanging out into space. You did great. Now I got to go back there for just a minute and check on something, you stay right here and dont make any noise, alright? He felt her nod, crept back to the

opening to listen for any sounds of pursuit, any sign that there might be another human down there in the half-light that filtered in through what he assumed must be the main opening, and he crouched there in the darkness, hearing and even smell taking over where sight was failing him, but there was nothing, not a scuffle or a scrape, the only scent-besides the damp rock--the faint, lingering pungency of a packrat nest that they had passed somewhere a good distance back, and he was about to return to Liz when he heard the radio crackle to life. Freezing there at the edge of the dropoff, Einar listened to what amounted to no more than six or seven seconds of harsh, static-laden speech--words mostly indecipherable, though he did hear something about more teams on the way, and mention of waiting for a warrant, which surprised him some; guess Susans friends must have shown up, maybe even somebody from the Sheriffs, if theyre having to follow procedures like that-followed by muted cursing from a man who was apparently standing directly below him as he fumbled with the radio, got it turned down and reconnected an ear bud wire that had been unwittingly torn loose as he navigated about the dim closeness of the tunnel. Watching out of the corner of his eye Einar could just make out the mans form down below, and knew that he would be even more clearly highlighted where he crouched, unable to move lest he risk knocking down rock, should the night vision-equipped agent happen to look up. His first impulse was to drop on the man, imagined what would happen if he looked up, the entire fully-formed scenario flashing through his mind in an instant The agent had seen him, was looking up at him and had no choice, had to stop him before he could alert the others, for surely there were others, the man hesitated briefly at the sight of the figure above him--they always hesitate, it seems like, wonder why they do that?--but Einar did not hesitate, had seen what happened to people who hesitated, was already airborne, falling to land hard on the man and drive his knife into the back of his spine just below the neck, instantly incapacitating him. He had fallen hard and not particularly well, despite hitting his target, hauled himself painfully back to his feet and held his breath as he listened, heard noises in the tunnel ahead of him, over where the light was stronger, faint scufflings and what sounded very much like footsteps, and Einar knew he did not have much time to conceal the body, lest they find it, realize he was there and soon trap he and Liz there in the mine. Rocks. Perhaps he could cover it with rocks, but he would have to work quickly and awfully quietly, too, and he dragged the body quickly to the side of the tunnel, searching with his hands for loose rock with which to cover it, but found that there was simply not enough. In the tunnel the noises were growing nearer, no time! and he quickly felt for the dead mans NV goggles but found them gone, must have come off with the force of the impact as he had been slammed into the rock but Einar found his pistol and tucked it into his belt, grabbed the two spare mags that he could quickly locate and jammed them into his pocket, went on dragging the body down the narrowing side tunnel that cut off from the main one and stretched on beneath the shaft hed dropped down. Suddenly he stopped, the hair standing up on the back of his neck--danger, danger ahead--and he felt forward with his foot, finding, not two feet ahead of himspace. Emptiness. The footsteps were

nearing, shuffling loudly down the tunnel as if belonging to someone who was quite unfamiliar with that world and who also had no reason to suspect that there was anything amiss ahead of him that might require stealth on his part, and Einar rolled the body once, gritting his teeth as it knocked a bit of rock down with it, falling, falling into the blackness. Not much time, and he hurriedly felt his way back to the shaft, keeping himself pressed against the wall for concealment and checking to see that the approaching agent wasnt yet within sight, which he wasnt. With a speed that belied the terrible ache in his previously-broken leg where he had put too much strain on it in landing, he hoisted himself back up into the stope and started climbing, chimneying, ignoring the screaming protests of his damaged foot, knowing that he must be up and out of the shaft before those other agent reached it and glanced up. Einar shook his head, inched painstakingly back away from the shaft; the agent was moving on, never had looked up, and, much as he might have been inclined to drop on the man anyway if only to further reduce the number of resources available to the enemy in carrying on the search, he was glad to be spared the necessity of doing it. Discovery, at that point, even if it had come in the form of the agents body--or bodies, if he had really done a thorough job of it--being found in tunnel an hour later when someone came up to see why radio contact had been broken, would likely have proven disastrous to them, perhaps even giving their pursuers time to set up an ambush at the top of the ventilation shaft or, worse, trap them in the tunnels and pump in gas or smoke orOk, Einar. Enough. Get moving. They were alone, at least for the moment, and he picked his way carefully back to where he had left Liz. She was scared, didnt like being there in the dark with no idea where she was and the knowledge that she wouldnt have been able to see, even if she had possessed a light; he could tell, even though she was trying her best not to let on, and after explaining the situation with the agents and the need to make their way on up the tunnel away from the stope, he tried to reassure her by explaining that he couldnt see anything, either, was going by feel, that she was at no disadvantage over him, in that regard. Which bit of information somehow entirely failed to reassure Liz, who had very little experience underground, but she knew that Einar did have the experience, seemed strangely at home there in the darkness, and she followed him, trying her best to be brave and to count on him to lead them out of the maze. Which he was working on, progress as slow as ever but having taken on a new urgency with the need to put some distance between themselves and those agents at the other tunnel mouth. The further up they went the smaller the tunnel grew, ceiling low enough to require them to abandon hands and knees at times and wriggle forwards on their stomachs as they made their way up and over piles of breakdown rock that seemed to have come from the ceiling sometime in the--hopefully distant--past. Bills notes had made some mention of this, so it was no surprise to Einar, though he was certain that a good bit of rock had fallen in the twenty years since Bill had written those descriptions. More than making up for the increased difficulty of travel was the fact that the tunnel they traveled through was finally dry for the first time that day, a huge relief, though doing little to keep them from continuing to lose dangerous amounts of body heat to the cold rock that pressed in all around them and of necessity remained constantly in contact with at least some portion of their drenched

clothing, at all times. It seemed hours that they were creeping along there in the belly of the mountain, worming their way in deeper and deeper, Einar praying that he might be remembering Bills sketches correctly, that the shaft he had described might still be open so he could lead them out of there and Liz following him, wholly confident that he would be able to do so but still feeling a bit trapped, walls she couldnt see closing in around her, crushing and burying her alive, and despite her attempts at courage she was feeling more and more that she might be on the verge of screaming and bolting frantically for the surface wherever that might be. She had no idea, and no way, so far as she could tell, to find out. Which was exactly why she couldnt do it, that, and the fact that any such action would surely disappoint Einar tremendously and endanger his life as well as her own, so she just kept on following him, paracord looped around her hand, connecting her very tangibly to him and her ears sharp for the sounds of his breathing. There it was. The shaft. Well, he hoped it was the shaft, but it was definitely light, daylight filtering down from somewhere far above, and Einar headed in its direction, feeling his way over to the wall just beneath it--the tunnel seemed to have opened up into a chamber of sorts, wider if not much higher than the tunnel itself had been--and trying to get a better look. Yes! Do believe weve found it, and its still open, may still be a way out for us And he wanted to set off right then to scout it, make a test climb, but figured he ought to try and improve things some for Liz, before leaving her for such an extended period of time. She had been getting awfully cold and clumsy for the last while, a situation spelled out undeniably for him in the noticeable increase in her slipping and stumbling as they navigated the rock-strewn tunnel floor, and he knew he was doing the same, was, when he stopped long enough to let himself realize it, terribly exhausted and dangerously chilled, himself. Slipping out of the hastily improvised paracord arm-loops which had helped hold the burlap sack onto his back and untying with his teeth the loop that hed run tightly around his chest for additional security, he fished the candle and cooking pot from their burlap carrier and set the candle on the rocky ground, down in the pot to help prevent it tipping over. Struggling to breathe some feeling back into his own numbed, shaking hands, he felt for the match book, finally succeeded in isolating and striking one of the little paper matches, lighting the candle and illuminating the place a bit. Liz was crouched against the wall right where he had left her, chin on her knees and one hand pressed a bit desperately against the rock as if she feared that to lose contact with it might mean being lost irretrievably in the blackness, rocking back and forth to keep herself warm or keep herself company or, he guessed, perhaps to keep from going entirely crazy there in the darkness. It was something he might have done, himself, had he found the circumstances sufficiently disturbing. Which he didnt, at the moment, being far more at home beneath the ground than he ever would have been in a city, for example, but that was beside the point. Liz was drenched, shivering, and looked pretty terrified, despite the uncomplaining determination with which she had continued moving, kept up with him, face hollow and smeared in places with mud, but he supposed his own face probably wouldnt look too much different, had he possessed the ability to see it. He

reached out and put a hand on her arm, squeezing it when she jumped. HereLiz, hold out your hands. I lit the candle. Come get warm for a minute. Were almost there, gonna start climbing real soon, but we need to try andget a little warmer, first. He led her over to the candle, held her hands over its warmth so she would know where it was and dug back into the pack for a jar of Nutella, thinking that some nourishment would do them both a lot of good. Climbing? You can.actually see light, then? I can see light. Oh, good, goodthats so good! Yep, pretty good. Now Iknow were both real cold right now, but better wait to get into our dry clothes until were out, because it looks and sounds like theres a good bit of water dripping in that shaft and we cant risk getting our change of clothes wet, but we can at least warm up a little, first. And eat. He took a scoop from the Nutella jar before pressing it into her hands, shuddering at the almost unbelievable richness of the stuff, the instant burst of energy it gave him. Just enough to allow him to stand, pressing with outstretched hands on the rocky walls in the shaft, and, hopefully, enough to make that climb, if he really pushed himself. Im gonna go take a quick look at the shaft, here. You stay near the candle so you dont accidentally get in under where rocks might land if I knock any loose, eat, see if you can get a little warmer, and Ill be right back. Einaryou be careful up there. He climbed, then, wanting to make a test ascent of the shaft just to be certain it was possible, and would be possible for someone without the benefit of sight, working his way up through its near-vertical narrowness by alternately pressing elbows, knees, back, rear end and even forehead against the rock, limbs trembling with the strain of it and legs seeming constantly on the verge of cramping, but he was making it, making progress, and could feel, between the drips of icy water that seemed to be increasingly raining down on him as he neared the opening at the top, a sigh of air making its way down the passage, sweet with the taste of snow-wet spruces, wholesome, wonderful after the dankness of the tunnels, and he breathed it in eagerly, continued upwards. Though he really had thought himself to be doing pretty well, it appeared that he must be getting awfully tired all of a sudden, because he noticed that his entire body seemed to have been seized with a fine tremor in addition to his shivering and the unfortunate gyrations of his wearying legs, and he found it somehow rather disconcerting, went a bit higher and realized that it wasnt just him that was shaking, it was the ground itself, the rock, the vibrations faint but unmistakable, familiar and most unwelcome. Less than a yard beneath the spot where the ventilation shaft broke out of the mountain into the cloud-filtered daylight under a big spruce, Einar hung with his knees against one side of the narrow shaft and back pressed into the jagged rock of the other as little

rivulets of icy water found their way in through the layers of moss and duff and sticks at the edge of the opening and dripped steadily on him, but he barely noticed them. His entire focus--what he could spare after the effort required to keep him from coming lose and tumbling limply to the bottom of the shaft--was on the tremor he felt in the rock, its source just beyond the edge of audibility to him up there outside the confines of the mountain, but unmistakable nonetheless. The chopper was near, had to be, as clearly as he was feeling and even beginning to hear it, and he supposed they must have discovered that Liz was absent from the house, must be looking for her, wondered if they might also have found something there to tell them that he had been on the premises. Hed been careful in and around the house, in the greenhouse, but if they had made a thorough search, there was bound to have been a print he had overlooked, a hair, somethingthat, or they might have happened upon his trail from the woodshed to the gully, particularly if the snow had not continued falling heavily enough to entirely conceal it. Sure must not be falling too heavily right now, if they were able to get that thing into the air. Either way, he edged his way carefully down a few feet farther from the opening, the rumbling by then clearly audible, sounding close, Im sure not sticking my head out there right now, and had better get back down here a ways where my body heat has more time to dissipate before reaching the surface. Which, he told himself, really ought not be much of a problem, as it seemed to be dissipating awfully quickly as it was, carried away by the constant splash and trickle of melting snow from the surface and drawn out of him through his inevitable and rather significant contact with the damp, cold rock of the shaft, and he knew he must not linger there much longer, lest he lose what little strength and coordination remained available to him, and fall out. Sure dont want Liz having to scrape me up and try to patch me together so I can attempt this climb with a broken ankle, or something, and her unable to seenot at all what we need right now! Down he went, stopping more frequently than he would have liked to rest while keenly aware that the longer he spent up there, the greater became the likelihood that his legs would give out and lead to a nasty fall, finally reaching the bottom and allowing himself to drop the last few feet to the tunnel floor beneath. Rolling over to get himself out of the direct path of the falling water, he lay face down in the icy mud for a minute, exhausted, before picking himself up and crawling over to Liz. She was looking a good bit better, still cold and shaking but without the bleak look of terror and near despair that he had previously seen on her face, and it appeared that she had been eating, and benefiting from the meager warmth provided by the single candle. Good. Found the top, Lizzie, and it wont be any problem getting out. Just a few feet of chimneying, youll be able to manage it fine. Chopper came, though, while I was up there. You can still hear it if you listen real hardwas pretty low over the mountain. Guess the storm must have eased someanyhow, looks like were gonna be down here for a little bit more. Thinking we got towait untilwell, Im hoping the snowll start up real good again so we can be pretty sure nothings gonna be airborne, and then we can climb out and be on our way. Carefully avoiding knocking over the candle, Liz reached for him, alarmed at something

she heard in his voice, a grave, strained quality that told her he was nearing the end of his rope, though trying very hard to keep the fact from her and perhaps even from himself, and she found him, felt the mud on his face and began wiping it off with her hat, pulled him closer to her and pressed the jar of Nutella into his hands. Youre cold. Come and eat. It must be pretty wet in there. I can hear the water dripping Yeah. Watersseeping down from the surface and finding its way into the shaft, coming in through the opening, too, really starting to build up here down below and turn everything to mud, but here where were sitting is a little higher, so I really dont think the waters going to reach us, not in the amount of time well be here. Climbing up thereskinda like taking a shower in freshly melted snow, but at least the walls arent icy. Would make for a pretty challenging climb. Well be fine. Just have to stop up top once we get there, and change clothes. Pretty warm out there, above freezing Id say, so well do Ok once we get dry and get moving. The chopperdo you think theyre on our trail? Hope not. Really doubt it. Hard as it was snowing when we climbed up here, I dont think theyd have been able to see much. Unless, he added silently, not wanting to unduly alarm Liz, unless they saw something in the house to make them real suspicious, and brought in dogs. If the snow stopped real soon after we entered the tunnel and the wind ended then, too, theres at least some chance we left a trail that dogs could follow, whether they were using my scent or hers. Small chance, but still a chance. If they did that, were gonna have folks behind us in this tunnel real soon, up at the top too, more likely than not, at least if they have copies of these old maps. Which they probably dont, because the only one that showed this ventilation shaft was Bills hand drawn sheet, and Ive got that right here in my pack. None of the county maps or the plat showed it, at all. Looks like our best bet is to get up out of this thing just as soon as the sky gets quiet again, make sure they dont have the opportunity to trap us down here. That could get real nasty in a hurry, specially if they found out about this shaft and cut off our air supply. But we cant go just yet. Sounds like he stuck his head out into the space beneath the shaft, gritting his teeth against the icy rain that pelted him, listening, yep, sounds like the filthy buzzards circling around for another pass. Got to wait a while. And probably ought to be gathering up rocks to build a barricade in the tunnel behind us, while were waiting, retrace our steps a ways and leave them a few surprises that would really slow their search here in the darkbut I cant really do that, because not knowing the situation, whats to say that they wont find this shaft, come down here and take Liz while Im at it? Will have to take her along, if I decide to do it. And he returned to Liz, wringing half a cup of frigid water out of his hat and trying to get his weary brain to tell him whether theyd be better off staying in their wet clothes for the--hopefully--short time they would be waiting for the chopper to leave, or quickly changing and giving themselves a few minutes of relative warmth before slipping back into their wet, muddy garb and making that climb. Inspecting the floor in the candles glow, he saw that even in the relatively sheltered area where they sat, it was damp, muddy, would make it nearly

impossible to keep their second set of clothes from being dampened, if they wore them for the wait, and that was something that they simply couldnt afford at the moment. They would have to endure, wait, not going to be an easy thing, but better than the alternative. Chopper probably means theyve figured out youre not around anymore, Im guessing, but if that storm is worth anything, if its anything like what the weather report was saying we were to expect, itll ground the air search pretty soon. Till thenwell, we just got to do our best to keep warm. Which they did, huddling together as they tried to keep out of contact with the rock as much as possible--crouching, sitting on their heels seemed to work best in that regard, but Einar couldnt keep it up for long with his injured foot and cramping legs, and was soon reduced to sitting exhaustedly on the ground with his chest on his knees as Liz tried somewhat ineffectively to share her warmth with him--and taking occasional tastes of Nutella in the hopes of warding off the chill that was pressing in from all directions to claim them. For a time they were silent, listening to the dripping of the water and the muted echoes of the chopper that seemed to be circling somewhere up there far above, and finally Liz spoke up, concerned about Einars condition as he sat there silently shivering, but not wanting to come right out and ask him questions whose answers were already painfully obvious. So tell me. You said youve spent a lot of time undergroundhow did you get into caving, anyway? He stirred, shifted position on the chilly rocks, rested his head on his knees and wished she would leave him alone, allow him to conserve what strength he had left for the coming climb, rather than demanding that he speak. His persistent silence further confirming to Liz her concerns, she repeated the question, and Einar figured he had better say something. Ah. Well, IuhIm fairly tall I suppose, which is a bit of a disadvantage, but always beenpretty scrawny and flexible, liked creeping around in dark places ever since I was a kid and never did mind being by myself four hours, days, longerso you see it was just natural that Id get on alright underground which did not exactly answer her question, but she had not expected him to, had simply been trying to start a bit of conversation, get some idea of how he was doing and ease, if possible, the difficulty of waiting there in the darkness. It seemed a very long time that Einar and Liz were waiting there in the dimly candle-lit gloom of the tunnel for the rumblings to die down from up above and not return, long enough, in fact, that Einar was beginning to wonder if it had been discovered that they had entered the mine, the purpose of the circling chopper being to keep them underground or drive them back under if they had emerged, to hold them there until resources could be put in place to trap them and finish them off. The longer he sat there feeling those ominous vibrations in the rock the more convinced he became of the likelihood of such a strategy, until he had very nearly talked himself into going ahead with the climb and making a break for it, chopper or no chopper, before the trap could be completed. He knew what they could do if they decided their targets were in the mine, doubted theyd send people in there after him, they would know better than that, but if

they found the outlet of the ventilation shaft they could very quickly render the air down there unbreathable, leave them either to suffocate or be flushed out the other end into the waiting arms of an ambush that would have had plenty of time and resources to be set up properly. The prospect of a trap of some sort looming large in his mind, he put out the candle and crept once more to the spot just beneath the ventilation shaft, holding his breath and stilling his shivering for a few seconds at a time so he could listen, trying to hear through the seeping and dripping of the water for anything that might indicate a human presence up there at the top, but hearing nothing. Not that the absence of audible clues meant anything; theyd be using caution equal to the situation, would have to be, had they found something at the house that told them of his presence, and he scrubbed his hands across his face, shaking the water from his hair and again wringing it from his hat, the random thought occurring to him that he sure was glad it was wool, glad that his shirt, though sopping wet and hardly adequate for the near freezing temperatures there beneath the ventilation shaft, was of the same material. Not that its gonna matter too much what were wearing, when they start sending the gas down that shaft. Buzzards still up there, but Im thinking weve just got to go ahead and climb out, take our chances with it spotting usat least out there well have a chance, wont be trapped and at their mercy. He shook his head, pressed it against the cold, jagged rock of the wall. The way was not looking as clear to him as he would have liked, and he knew he was getting cold, enough so that it was probably beginning to affect his judgment, and that on top of the lingering affects of the blow to his head. I just dont knowthink I may be about to make a big mistake here by sending us out too soon, but its looking better than staying down in this trap until they come and take usplease. Kinda lost, here, and I sure cant afford to be lost right now. Which was when it occurred to him that he probably ought to be discussing the entire matter with Liz, not trying so hard to spare her from consideration of the possibilities, especially as she would be living with them, whatever ended up happening. Wringing his hat a final time and snugging it back down on his head--damp, but better than nothing--he crawled back over to her. Im thinking maybe we better not wait for the chopper to leave, Liz. Better go ahead and climb out of here and take our chances. Seems theres a real good possibility theyre onto us, may have tracked us to the tunnel and be setting up an ambush in there, just circling around to keep us down in here while they search for the ventilation shaft so they can trap us Tracked us? Do you really think they could have, the way it was snowing? I couldnt see it of course, but sure could feel it blowing in my face after we left the house. Is there much chance that they could have thoroughly searched the house already, decided Im not there, and gone over the yard in enough detail to find and follow whatever trail we left in that storm? Maybe the helicopters just circling the property to help with their general searchand how would they know about the ventilation shaft? I thought you told me it was only shown on Bills hand-drawn maps Yes. As far as I know. But what if Susan has an extra copy, and they found it, or if there

are other people around town who know, some member of his old group, maybe, who flipped and told them things, might even be here working with themmeeting them in the tunnels is one thing, Ill do that all day long if I have to, but Im sure not gonna sit here and wait for them to gas us like...like they probably would. Now you ready to climb? Im ready, but Einar She reached for him, grabbed him, didnt need to be able to see to know that he was barely managing to keep himself from toppling over, sat there and tried to get him to lean back on her so he would not have to be in contact with the cold wall. Sure wish I knew what you were really concerned about, right now. Theres no way they can have figured all of that out and be waiting out there to ambush usis there? I think we need to wait and give that chopper some time to move on. You said this is supposed to be a major storm, so surely they wont be able to stay in the air much longer, dont you think? Almost as if in answer to her question the rumbling faded, even as Einar sat there shaking his head, uncertain what to tell her and wondering if he needed to take her with him and hurry back down the tunnel in the direction from which they had come. They listened, each of them straining ears for any sign of the circling menaces return, Einar pressing numbed hands to the rocky floor and to the walls in order to be better able to pick up on any approaching vibration, but hearing nothing, feeling nothing, and something inside him eased just a bit, even as he stuck his head out and stared apprehensively up the shaft as if expecting to see a form darken its faint glow as they implemented the next step of their plan and pumped in the gas. But nothing happened. Stillness, quiet, not a sound aside from the unceasing drip and splash of the water, and he stood, arms outstretched to meet the walls for balance, took a deep breath of the chill air that was filtering down damp and spruce-scented from the forest high above. It is time, then. Do hope Im not misunderstanding the message, here Creeping back over to Liz, he lit the candle once more so that he could make sure they were leaving nothing behind. Looks like were making that climb after all. Lets each have another taste of Nutella, let it give us a little quick energy, and well go. The things narrow, you wont have any trouble working your way up, just keep your feet or knees jammed against one side, hands on the other, but I want you to go first so I can see what youre doing and so Ill be there just in case you slip. Now, were gonna need to switch positions up near the top because I want to be the first to stick my head out of that hole, get a look around. Shouldnt be any problem switching places, Ill just keep real close to you and let you know when its time. After we do thatIll need you to stay where you are, just find the most comfortable position you can and stay there until I let you know its time to come up. Liz nodded, took the jar he was handing her and ate, making sure he did the same and checking her bootlaces for tightness as he loaded everything--candle, cooking pot and food--back up into the burlap sack and secured it to his back. The amount of water coming down the shaft had been steadily increasing as Einar and Liz waited for the chopper to move on, the result, Einar expected, of more of the already-fallen snow

melting and finding its way down through the layers of duff and dirt and rock to trickle into their path, and squinting up as Liz began climbing, he was pretty sure that he could make out fresh snowflakes falling up above, also. Progress was very slow with Liz having to explore the wall with her hands before making each move, Einar once or twice helping her with a hand placement as she inched her way up through a particularly wet and slippery area, and he could feel his legs on the verge of cramping again, straightened them and dug in with the toes of his boots on one side, back against the other, looking for a bit of rest but not finding it, as his toeless foot shifted in its boot and left him scrambling to keep himself from a fall. Liz had stopped and was saying something, but he couldnt make out her soft words through the pounding of the blood in his own head, struggled up nearer and told her everything was alright, to keep moving. Which she did, Einar following close behind and praying that he would have the strength and presence off mind to be able to halt her fall should she lose her footing and slip, blinking and wiping his eyes on his sleeve to clear them of the muddy water whose rivulets kept pelting him. It didnt do all that much good, though, his effort to keep his eyes clear, as it seemed that his sleeves were nearly as saturated as the moss that he could see hanging down and partially covering the opening above, the water that was running down the walls changing its course wherever he pressed his hands against them to run down inside his sleeves. There it was, the top, he could see it, reached up with a trembling hand and tapped Liz on the leg, time to switch places, and she seemed to understand even though he said nothing out loud, stopped and did her best to ease his passing, while keeping herself stable there in the passage, feet planted firmly on one side and back against the other. He made it, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to keep moving despite the cramp that had seized his right leg and rendered it less useful than it might have been, commanding it to move, act, help hold him in place and it did, the pain taking second place to the all-consuming knowledge that he was about to come up out of that ventilation shaft to an unknown situation in the world above, and he paused, fumbled with his knife and finally managed to get a good grip on it, transferred it to his teeth so it would be close if he had to use it up there, stopped again for just a second to listen before emerging, wishing he could take more time but knowing that he was seconds from falling, his arms beginning to cramp and shake now, in addition to his legs. He could hear nothing to give him pause, shook his head to clear away some of the accumulated snow that had been drifting down through the opening, and hoisted his head and shoulders up out of the narrow opening, squinting into the snow. Bracing his elbows on the snowy, moss-covered rock on either side of the small opening, Einar quickly scanned the immediate area for dangers that would require immediate attention and saw none, though he knew he wasnt seeing too well at all, emerging as he was half blinded from many hours underground out into the brightness of a world plastered with fresh snow, quickly blinked and took another look before hauling himself the rest of the way up out of the hole. The terrain immediately around him was quiet, nothing out of place, both looking and feeling devoid of human presence, and Einar scrubbed his face with a double handful of snow, heedless of its biting chill as he scoured away the mud and filth of the tunnel, filled with a fierce joy at seeing the world once

more, his own dear familiar world of spruce and rock and high, wild snow. Tilting his head and digging his hands down through the fresh snow to touch rock, he listened intently for the space of a few seconds, every sense alert for warning of approaching helicopters--heard none, and at least they had emerged beneath a heavy growth of timber, spruce and fir and the occasional stunted little Ponderosa pine, which should offer them some concealment from the air--before sticking his head back down into the blackness below, calling softly for Liz to come up. Noises from down there, the scuffing and sliding of boot soles on wet rock, and then he could see her, inching her way upwards, exploring the tunnel above with her hands and searching for the opening through which Einar seemed to have disappeared, and he waited until she had got a bit higher before telling her to brace her legs and stretch her arms above her head to allow her shoulders to pass through, reaching down and taking her hands, helping her out. Leading Liz a few feet from the opening and placing her hand rather deliberately on the trunk of one of the massive old trees that shielded the area so she would have a reference point and not accidentally wander back over and fall in the hole, he finally allowed himself to collapse on his back in the snow, done, spent, heart racing fast and weak and, it seemed, a bit erratically, eyes closed, barely even appearing to breathe. Liz let him be for the time, crouching there in the wind with her arms wrapped around her knees for warmth as she struggled to catch her own breath from the long climb, and he might have remained thus for a long time--for too long, perhaps; he was not far from it--had not the ground begun vibrating ominously once again. Einar stirred, the sound prying him up out of the snow to move clumsily over to the base of the big tree with Liz. He was dizzy, heart still not behaving quite properly, and he held his breath and strained with his abdominal muscles in a mostly successful attempt to get it back to something like its normal rhythm, a tactic he had learned long ago and had used more than during one of the especially hungry spells the winter before, and it always seemed to work, or had, so far. The dizziness somewhat under control he crouched there, back pressed against the trees rough bark as the menace neared, passed, rumbled on down the valley. It was low, hugging the river as it sought to keep beneath the cloud deck, and Einar knew it was headed for a landing at Mountain Task Force, let his breath out in a great sigh and allowed his head to fall forward and rest once more on the snow. When he spoke, Liz had to lean close to pick up his words. Storms chased em away, for now. Snowingtoo hard, too windy. We got touse the time, use the storm, clear out of here. Yes. First lets get into our dry clothes, though. He grunted, got himself seated against the tree once more and fumbled with the knots that held the burlap sack on his back, dreading having to tell Liz that their spare clothes had become soaked with melt water during the climb, as he expected they must have. Everything else certainly had, the bag, his shoulders, everything that had managed to remain more or less dry on the long crawl through the tunnels, and was beginning to freeze out there in the wind. Einar was feeling rather too numb and exhausted to give much thought to what he was wearing, but could see that Liz seemed somewhat attached

to the idea of getting into some dry things, still--not a bad idea, not if the two of you want to get through the next hour, you fool, and youd better be hoping your things are dry, too, and not go on sitting here until you end up encased in frost and unable to do much when they come, because you know theyre bound to be coming here before long--and he got the bag open, finally, pulled out the bundle and untied the legs of his waterproof pants, grinning at the sight of the clothes inside, which appeared to have remained quite dry. Here. Handing Liz her dry pants, sweater and one of the three pairs of wool socks Susan had given him, he helped her out of her wet things and did his best to wring them out as she hurried into the dry ones. Boots and linings were thoroughly soaked after slogging through the standing water near the tunnel mouth and navigating the nearflowing walls of the ventilation shaft, and there was nothing to do but wear them anyway, each of them working to keep one pair of socks always drying inside their clothing. Got to mention that to Liz, to be working on drying a pair of socks and he went back to struggling with his own boots, finally getting them off and changing socks, moving awfully slowly and just aware enough of the fact for it to frustrate him, come on, taking too long here, look, shes all done and ready to move on, and here you are fumbling with your boots stillno, wrong, dont put them back on yet, not until youve got your pants changednow get your head on straight anduhhhe had put his weight on his bad foot and fallen, lay there sprawled in the snow on his stomach staring stupidly at his little bundle of dry clothes for a moment, waterproof overpants, fleece top and sweater, which had rolled some distance away in the snow, shook his head and heaved himself up to his hands and knees to retrieve them. Liz had finished changing by that point, crept over to Einar and made sure he kept moving until he had finished the process, also, after which she insisted that they have a small snack before heading up the mountain, or wherever it was that Einar intended to take them, and her idea ended up being a very good one. The sugar and protein in the scoop of Nutella that Liz all but stuck into Einars mouth revived him considerably, left him shaking his head at the near-deadly slowness and apathy that had grabbed hold of him after finishing that climb. You dont have much of a reserve built up yet, time at the house helped some, but those tunnels really took it all out of you, didnt they? Well. Better get going now before you decide to curl up and sleep again, and before this storm slacks off and lets the air search start back up! Got a job here that isnt even half done good bit less than that Id say, because here we are still on or at least near Susans propertywhere did we come out, anyway? Cant tell for sure with all this snow blowing around, but it looks like were about were the map showed wed be, near the edge of the National Forest, up above all those cliffs. Good. Thats good. May let us make a clean break from the house, be well out of the area by the time they figure out what we did. If they figure it out. Liz was on her feet and looking a bit warmer for being out of her wet clothes--Einar supposed he could begin to feel a difference, also--but he knew they both needed to get moving at a good pace if they hoped to begin reversing the effects of their long, damp crawl through the tunnel. He took Lizs hand, started up through the trees, knowing that he ought to give her a length of paracord to hang onto, to help keep her on track while giving him a bit more freedom of movement, and that he had to take a minute

sometime soon to glance at the maps once again, also, but wanting to get some blood flowing first, before taking the time to do either of those things. It was good, he thought to himself, grinning into the teeth of the storm, to be moving again at something beyond the painstakingly cautious crawl necessitated by those tunnels, to be out there in the free air under the snow-laden spruces, terribly, achingly good, he decided, to be alive. But gonna be awful hard work staying that way, looks like The maps, as Einar recalled them, had indicated only one good route up into the forest beyond the rocks at the top of the mine-plateau, and he knew they must not use it, knew the enemy would be very likely to scour it first for tracks when they finally worked their way up into the area. There were other ways, had to be, other paths that would take them up through the wide band of jagged and brittle spires and cliffs, granite, rose quartz, veined with mica that would have flashed and shone like silver, had the sun been out, that guarded the mountainside above. Had he been alone, Einar would have without hesitation chosen a drainage and begun scrambling up its snow-slick steepness like some sort of insane spider, the counter-pressure of feet and hands and sometimes even elbows and shoulders and knees jammed against opposite sides of the couloir holding him in place and allowing his upward progress, the ill-timed twitch of a muscle or two all that would stand between him and a near-instantaneous and rather messy death on the rocks belowbut he was not alone. Had a girl with him--his wife, in fact, the word sounding terribly strange and unlikely to him, still--and she was blind, for the moment, was carrying his child and there was no way he would try and lead her up one of those nearvertical furrows in the rock, not in her present state, not if he had any choice. If you could see, Lizziedifferent story, because Ive seen you climb, and youre good, got a sense for it, good balance, but it would be insanity to try something like that right now. And besides, it almost certainly is what they will be expecting me to doif theyve figured out theyre looking for me, yet. I always go up. Time to break that pattern, if I can. So. No going straight up the rock and no using the obvious pass, that low, treeless saddle that Im getting an occasional glimpse of through the storm, because its so obvious, that they may have even chosen to set up monitoring equipment in it, thinking it a likely way for me to approach when I come to rescue Liz and trip their trap--ha! Sure didnt plan it this way, wouldnt have ever, ever chosen to get knocked in the head and dragged up here while I was out, carried around in a wheelbarrow like a sack of potatoes and locked in a root cellarbut it seems that it may all be working out, after all. If we can successfully break our trail here, leave them nothing to go on when they do come looking for Liz or for both of us, whatever they decide from what they find at the house, and ifthis is kinda looking like the big if, right nowif we can keep from freezing to death in this doggone storm that we need so very badly to cover our escape. The snow was a wet, heavy spring snow, nothing like the squeaky, crunchy dry Styrofoam powder that was so common during the winter and in which one could frequently get away with not wearing a waterproof layer, if one was not available, as temperatures were cold enough to keep the snow from beginning to melt through your clothes. No such situation existed to aid Einar and Liz that day. The day was warmer-barely below freezing, actually--and while this might seem a welcome fact considering

that they were somewhat lightly clad in their spare layers of clothing, the soft, slushy spring snow was proving rather a greater challenge to them than sub-zero powder would have. Falling in a state that neared slush, it plastered itself against clothing and faces in the wind, melting, soaking in to chill them in a way that powder never could have, leaving them very soon wet again and with nothing to do about it other than huddle beside a rock or under a heavy stand of trees in an attempt to escape the worst of the wind, which of course they could not afford to do, time and the storm itself, the cover it offered, being at a premium. They walked for a good while, then, Einar squinting into the storm and keeping a tight hold on Lizs hand, moving quickly in an attempt to generate some heat and doing his best to steer her around obstacles and keep her from tripping on the numerous rocks and exposed roots that had begun to emerge from the receding snow pack, but after numerous close calls and one good stumble that very nearly brought him down with her, he decided that there must be a better way. A stick, it seemed, might prove helpful to her in navigating the rough terrain and judging what was around and in front of her, and, shivering heavily with the cessation of his frantic forward motion, he hastily sought a suitable staff, found it in a three year old dead aspen and broke it off near the base, pressing it into Lizs hand. Here. Stick. Should help with your balance, help keep the ground under you where it belongs. She thanked him, relieved at the added stability the staff lent her sightless travel, and they moved at a better pace for a time, but it wasnt enough, they both knew it, could feel it, but kept going, there being few other options that either of them would have been willing to entertain. Liz, though, was beginning to grow a bit frightened, feeling the force of the wind as it pummeled her and tore through her clothing, didnt want to let on to Einar, as she was sure he must be facing very similar conditions, and with less fat on him to protect his body from losing heat at a dangerous rate, but he could sense her distress, led them over to a spot where the rock of the cliffs above overhung a bit, providing some shelter from the falling slush-snow and from the blasting, tearing wind, and stopped. Einar stood there leaning heavily on the rock and wringing numbed hands in an attempt to restore a bit of feeling, thoroughly numbed from the wind and grateful nearly to the point of tears to be out of it, if only for a minute. What I wouldnt give for a wind breaker of some sort, just nowponcho, tarpheh! Even a trash bag that I could cut head and arm holes in would be immeasurably valuable, might well end up making the difference between life and death today. Which it cant, or course, because we dont have one and have somehow got to go on living, anywaysome waydoggone it if I know how, seeing as we cant exactly do what any other half sensible critter would do right now and get ourselves out of the wind, hole up and dry off and try to get warmdont have that luxury--if you can call seeing and acting on common sense a luxury--because we absolutely got to keep moving, not waste any of this storm and give them the chance to box us in up here, close in on us as soon as it ends. Liz was shaking, huddling back against the rock and trying with futile urgency to brush a

heavy layer of wet and melting snow from her clothing before it could soak in any further, and Einar dropped to the ground beside her and helped, removing as much of the snow as he could before struggling out of his own sweater, shaking the snow from it and sliding it down over her head, guiding her arms into the sleeves. The sweater, an olive green tightly knitted thing with reinforced elbows that looked to Einar like military surplus, was by then fairly damp, itself, from the constant assault of the wet snow, but being wool it was doing a decent job of keeping his top half warm, regardless, or would have been, had he not started the climb already so badly chilled from his time in the tunnel. Figuring that it would probably do Liz more good than it was him, at the moment, might help lift her spirits as well as warm her body, he insisted that she keep it, even when she objected and tried to give it back. He had the fleece shirt, the waterproof pants, his hatand that would have to do. Hed just move faster to generate the extra warmth. Would have to. The shelter of the little overhang was such a relief, the absence of that cutting, killing wind and the cessation of the snow that had been plastering sides and faces to run in icy little rivulets down their backs and legs, that Einar knew they must not remain where they were for long, lest they lose the resolve to again wrestle with the storm. It was a delay they could not afford. Before leaving, Einar took a minute to warm his hands sufficiently to be able to tie a loop in the end of the piece of paracord that had served as Lizs guide back in the tunnel, making sure it was still securely fastened to his belt before slipping the loop over her wrist and tightening it down a bit, handing Liz the jar of Nutella and telling her to eat, pulling out the maps for a quick glance before moving on. They had said very little to each other during the break, Einar because he couldnt stop shaking and did not want Liz to know it, lest she insist on giving back the sweater when she really did need its protection, and Liz because she thought Einar was maintaining his silence out of concern that there might be searchers around, near enough to hear them. She wanted to ask him something though, before they started back out into the wind where speech was far more difficult, felt her way up the length of paracord until she found him, gave him back the Nutella and in doing so came into contact with his hands, and after that there was no more concealing his condition from her. His arm was so wet and chilled that she could hardly differentiate it from the snow that she had brushed from his sleeve to reach it, and when she pulled him close for warmth, she was alarmed to find his back and stomach to be just as cold to the touch. Einar, she whispered, still concerned about the possible presence of searchers, you feel like ice. Please take the sweater back. I can do without it. He pulled away from her, stood, handed her the jar of Nutella--keep this with you, eat-whose contents he had not touched. She could tell by its weight in her hand. No, he insisted, youyou keep the sweater for littleHildegard, there, if not for yourself. Im Ok. Just need toget moving again. You ready? No! She wanted to protest, Im ready to crawl back in here against the rocks out of the wind and sit you down beside a big roaring fire with a pot of hot broth and a jar of Nutella and make sure you dont move again until youre thoroughly thawed out and your

clothes are dry and the storm has stoppedbut I know we cant do that. Yes, Im ready. Im coming. Which was a good thing, as he had already started off along the base of the cliff, sticking close for a bit of shelter from the wind as he paralleled it, seeing in his mind the contour lines that squiggled in jagged closeness across the map, the band of rock running for nearly a quarter mile to the east before it gave way to a series of low, rolling ridges that he hoped very much would prove to be as densely timbered as was the image of them that had been forming in his mind. If they were, if they appeared to offer a reasonable amount of concealment for their movements and their tracks, then he would attempt to get lost among them, to follow their lines for as many miles as they would take him, staying low, well below treeline and perhaps even heading down into one of the systems of narrow, creek-filled valleys with their numerous small meadows and beaver ponds, that lay beyond them. It was not something he would normally do, making such a terrain choice, not something his pursuers would expect from him, a fact that seemed to make it a very wise plan at the moment. He hoped. Was really too cold to be sure of much, when it came to judging the wisdom of long term plans or even the placement of his next step, for that matter, and, leaning for a moment of exhausted respite on a nearby tree, he prayed that he would be spared from making a fatal error, the one that would get them discovered, bring the enemy back onto their trail Speaking of fatal errorsit was looking like he just might have made one already, without even realizing it, as Liz had somewhere along the way stumbled across--quite literally, he had seen it happen--a spruce branch with a good heavy knot in one end, and, thinking it a reasonable facsimile of the war club she had carried around for the past two months, she had brought it along, liking the feel of it in her hand. Which was good, as far as Einar was concerned, everyone ought to be armed, but the trouble was that she was heading straight for him with the thing, had it in her right hand and raised shoulder-high in a rather menacing manner, and he scooted around to the far side of the tree, brought up short from going any further by the cord that connected the two of them. Liz. What? Ill tell you what. You need to eat. Now. No more excuses and no She set down her staff but kept the war club raised, pulled the Nutella out of her pocket and held it out to him. No more walking, until youve had something to eat. You take this jar and you eat, you hear me? Uh He shook his head, took the jar, more than a bit confused at her angry insistence, not even realizing that he had, in his cold-induced haze, already dismissed off-hand three or four of her pleas to stop and rest, eat. Youre gonnabash my head in with that war club if I dont eat, arent you? You got that right, I am! I may not be able to see but I can still hear, I can hear you breathe and I can tell how worn out youre getting, and Im not going to stand for it any more, so youd better just eat and save us both the trouble Which he did, the sudden infusion of energy telling him that she had been right, that hed entirely lost track of just

how far hed allowed himself to slip, hurrying along in the wet and the wind as he had been with no fuel, and he thanked her, gave her some and hauled himself back to his feet, went on. Later, with the storm continuing in its full fury, Einar began noticing that the rock wall off to their left was less steep, broken, receding, and then they were climbing up through the spruces of the first of what the map had told him would be a series of low ridges, their way out, dense, thick, shielding them from some measure of the winds cutting rage, and he led Liz up into them with a thankful heart, so far, so good, but she stopped, felt her way over beneath a particularly dense and sheltering fir, and pulled softly at the cord by which he had been guiding her. He turned back, weary, almost falling at the gentle tug of the rope. She had removed the rag from her eyes, he saw, loosened it and slipped it down to hang idly around her neck, and she was smiling at him, eyes open, if barely, the cold having worked steadily to bring down their swelling and the total absence of aggravating light during the long hours in the tunnels having been a great benefit, too. Liz could see. Rejoicing at her newly restored ability to connect with the world around her through sight, Liz took two bounding steps over to where Einar stood watching her, nearly knocking him off his feet as she grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a big kiss. Well you sure are a sorry sight, all covered with mud and dust from that mine and soaking wet--I think youve got icicles in your beard, by the way--but Ive never seen anything better in my life! I missed you Einar just gave her a lopsided grin and shook his head--was right here all the time-searching her pockets until he found the sunglasses Susan had sent for her, which had, thankfully, not been crushed in the crawl through the tunnels or the long climb of the ventilation shaft. Better wear these for a few days, even when its storming. Here. Let me have a look at your eyes. Dont look infected, thats good, but theyll be real prone to aggravation for a good week or so. Though they did not appear infected, Lizs eyes were still quite red and swollen, looked terribly painful, and dabbing carefully at the crusty discharge beneath them with the damp rag, Einar realized, as if he had needed reminding, just how brave she had been over the past two days, as she had helped him plan their escape, stayed right with him the whole time and worked her way through those dark, freezing tunnels without any assurance--beyond his word--that he knew where he was taking them, how to get out of that tumbled-down maze. Even as he rejoiced with Liz at her restored sight Einar was inwardly seething with the knowledge that the harm to her eyes had been deliberately inflicted this time, and by men who clearly viewed any harm that they might bring to his wife and child or to others as entirely insignificant, collateral damage in an all-important quest to capture him. It angered but did not in the least surprise him, the arrogance and the absurdity of it, the cruelty, and he wanted to get his hands on those men, wanted it so badly that it hurt, hands and head and soul aching with the wanting of it, and he clenched his fists behind

his back to keep Liz from seeing, fought to swallow the fury and keep it inside, storing it up for later use. If it had been him, he told himselfhe might have been able to dismiss it, to accept, forgive, or something close to it, if not to forget--some things one never does forget--had done so before, had set such things, and worse, aside, if only so he could go on living and not find himself continually crushed into the ground with the weight of them, but for what they had done to her, they must pay, and would. But not that day. Not unless--his hand dropped to the knife on his belt; wish I still had that atlatl--he happened to run across a patrol on his way out of the area, and he knew that he had better hope nothing of the sort happened, and that if it did he could manage to keep the two of them hidden and let the agents pass without discovering their presence. Escape was the mission that day, getting himself and especially Liz out of the area that they would be searching, find a safe spot to hunker down for a while, a good dry shelter, secure a supply of food. Then, and only then, could he perhaps allow himself to think seriously on the other matter, begin to plan it Later. And he put it out of his mind, returning his attention to the timbered slope that stretched on high and snow-dimmed above them, calling. Liz still had the loop of paracord tied around her wrist, but with her vision back she wouldnt be needing it anymore, and he freed her of it, rolling up the string and tucking it into his pocket, glancing down at her a bit absently when she squeezed his hand. It was clear to Liz that his happiness at her restored sight was tempered by something that seemed to be weighing heavily on him, that a part of him was somewhere else, but she had grown accustomed to such moods, no longer took them personally. Liz, seeing that Einar badly needed to get moving, led the way up the slope, and he soon caught on and took the lead. Continuing as they climbed up the gentle shoulder of the ridge beneath the evergreens, the storm showed no sign of moving on, heavy wet snow continuing to blanket the ground, masking their trail even as they left it. Einar was glad, welcomed the chance to travel without too much fear of future detection, but even as he welcomed the ongoing downpour of half frozen slush, he knew it was killing them, could feel himself slowing down, losing focus and growing less sure on his feet, and knew the same must be happening to Liz. They could not stop, must not allow themselves to give in to the temptation of seeking out the nearest sheltered spot and curling up in it just to escape the winds fury; they were still too close. But neither could they continue on indefinitely as they had been, lest one or both of them soon pass the point beyond which they would be able to recognize how much trouble they were getting into, let alone be able to do anything about it. It would come first for him, he expected, clad as he was in a single layer of soaked and wind-porous fleece on his top half, un-insulated waterproof pants below, and he knew that he must do what he could to keep them from reaching that point. Which did not appear to be much, considering the prerequisite that they much keep moving. The wet and the cold he believed they could handle. It wasnt even very far below freezing, if at all, as evidenced by the slushy gobs in which the snow was being plastered against the trees and adhering to their clothing, but combine those two factors with the wind, and the situation became far harder to deal with. They needed shelter, something they could carry with them, wear, a way to shield their bodies, and then Einar knew what they must do, headed for a large dead spruce whose

black shape bulked stark and alone through the storm there in a small clearing, large slabs of time-loosened bark hanging from its skeletal form. Reaching the tree, stumbling against it when his foot struck a snow-hidden root and nearly spilled him on his face, he leaned there for a few seconds, struggling for breath and swiping awkwardly at his face in an attempt to get the ice out of his eyelashes and clear his vision. Prying then, Liz helping when she saw what his intentions were, he managed to free three long strips of the bark, losing one when it crashed down suddenly and fell apart on the ground beneath, but he ended up with two good solid ones, neither shorter than six feet and each at least two feet wide, curved as had been the tree they had once shielded. The bark strips, reminding Einar of the ones he had pressed into service as sleds for carrying firewood when he was first staying up at the bear den, were wet on the outside and somewhat damp inside, too, but that did not matter to him, their only function being as a portable windbreak. Scoring the bark with his knife--he could barely grip the thing, had to keep stopping to warm his hands, but it didnt help much, and he knew the problem went much deeper than numbed fingers--he broke it, ending up with four arch-centered rectangles, each of which were approximately two feet in length. Telling Liz to stand up, he held one of them up to her front, dropped it back to the ground and trimmed it down some so as not to immobilize her too badly with the plates of armor he was designing for her. Finished trimming all four plates, he laid them out on the ground, took his knife and made marks along the top edges of each, four marks per plate, two above where each shoulder would be. These were soon joined by two marks on each of the vertical sides of the plates, too, just beneath where their arms would stick out. Armor. Wind armor. And he began turning the marks into holes, boring them with the tip of the knife, careful not to get too close to the edge lest he split the bark and render the holes useless. Three of the plates Einar finished without stopping but he was having trouble, couldnt seem to keep hold of the knife and was stopping work for longer and longer periods of time, confused, unsure how to proceed, the prolonged stillness finally allowing the cold to very nearly overwhelm his capacity to resist it. Liz, who was doing a bit better in her fleece shirt with Einars heavy sweater overtop, saw what was happening to him, hugged him to her and rubbed his back, arms, trying to warm him, but she could see that it wasnt working, took the knife and continued boring holes in the bark where he had left off, working as quickly as she could as he huddled there shaking and staring at his boots for another two minutes. The holes were finished, and she supposed he had been intending to lace them with something, began searching his pockets for the paracord but he stopped her, did it himself, suddenly realizing that he had been sitting immobile and ashamed of his inaction. Lizs vest he laced with the length of paracord that he had been using to guide her while her eyes were swollen shut, starting in the shoulder area, linking the two pieces together and slipping the awkward construction over her head before using the two tail ends of the cord to lace the sides, beneath her arms. She helped him then with his own, lacing it for him with the remaining paracord, which he insisted that they not cut, leaving it instead intact and tucking the unused portion into his pocket after the lacing was all finished up. The resulting vests were stiff, clumsy affairs, but as stiff and clumsy as the two travelers had grown with the cold and the constant battering of the wind, Einar supposed

their movements ought not be terribly impeded by the bark encasements. The system wouldnt have worked well if theyd been carrying packs, but then, packs would have offered their backs some protection from the wind, too. The little burlap bundle containing their cooking pot and food fit comfortably on Einars back, even with the convex arch of bark that now shielded him. With Lizs help he got to his feet, then, and set out at a good pace up the steepest portion of the slope ahead--had to get the blood flowing, and in a hurry--relieved at the surprisingly significant protection the crude devices offered their torsos, but knowing that it would be some time before he could be sure whether they had gained more than they had lost, in taking the time to assemble the vests. Less than an hour after Einar and Liz stopped to make the improvised windbreakers, a premature dusk began to descend on the dripping timber of the ridge, creeping in under the still-heavy clouds to wash the rest of the color from the landscape and warn them of approaching darkness. They had, during that time, reached something of an understanding with the weather and their own weariness, finally settling into a pace which allowed them each to maintain a workable body temperature as they continued pushing on through the storm. The armor of spruce bark had been a tremendous help, in the end, though it had taken a good half hour for them to begin seeing much benefit, an interval during which Einar had very nearly ended up sitting down and not being able to rise again. Liz had seen his struggle and sensed the danger, made sure he remained on his feet, and between her efforts and a stubborn persistence in him that somehow continued to function even after the rational mind passed beyond being particularly useful, he had kept moving, had finally begun to warm just a bit. Just enough, with no room to spare, and he had known it, the knowledge compelling him forward nearly as strongly as did the ever-present awareness of probable pursuit. Pausing whenever their energy began lagging to the point that steps were noticeably slower and the cold threatening to creep in again, they took tastes of the Nutella, revived by its sugar and fat and protein, and though Einar would have preferred to save all or most of it, not knowing when their situation might allow them to do much hunting and snaring again, he knew that Liz needed a steady stream of energy if she was expected to keep moving, sharing her own supply with the child, as she was, so he made no objection when she insisted that they keep taking bits of it. They had covered a good distance with that steady pace, traveling always beneath the timber of the ridges that stretched away in seemingly endless sequence beyond the high, rocky ground of the mine and mountain they had left behind, much as the map had shown, a folded, crinkled landscape whose concealing ability Einar had become more and more sure of, the further into it he walked. He had, in fact, began feeling a good bit more relaxed and at home as the miles passed into the snowy distance behind them, a certainty coming over him that they had successfully managed to evade the active ground search, break their trail and leave their pursuers to stand back there in the storm, baffled and without any good leads. The sense of relief warmed him, gave him a lighter step as he led them up yet another of the low ridges, but it could only go so far to offset the fact that he was running on very little sleep, that both of them were, that he had more than used up the energy reserves he had been able to accumulate while staying at Susans. The relief could not keep him from

increasingly feeling the effects of walking so far on his injured foot, either, and he was beginning to think about stopping, taking a break, maybe even finding a secure spot to hole up and see if the two of them might be able to take turns getting a bit of sleep. They were nearing the top of a ridge, and he told himself that perhaps its far slope--the leeward side, less windy, less windy would be awfully helpful--would be a good place to look for some shelter. Not far below the ridges crest, though, Einar began feeling a prickle of warning at the back of his neck--probably just the hairs starting to freeze, you foolyoure soaking wet and not moving near fast enough--and he pushed himself to catch up to Liz, who, unencumbered by an injured foot and legs that still wanted very badly to cramp up on him after the climb of that ventilation shaft, had ended up a few yards ahead of him on the slope. Though she could see again, Einar knew from experience that Lizs vision would likely not be back to normal for several days at least, would tend to blur frequently and, with her sight further obscured by the necessity of wearing the sunglasses even in the stormy dimness of that afternoon, he did not want her out front, should the vague warning he was feeling turn out to mean something. Trouble was, by the time he caught up to her he was too badly winded to explain his reasoning for wanting to be in front, finally got the idea across to her with a series of exhausted and rather emphatic hand gestures, and she shrugged, not understanding the urgency, but dropped back behind him and stayed there as they climbed. For a time they went on, Einar beginning to feel a bit silly for insisting on the change of places, but the nearer they drew to the crest of the low, timbered ridge, the more sure he became that something was not quite right, but he could see nothing amiss, couldnt hear or feel any distant rumbling to tell him that their enemy was somehow managing to get something airborne in the storm. Despite the complete lack of supporting evidence, he continued to be plagued by a vague sense of unease--he ought to have acted on it at that point, but was so cold and weary that he let it go, kept moving--that steadily increased to a clamorous screaming in his head, a cold dread in his gut, but still he forced himself numbly forward, cant see anything wrong, and cant stop unless you absolutely have to, gonna freeze if you stop, youre just tired and cold, brains gone haywire on you, wouldnt be the first time Despite continued assurances to himself that the trouble was all in his mind, he kept a hand on his knife as he took one step after another, feeling almost as if he was violating some solid, physical barrier by continuing, staring wild-eyed and wary at the woods around him as they topped off on the ridge, and then he saw it, the little clearing at the bottom of the slope that dropped away beneath them, the contours, organized, regular, too nearly symmetrical, of the double track that showed as depressions in the snowy white of its surface, and Einar knew he was looking at a road. He stopped, then, chided himself for the thick-headed blundering that had very nearly allowed him to take them right down into that clearing, crept in beneath a spruce near the edge of the shaley dropoff he had been about to lead them down. Motioning to Liz to follow him, Einar lowered himself stiffly to his stomach in the snow and retrieved the binoculars from her pocket, studying the road--what he could see of it through the swirling snow--in an attempt to determine the cause of his sudden and

unexplained hesitance. It was, he told himself, probably due more to a natural aversion on his part to have anything to do with roads or other signs of past human presence, even ones as remote and abandoned-looking as the little two-track down at the bottom of the slope, than it was to any real danger posed by the clearing. Scanning it, he could see nothing to arouse suspicion, no sign of recent human activity, but Einar knew better than to ignore warnings such as he had felt on approaching the area, even if a cause could not be determined. Often in such situations in the past, he discovered only later the tiny clues that his subconscious mind had picked up on and formed into the warnings that had saved him from major trouble; they had not been apparent beforehand, and had he waited to act until he could define the danger, it would often have been too late. They had to get across that track, though, as he could see from the shape of the storm-dimmed ridge tops on either side of it that it cut far up and down the mountain, an obstacle that must be navigated if they were to continue on the course he had set for them. Edging back further beneath the tree, he whispered to Liz. You stay here for a minute, keep an eye on that road. Im gonna circle around through the trees down below, right there where they come out closest to the track, and have a look. Just an old mine road I expect, dont remember seeing it on the map, but I want to make sure theres not been any recent activity here, before we cross. Theres something about the look of those tracks Wait for me, alright? If I dont come back before darkwell, you take off into the trees up the ridge here, find a place to cross and then wait for me at the first big creek you come to. Saw it on the map. Im leaving you the maps. Creek forks just above some steep rocks, looks like a waterfall down thereyou find that, keep hidden, and Ill meet you at that fork as soon as I can. Liz nodded, tried to give back the jar of Nutella he was handing her, but he insisted she keep it, leaving her one of the two burlap sacks along with all of her wet clothes, but taking his along, slung and tied over his shoulder. The binoculars also he took, their strap around his neck as he worked his way slowly and cautiously down through the timber, edging down closer to the road-clearing and very nearly stepping out into the camp. The little cluster of three tents stood just beneath the spruces in a small, almost-level spot beside the old road, their dark, snow-spotted grayish green blending well with the surroundings, and Einar stopped, crouched there no more than twenty yards from the nearest of them, listening. The sound of hushed voices came from an area over near the furthest of the tents, the one that stood only feet from the road, and keeping his movements very slow and deliberate he cupped a hand behind his ear, but could not make out their words. The operation--whatever exactly they were doing up there--had a certain smell of competency about it that Einar did not at all like, and he wrinkled up his nose and retreated silently back further into the trees, hunkering down behind a groundcreeping mat of sub alpine fir and observing, trying to figure out exactly who the men were and what their purpose might be. Not that there were too many likely options, as he saw it. The men were armed, dressed in an outer layer of what looked to him like very good waterproof, breathable woodland camouflage--come any closer, you, he silently addressed the nearest man, and Ill be heading up that mountain tonight with your clothes and weapon--and as he watched, two of them began unpacking some sort of

equipment from a backpack and laying it out on a poncho beneath a tree. It appeared to Einar that the men must have hiked in, as he could see no sign of either ATVs or snowmobiles, nor, studying the nearby clearings, any horses. He was glad there were no horses, as they might well have alerted them to his presence by then, which he could hardly have afforded. There was something about these men, the way they moved, their seeming unconcern at the weather conditions and the sparing use of the spoken word, most of their communication appearing to take place through hand signals, that told Einar he was not dealing with the usual batch of greenhorn agents who had more than once come out on the bad end of a meeting with him, or, just as often, with the mountains themselves, the elements. These men, it appeared, had spent some time in the woods, knew what they were doing, and as he watched them, he began wondering if they were FBI at all. Something told him otherwise. They had all gathered around the poncho and appeared to be sorting through the equipment that had just been unpacked, and Einar eased the binoculars into his hand, took a slow breath to steady them and scanned the little group, noting what appeared to be an array of antennas and transmitters, a number of small boxes that made him think of the game cams he had seen some of the outfitters using to scout remote areas, and a few things that he did not recognize. He was shivering pretty hard by that time, breathed the tremors away once again--he was nearing the point beyond which he would no longer be able to do so, knew it--and returned to watching the three men in the little clearing. One of them was missing, and glancing hastily around behind him, his scalp suddenly prickling, Einar saw no sign of him, found him, on further inspection, halfway up one of the large firs that bordered the road-clearing, mounting an antenna in the tree. So. They anticipated that we--or she, or whoever they think theyre looking for right now--would come this way, that wed be likely to cross this road here or somewhere near here, because of the cliffs above and below. Good thinking. And good thing we got here when we did, too, rather than an hour or so later when it would have been too dark to see this setup and I might have been too worn out to pay attention to the spooky feeling that stopped me just now and sent me down here to investigate before taking us across. No accident, this timing. Thanks. Nowweve got to clear out of here just as careful and quiet as were able, skirt way far around this place, up above would be safest, because it doesnt look like theyve been up there at all yet. Moving at a snails pace and choosing his foot placements very carefully, it took Einar a good half hour to stalk back up to the spot where he had left Liz, should have taken even longer, but he knew that she would be leaving if he did not return soon, heading up to meet him at the waterfall, and he could not risk having her step out in the open and being spotted. He was immensely relieved to find her still there beneath the tree when he reached it, awfully cold after the extended stillness but alert and able to get to her feet after he very quietly explained the situation to her. Knowing that they must not risk crossing that clearing anywhere near the spot where all the monitoring equipment was being deployed, Einar led them up through the thinning spruces and over a band of rock, the way growing steeper and the road, when he looked down in search of it, having narrowed to a single track that wound is way precipitously among the rocks and seemed

about to disappear altogether. As did the path they were taking up through the rocks, cliffs closing in on both sides, and when he peered back down through the failing light to get one last glimpse of the road, it had been entirely hidden by the rocks. Barely able to make out the terrain above them anymore--or that underfoot--Einar continued up through the rocks, struggling to maintain his balance as he tried to push the growing pain of his overused right foot and cramping legs into the background, committing all of his focus to picking their route. When the cliffs closed in around them but did not cut off their passage altogether, Einar thought at first that he must have stumbled across an elk trail, something, perhaps, used by bighorn sheep as they made their way up into the heights after drinking at the creek several thousand feet down below in the valley, but as they climbed, seeing occasional mounds of snow-covered dirt and rock off to the sides that put him in mind of small tailings piles, he began to wonder if the trail might have been first made by miners and prospectors who were scouting the area and perhaps even traveling back and forth to work a mine. A mule trail. Well, mule or elk or complete false alarm we got to follow it for now, havent got much choice Further up they climbed as darkness grew complete, and they were freezing, stumbling, struggling to keep themselves moving as they followed the old prospectors trail up through the cliffs, and they kept thinking that surely it was going to vanish, pinch off and leave them cliffed out up there with nowhere to go and possibly--Einar thought not, but couldnt be sure--with enemy on their backtrail. The trail did not end, though, did not disappear, and as it provided a way forward and seemed to be leading in the general direction in which they had been headed they stuck to it, feeling their way in the darkness where vision failed them in the storm-blackened night, hands on the rock, groping along at times almost as sightlessly as they had been in the tunnels, and then a brief lull in the storm, a bit of starlight through a ragged tear in the low ceiling of cloud, and Einar could see part of Orions belt, could see something else, too, he was pretty sure, and picked up the pace slightly, scrabbling at the rock to his right with snow and wind-numbed claws of hands, hurrying as if afraid it would vanish into the returning storm, the hope that had suddenly materialized out of the darkness, the offer of continuing life, but it did not, and then there they were. The tunnel mouth stood black and partially collapsed there in the pale starlight, the snowplastered rocks that surrounded it lashed by the branches of the close-grouped firs that guarded the secret of its existence, whipped back and forth by a wind that had if anything only increased in fury with the parting of the clouds, and Einar dropped to his knees and began feeling around inside. Probing, exploring, he found that the floor seemed to slope away gently and crawled in. He started moving, then, the rock beneath him moving, slid and very nearly tumbled down twenty feet of steep scree that lay inside, Liz following before she realized that he was sliding, and they reached the bottom together, breathless and shaking, but unharmed. They found each other, clung together for a few moments, stunned, nearly weeping with relief at the cessation of the wind, and then Einar began what was to be the rather long and arduous process of loosening and freeing the frozen, knotted loops of paracord that held his small sack of possessions to his back, beating useless hands against his legs in a bid to restore some feeling, gnawing on them, pressing them to his stomach but finding it no warmer than the rest of his storm-battered body. He

finally got the candle out, fumbled it onto a fairly level chunk of rock on the uphill side of them--he didnt know what might lie below, beyond them on the steep ramp of rock chips, was terrified of losing the candle, knocking it over in his clumsiness and listening to it roll and bounce away in the darkness, lost, unrecoverable--and rested for a minute, gathering his wits and struggling to still the violent trembling of his hands. Lighting the candle, even considering that they still had a good many matches left, proved no easy task, and he broke the first match as he attempted to strike it on a rock, unable to gauge how hard to press and then dropping the pieces from numbed hands, trying again with the thought that he could clamp the match under the toe of his boot to better facilitate striking, but unable to get a second one into his fingers. He couldnt feel them, couldnt feel anything, and Liz found him then in the darkness, took the box from his hands and struck a match, got the candle lit. Einar looked around, saw that they were near the bottom, a cave-in further down preventing them from going much further, and he eased his way down to the bottom, carrying the candle in two hands to keep from dropping it and returning to help Liz, who had settled into an exhausted heap there in the rocks after lighting the candle, and had not appeared inclined to move. Pulling her to her feet he led her down to the cave-in, rested there on the ground with her for a second and dug back into the burlap sack, coming out with the open jar of Nutella. Need fuel, we both need fuel.fingers werent working, so he pinched the jar between his knees and used both hands to grip the lid and twist it open, digging some of the cold-solidified stuff out with his knife and giving it to Liz, making sure it ended up in her mouth before securing some for himself, setting jar and knife and lid aside on a rock to be dealt with later. They clung together, then, rubbing backs and arms and trying to warm one another but each too badly chilled for the attempt to have much beneficial effect, and Liz finally freed herself from Einars grasp, took him by the shoulders and held on until he looked up at her. We have to gget out of these wet clothes, Einarcant sit here inwet clothes. And she began fumbling with the sweater, trying to get an arm out of the sleeve, but he took her arm, stopped her. No. Got nothingto change into. Now listen, I know itsnot feeling like it, but this stuff is still insulating us some. The wool, fleece Take it off, and its justus and the rock. Cold rock all around us, nothing to trap heat near our bodies. Got to keep the clothes on. I cant do it! Too cold It was more of an apology than a complaint--sure do admire you, Lizzieexpect a lot of other girls would have been whining and whimpering long before now, panicking--and Einar pulled her close to him again, began trying to wring the water from her sodden sweater. You can do it. Here, comecome here and let meyeah, let me wring some of the water and thenthere. Should help. It did not help, though, not enough to offer much hope of allowing the less-wet clothing and the single candle to begin reversing the hypothermic slide that the wind and wet had sent their core temperatures into, and Einar

blinked slowly at the flickering walls of rock around them, looking for something that might have been left behind by the miners, anything that would perhaps offer them some protection, allow them to get out of their wet clothes, but of course he saw nothing. It was dry in the passage, a little trickle of water--ice, now--having traced its way along the fractured stone of one side of the tunnel and intruded five or six feet in before vanishing beneath the rock, but no moisture had made its way down to the where they sat. The tunnel had been timbered further along, some of the broken, time-greyed boards still sticking out at random angles from the wreckage of the collapsed passage ahead of them, and Einar put a hand on one of the timbers, knew that as dry as it was in the tunnel, the thing ought to burn quite well, and wondered if they dare risk a fire. The light would be quite thoroughly concealed by the long passageway that separated them from the stormriven world outside, further hidden by the thick curtain of firs at the entrance, but the smellthat, he knew, could carry for many miles, be swept up or down the mountain to alert the men at that camp, or others out prowling the place, to their presence. The strength of the wind would also mean, of course, that the origin of the smoke smell would be very difficult to determine, and there was a chance that others on the mountain might have a fire, also, that night, further confusing the matter, but he doubted the men down in that little camp would have one. Not a good risk. Even as he dismissed the idea of having a fire, Einar wondered whether they could reasonably expect to make it through the night without a more significant heat source than that candle. It was gradually warming the place, had to be, though he couldnt feel it, but considering that they had spent very nearly the entire day creeping around in wet clothes and stumbling through the storm-lashed woods in the same, had nothing dry to change into and no way, short of building a fire, to hope to dry any of their clothing for the time when they would leave the tunnel and head back out there Einar shook his head, rested it on Lizs shoulder, wished his thoughts were a bit clearer, because he knew he had better be making his decision, and quickly. Outside, the storm still raged; Einar could hear the keening and howling of the wind through the broken rock at the tunnel entrance, the way it sighed and tore through the lithe little firs that surrounded the opening, bending them nearly double as it thundered along the mountainside. No way the men in the little camp he had seen would be up in the trees placing more cameras in such a wind. The would, he hoped, be holed up securely in their tents awaiting the lessening of the storm so they could carry on with whatever it was they had been tasked with up in the snowy woods that night. The wind, as he remembered it from their climb, had been blowing across the slope and, most of the time, directly in their faces, most of the gusts coming from slightly below them rather than from above. Not the sort of conditions that would be likely to carry a definite whiff of smoke down to their enemies in the camp. Not as likely, he supposed, as the very real prospect that he and Liz would soon be finding themselves too cold and stupefied to do much to improve their situation. Freeing himself with difficulty from Lizs grasp he struggled to his feet, fell, managed to get up again with the help of a nearby pile of rock rubble and tried to work himself warmer by moving around, but could manage little beyond a slow, stooped-over shuffle, as badly as his legs were cramping up on him. He

stopped. Even if he could work hard enough to get himself out of immediate danger with the exercise--hed done it before, and under worse conditions, and if hed been by himself he probably would have tried it, rather than risk possibly alerting his pursuers with a fire--there was Liz to think about, and watching her in the flickering glow of the candle, he let himself fall back to the ground, crawled over to her. She hadnt moved since getting the candle lit, looked to be asleep, or very close to it, and while Einar knew that he could probably force himself through the steps necessary to sustain life that night in wet clothes and without an additional heat source, he definitely did not have the strength to do it for two people, and knew it. Alone, he would have opted without question for the choice that left least chance of detection, even if it also dimmed his prospects for continued life, but he had Lizs existence to think about, too, and the childs, and his duty was to keep them alive, as well as free. They needed a fire. And would have it. With his knife--had to grab the thing with both hands, as he seemed to have very little grip strength at the moment and even less coordination--Einar began prying at one of the nearby timbers that stuck out of the rubble at the back of the tunnel, its dry wood splintering easily under the blade. He could have crawled back up the rockslide to the tunnel entrance and gone out into the storm in search of dry and protected dead evergreen boughs to fuel the fire, but saw no purpose in doing so, with so much good dry fuel close at hand. Working slowly, he piled the splinters into a rough cone on a large slab of rock there near the back of the cave-in. The cone finally big enough, he pulled and struggled at the end of the board hed been digging the splinters from, but the thing was firmly held in place by a ton or two of fallen rock, would not budge even when he lay on his back and kicked at it. Not gonnacome out of there, huh? Well, then the fire will come to youthats how it works, you know, how it always goes And he moved the pile of splinters over beneath the two feet of protruding timber, its underside all shredded and feathery from his work with the knife, stacking two flat rocks under the mangled board as a platform for the kindling and leaning some of the larger splinters up against the timber, itself. Not much of a fire--Einar laughed at himself as he looked at the pitiful little heap of wood splinters, larger shards on top and the single timber that it all leaned against; thing wont last long, as Ive got it--but he hoped that it would at least allow Liz to begin warming some and heading in the right direction before it burned itself out, maybe give him time enough--and additional light to work by--to figure out a way to free some of the other timbers and haul them over there to add to the blaze. Blinking slowly, he let his eyes wander the dimness of the bottom of the tunnel, scanning the soaked burlap sacks that held their meager possessions, the slabs or spruce bark that had acted as wind-breaks for their top halves as they struggled through the storm--Einars had split and broken in his slide down to the bottom of the rocks, but Lizs was still intact, leaning against the far wall--and the random collection of dry timbers that sprouted haphazardly from the rubble. Yep, theyre about all we got down here to burn. Could probably wring water out of that spruce bark. Gonna have to split the timbers pretty small if I use them, though, keep the fire tiny, or well end up with a doggone bonfire down here, and roast ourselves to death, if we dont pass out first from smoke inhalation. Smoke ought to rise up out of here pretty well, considering the angle of the thing, and there really shouldnt be

too much of it in the first place, considering how dry this wood seems to be Realizing that he had stopped moving and allowed himself to sink into a dazed crouch as he contemplated the future of a fire that didnt even exist yet, Einar pried himself up off the rock and crept over to the candle, praying that he wouldnt drop and extinguish it as he carried it over to the waiting fire. Which he did not, the candles flame quickly igniting the waiting splinters and slivers of wood, which burned brightly and fast, setting the larger timber above to smoldering and then flaming before they were consumed. Glancing around hastily for more fuel and finding it in a few fragments of wood over in the shadows near the pile of rock he had earlier used to assist himself to his feet, he quickly added them to the blaze, the dry-brittle wood taking flame easily and emitting very little smoke. Liz was sitting up straighter by that point, staring into the flames in fascinated amazement but making no move to get closer to them, and Einar helped her, urging her to move and getting her seated near the fire. The place was warming quickly, smoke rising along the ceiling and being drawn out into the storm, and Einar could see from the movements of the flames that the wind outside was forcing some amount of fresh air down into the tunnel, enough, it seemed, to keep the fire from depleting the oxygen supply much at all, and certainly enough to keep the fire burning along quite contentedly. Coughing--there was some smoke, though not as much as he had feared-Einar dropped back to the ground and crept around in search of more wood, found a timber that he had previously overlooked, one that appeared to be covered loosely with a fairly sparse carpeting of fragmented rock debris, and he pulled and tugged and kicked at it, freeing the thing, doing his best to knock the dust out of it and dragging it over to the blaze, using a rock to break off pieces of the dry-rotted wood and leaning them into the flames. He was beginning to shake harder, the work and the growing heat of the fire loosening up cold-stiffened muscles, and he finally extinguished the candle and allowed himself to sink wearily to the ground beside Liz, sure that the fire was alright on its own for the time, no longer in immediate danger of going out. Stretching stiff, blue-cold hands out to greet the flames, Liz gave Einar a faint smile and pulled him closer to her, the two of them sitting thus for a minute before Einar again forced himself up to look for more wood. Hauling everything he could find over within easy reach, he pulled their extra set of wet clothes out of the bag and set them to begin drying on nearby rocks, knowing that they must not stay there in the tunnel too long after having risked a fire, must make the best possible use of every minute of that blaze. Which meant setting some rock chunks up there on the fire platform to heat, and he did it, sliding them in very nearly beneath the flames but leaving bits sticking out for him to grab later. Their wet clothes, he knew, could be wrapped around the rocks when hot, speeding up the drying process by driving off large quantities of water as steam. The air in the tunnel feeling quite warm by that time, at least to Einar, he figured that the time had come to get out of their sodden clothes, start drying the things and themselves, also. He tried to tell Liz so but was shaking too frantically to get the words out, laughed at the incoherent-sounding mumblings that resulted from his attemptmade a lot more sense in my head than it did when I tried to put it into words, but then, it seems things often doand began helping her out of the sweater, supposing shed get the idea. Which

she did, more than happy to be rid of the icy things, and Einar wrapped the sweater around Lizs war-club stick and twisted it to wring out as much additional water as he could before spreading it out on the rocks to dry. With Liz out of her wet clothes and beginning to warm, Einar, having spread his out to dry as well, struggled back into his boots and stood warming himself for a good minute over the flames, knowing that with his leg cramping so badly he would never be able to crouch the way Liz was doing, and not wanting to sit back down on the cold rock of the floor, where hed only go on losing heat. He was tired, though, wasnt doing too well at standing, and had to brace his hands against the low ceiling to keep from losing his balance and toppling forward into the fire. Liz solved the problem for him by hauling over another dry board--one that he had entirely overlooked when building the fire, must not have been quite as alert as you thought you were, good thing you didnt wait too much longer on that fire--and propping it up in the rock rubble to create a rough bench. She helped Einar down beside her then and held him close as the radiating glow of the fire began to warm them, digging out more of the Nutella and, despite Einars unspoken objections--were gonna regret it later, eating this up so fast--made sure they each got some. Once the warmth of the flames had begun to restore his dexterity just a bit--took a good while, longer than he thought it ought to have--Einar grabbed the cooking pot and hauled himself up the steep slide of rock to the tunnel mouth, seeking snow to melt for water. He knew dehydration had to be contributing to the difficulties he and Liz were having with the cold, the occasional cupped handful of water in the tunnels--somewhat toxic, most likely, but they had been a bit desperate after hours creeping around down there-and the infrequent glob of slushy snow after they got out having represented their only fluid intake since leaving Susans early that morning. Crouching in the entrance, still for a moment as he listened to the night outside, Einar discovered that the snow currently being swirled and driven into his face by the wind was not the wet slushy stuff that had plagued their earlier flight, soaking quickly through clothing to leave them drenched and numb, but had turned to something more like the dry powder that was common earlier in the winter. It was getting colder. Einar grinned, shivered, scraped away the top layer of snow and scooped up a pot full of the wetter, heavier stuff from beneath, compressed it into the pot with his hand, wanting to squeeze some of the air out and make room for more. The deeper cold was a welcome change. Their clothes, once dry, would be staying so for a good while longer, now that they wouldnt have all that falling slush to contend with. Einar packed another handful of partially frozen slush down into the pot, retreated back into the relative warmth of the tunnel. They dared not stay long, and had a lot of work to do, in the meantime. Soon after Einar returned to the fire, the snow in the pot was well on its way to liquefying, having started its life as slush, with a rather high water content, as snow goes. Leaning close as he watched the pool of water around the diminishing snow grown larger, Einar breathed the steam, the warm moisture in his lungs going a long way towards bringing his temperature back up into the normal range. While at the entrance scooping up snow, he had considered breaking off a few inches from the tip of a spruce branch to make tea, but had refrained, remembering that Liz had told him it was best for her not to have evergreen tea while expecting. The warm water, he knew, would be quite welcome

in their chilled state, with no further embellishment. Which it was, Einar finally removing the pot from the fire-rock and wrapping two wet socks around it to keep from getting burned, taking a long drink of the warm liquid and handing it to Liz. She breathed the steam for a minute also, her sunglasses steaming over and further blurring her vision, but she did not care. Even with the glasses, the light of the fire was a bit strong for her healing eyes, and she had been keeping them largely closed as she sat there warming. For several minutes they sat passing the pot back and forth, Einar rising once to exchange the hot rocks around which he had wrapped each item of wool clothing for fresh ones, to speed up the drying process. The fleece clothing, being essentially composed of spun plastic, would have melted or at the least had its structure and insulating capacity damaged had they exposed it to that sort of heat, and it had been spread carefully on rocks well out of reach of the occasional flying sparks that left the fire, and he turned the items over, feeling them and finding them well on their way to being dry. Einar rejoined Liz at the fire, his fleece top draped over his back, driest side down. It was definitely dry enough to be beneficial--he fumbled with the sleeves, finally got them tied loosely around his neck to keep the thing in place while he continued shivering himself warm--and when he offered to help Liz into hers, which was entirely dry except for small patches around the cuffs and collar, she gladly accepted. Einar saw that she was carefully avoiding looking at the fire, keeping her eyes off to one side. Your eyes. Light hurting them? A little. Theyre starting to get pretty sore again. Maybe I should just keep them closed for a while Probably should. Mine tunnels were a big help I expect, the complete absence of light, but youll have to be real careful out here for a few days until theyre all healed up. Can take a few days, especially sincethey were aggravated again, after the first injury. Liz nodded, head down. The second time was worst. She seemed to be shaking harder than she had been before, wouldnt look up at him, and Einar supposed maybe he ought not have mentioned about the second injury. With the events of the past day, the long scramble through the mine and all the walking afterwards, their focus on escaping, he expected she wouldnt have had too much time to think about what had been done to her, wished he knew what to say but could think of nothing, put his arm around her instead and sat there silent with her as she went on breathing the steam of the remaining hot water. After a while she seemed to relax just a bit, stopped trying to edge away from him and put her head on his shoulder. Within seconds her regular breathing told him that she was asleep, and Einar did not have the heart to wake her, knowing that aside from a few minutes of dozing in Susans cellar, she had gone entirely without sleep since being taken for questioning by the agentstwo days ago? Three? He really could not recall, anymore. The days were blending together. He shook his head, buried his face in her hair. Sleep, Lizzie, sleep while you cannot gonna get any easier, not for a while, at least.

Adding a few slivers and a larger chunk of broken timber to the fire, Einar took another sip of the tepid water that remained in the pot, stomach growling painfully as it urgently demanded something more than the liquid. He was having a difficult time adjusting to the absence of the superfluous rations that he had been receiving at Susans, his body, which had barely had time to even begin repairing itself in the few days he spent there, screaming for far more than he was able to give it and protesting loudly when he responded each time with a rather firm no. His mind, too, was rebelling, urging him almost irresistibly at the moment to grab the open jar of Nutella and finish it while Liz slept--she doesnt need it like you do, she had more days at Susans, more days to eat, do it, youve got to do it--then start in on the second, stuffing himself before the food could somehow disappear, but he just clamped his jaw and shook his head wearily, pressed his fist into his cramping stomach. Leave me alone, Hunger, you greedy old buzzard. Bodys doing better than it has been in a long time, but youre just never satisfied, are you? Specially when you get a good taste or two, start remembering what its like to eat, again. Youre greedy and thankless and I want you to leave me, now. He would adjust once again, he knew, his stomach would get the idea that the feasting time was over, and go back to sleep, the hunger pains would end, and then he could get some sleep, too, but not that night. Couldnt have let himself do it, even if the twisting and complaining in his stomach had been less, because he knew that they must not stay too long in their present location. But we got time, a little time at least, so you might as well have some rest, Liz. I dont want to stick around here long enough for those guys in the tents down there to get a good fix on where the smoke smell is coming from, if theres even enough smoke for them to smell, but it sure would increase our chances of making it through the next few days if we could finish drying these clothes before we head out. Another hour, at most, he figured, ought to be required to get the clothes dry or something like it. That should give us plenty of time to warm up, too, maybe stop shivering at least, get a little rest. And then we need to make real good time and leave this place behind us. Didnt like the looks of those tent fellas down there. Something about themlooked like the type who might just decide to spend the night scouting around in a snowstorm after a hint of smoke smell, rather than holed up in their tents. Dont like it. Watching Liz sleep and striving with little success to keep his mind on subjects other than food--anything other than food, please!--he had an idea, eased the sunglasses off of her face and replaced them with a couple of mostly dry socks, to keep the light out. It had been clear to him in observing her near the fire that the protection provided by the shaded lenses was not enough to adequately shield her extremely light-sensitive eyes and prevent significant pain, and he knew that if they were not sufficient against the glow of the fire, they would be found lacking out in the snowy woods on a sunny day, also, even if they were doing their best to stick to the timber. With enough aggravation, her eyes would be prone to suffering a relapse, swelling shut again at a time when she would really need all of her faculties about her if they were to successfully evade the search. Opening the Nutella jar--he had to turn his face away to keep from smelling its contents but ended up getting a good whiff, anyway, eyes watering at the knowledge that he must not touch the stuff, must save it--he pried with his knife at the little waxed cardboard insert in the lid,

freeing it and setting it on the bench beside him, quickly twisting the lid back in place and breathing a sigh of relief as the smell began dissipating. Opening the second jar, he removed its cardboard insert, also, tucking the two jars back into the burlap sack for safekeeping. Setting to work trimming the two cardboard pieces, he allowed his mind to wander slowly along the shelves of Susans root cellar, sampling canned peaches, green beans, applesauce, lingering for a long time on the double row of chili jars--elk, he had guessed, the meat, tomatoes, onions, kidney beans, green peppers, who knew what else?-and he opened a jar, heated the stuff over the fire and poured into in a bowl, topped it with a generous pile of shredded cheddar cheese and a scoop of sour cream, stirred it all together and watched as the cheese melted and became stretchy, breathed in the wonderfully appetizing steam, rich with the spicy scent of tomato and chili peppers and beans, and picked up his spoon As he enjoyed his first bite of imaginary chili--never realized before just how wonderful kidney beans can be, that incredible soft mealy texture, could make a great meal on these things, alonetoo bad Ill probably never really taste one, again-- Einar tested the two modified cardboard pieces, seeing that they did, as he had intended, fit quite well inside the lenses of the sunglasses, their slightly larger size allowing him to bend them slightly upon insertion, allowing them to unfold and hold themselves in place against the edges of the frames. He removed them, tried to take another bite of chili but to his immense sorrow found it gone, the delicious illusion having been shattered and scattered by his need to concentrate on inserting the cardboard pieces, his cramping stomach the only thing left him. The little flight of fancy had certainly not helped his discomfort any, had left him feeling a good bit hungrier than before, and he laughed silently at himself, shook his head and added another piece of wood to the fire. Cutting long thin slits in the cardboard pieces, Einar blackened the insides of each with charcoal from the fire, sticking them back into the glasses and nodding with satisfaction. The modified glasses ought to further protect Lizs vision, allowing her to see fairly well while preventing further pain and damage to her eyes, be it from the firelight or the sun on the snow, outside. Which reminded him. He had better be waking Liz soon, so he could head up and refill the pot, clean his foot and her eyes and check the state of the drying clothes, because they needed to leave the shelter far in advance of daylight, and, hopefully, of the end of the storm. Stirring restlessly, Liz saved him the trouble of having to disturb her, as she was brought to sudden wakefulness by the tail end of a rather disturbing dream, scattering the socks with which Einar had shielded her eyes as she sat up and stared directly into the fire for a brief, terrifying moment that confirmed to her beyond doubt that she had not merely been dreaming. They had her again. Or perhaps had never released her. Einar was there, though, had ahold of her and got her turned away from the flames, handed her the modified sunglasses. Hey now, its alright. Just me, here. I just took the glasses for a minute so I could make a couple of changes, make them work better for you. Give them a try. And he helped her put the glasses on, smiling when she was able to turn around and face the fire again without too much distress. Im sorry. I didnt mean to fall asleep.

Nah, its alright. We both needed to do some more warming up, needed some time by the fire, and Ive just been sitting here resting and watching the clothes dry, but Id better go flip things over and see how theyre coming along. You want to drink up the last of this water, so I can go get some more snow to melt? We need to clean around your eyes, and my foot could kinda use some attention, too. Figure well stick around here long enough to do that, melt a third pot so we can really tank up on water, finish drying the clothes, and then head out. Storms still going real good, Ive been listening to the wind out there, so Im hoping well be able to make some good time and put this tunnel way behind us before morning when the guys in those tents will start poking around out here again. Assuming theyre not spending the night doing that Which he knew was a real possibility. After quickly melting another pot of snow and bathing Lizs eyes, Einar added another drop of the tea tree oil to the remaining water to strengthen its disinfectant properties, and dipped the top of one of their still-wet socks into it, bathing the numerous cuts and scratches that scored his elbows, knees and lower legs after the long crawl through the tunnels. Finishing, shivering harder at the renewed dampness, he hovered over the fire, drying himself and trying to get warm again. No senseletting a little scratch like this get all inflamed and infected and being the thing that ultimately does me in. Could happen. Got to try and keep on top of it. Liz was crouching with her back to the fire in an apparent attempt to dry her hair, and Einar sat down beside her, waiting as she cleaned her own scrapes and scratches, and helping her carefully remove a tiny flake of granite that had somehow become embedded in her elbow during the course of the tunnel crawling or the subsequent climb. The task finished, it was time for another pot of water, and Einar once more scurried up the rockslide to scoop up snow, increasingly possessed with the urgency of their coming departure and growing uneasy at the thought of all that still remained to be done before leaving. Reaching the tunnel entrance, the ongoing fury of the storm reassured him some, wind lashing his unprotected body with a fury that left little doubt as to the state the two of them would likely have found themselves in by that time, had they been forced to go on traveling in that weather in their wet clothes. Hastily scooping up his pot full of snow, Einar retreated thankfully back into the warmth and stillness of the tunnel, shaking the dry powder snow from his hair and rubbing windchilled limbs as he stood once again over the fire, watching the snow melt. His fleece shirt seemed to have finished drying on both sides when he checked, and he untied its sleeves from around his neck, fumbled wind-numbed arms into them and gratefully pulled the garment over his head, crossing his arms and shuddering at its warmth. Thats better. Could sure use ahat, too, if ones dry. He checked, found both hats to have dried, pulled one down until it covered his eyebrows and grinned through chattering teeth at the result. Ahhgood. Real good. Dont seem to be doing real well at producing or retaining heat right now. Seems the fires the only thing really keeping me warm, but a couple layers of dry clothes sure cant hurt any, and neither can all that walking were about to be doing. Melting the snow but removing the pot from the fire platform before the water could

actually become hot, Einar unwrapped and treated his foot, discarding the damp and crusty gauze that had been in place since Susan wrapped it back at the house, and soaking his toe area in the half-pot of water to which he had added a couple drops of the tea tree oil Susan had sent with him. Even watered down, the stuff stung somewhat when coming into contact with the raw, aggravated wounds on his foot, the long hike and the grueling climb up out of the mine having been pretty hard on them, but still the foot looked better than he could remember it looking since losing the toes, and he was hopeful that between Susans treatments and what he could continue to do for it--she had sent him a few extra gauze pads and rolls, secured in the ziplock bag that held the little bottle of tea tree oil-the injuries might finally be on their way to healing. Sure hoped so, because it looked like he had an awful lot of walking ahead of him, some of it in the immediate future. Their clothes were very nearly dry when Einar next checked, his bulky sweater still damp in places but dry enough to provide a significant amount of warmth, and he wrapped it around one final hot rock to help drive the remaining dampness off. The sweater he intended to roll up in the pack and set aside for later, needing something dry to get into the next time they stopped and thinking that his fleece top and wool shirt ought to be adequate while traveling--as should Lizs clothes--seeing as they were now dry. Though the colder night temperatures had turned the snow much drier and thus left it less inclined to soak into their clothing to chill them as they walked, the wind was still blasting the mountainside, and Einar, knowing that they would do far better if they had a way to block its full effects from pummeling them and sapping their energy, checked the bark plates, which had been drying near the fire but far enough away to keep them from bursting into flame as they dried. Not quite far enough though, it appeared, as several little nodules of dried pitch on one of the plates had liquefied, sticking to Einars fingers as he inspected the bark piece. The bark was dry, and he started to move it further from the fire so the pitch could solidify before they had need of the thing, but then he had an idea. Hauling the bark over to the timber bench Liz had made he sat down, held the sticky area near the flames for a moment to further liquefy its lumps of pitch, and set to work smearing and kneading the stuff into the tunnel-rock abrasions on his arms and legs. The saps antibacterial and healing properties should, he knew, help prevent infection, and seal off some of the worst of the abrasions to some extent, preventing them from getting dirty as quickly as they other wise would have and hopefully setting them on their way to healing. The bark pieces that had made up Lizs vest were in fine shape, still, had dried there in the heat of the fire and awaited her future use, but his own had suffered some damage. Running his hands over the split section of bark that he had been wearing on his front--it had broken in his slide to the bottom of the tunnel-slope--Einar decided it was beyond repair, pulled the paracord lacing out of it and tossed the pieces into the fire, where they were consumed with a hungry crackling by the flames. Perhaps he would find another piece at some time, and until then, the single one would have to do. Hed lash it to his back. That was it, their tasks completed, aside, perhaps, from warming themselves thoroughly, but that would have taken a good bit more time than Einar figured they safely had, and, studying Liz, he decided that she seemed to be doing pretty well in that regard. Was barely even shivering any more, seemed to have got some of her color back sitting there beside the fire sipping warm water, and when he lowered himself to the bench

beside her and took her hand, he found it to be warm. Good. Ready to go. And he told Liz so, but she was not so sure, thought he still felt--and looked--awfully cold. Maybe youd better sit here for a minute and have some more to eat first, before we go. It sounds like that storms still blowing full force out there, and surely it would be a good idea to store up some extra heat before heading out into it again Nah, the stuff doesnt store too well. Not for me, at least, not at the moment. What I really need is to get moving. We both need that. Been here too long already with this fire. Time to put it out, and then you can help me cover up the signs as well as we can so if those guys from the tents happen up this way, it isnt quite so obvious to them that the place has been recently lived in. Here. Well go ahead and light the candle so we have light to work from once the fires out. Holding the candle close to the flames until the wick took, Einar set it on a flat rock well away from the fire slab, extinguishing the bulk of the small fire by crushing it beneath smaller rock slab that he lifted with difficulty, Liz helping when she saw his intentions. He then enlisted Lizs help in moving the slab that had held the blaze, the two of them wearing socks on their hands to shield them from burns. They lowered the slab to the ground, Einar working to cover it with smaller slabs and chunks of broken rock, arranging them in as random a manner as possible, concealing the charred bits of wood and the blackened rock from beneath the fire. The charred timber that stuck out of the rubble pile and could not be moved got some special attention with a handful of fine dust that Einar rubbed and ground into it, not entirely concealing the signs that it had burned, but making the fire, he hoped, appear a happening of the distant past. It was time then to pack up their few possessions, Einar loading the cooking pot, candle and Nutella into the burlap sack and rolling up their extra clothing into a tight bundle. Balancing the bundle in his hands he studied it thoughtfully for a moment, breaking off pieces from his damaged spruce bark vest and sandwiching the clothes between them. Taking two more pieces and using them to cover the cracks left by the first two, he wrapped the bundle tightly with the suspenders Susan had given him, their stretchy material ideal for holding the bark pieces together. The knife belt, he knew, would suffice for keeping his pants in place; he had punched a number of new holes in it, had made it fit. The shell he had created for the clothes was not entirely waterproof, wouldnt have kept them dry if submerged in a creek, but ought, he believed, to protect them from any snow that might happen to melt and soak through the burlap sack. Which would not be much, at least that night. It was cold out there, the snow a fine dry powder that filtered down through the trees to cover their tracks, carried into rough drifts by the wind. Directing Liz to wait for him partway up the rockslide there in the tunnel, Einar sifted a fine layer of dust over the fire-spot, the rocks where they had sat, the heap of rocks he had leaned wearily against on first arriving down there. He nodded. Theyd done a good job, done all they could to conceal the signs of their stay, but he knew that if the place was discovered and investigated in the near future by someone with even a reasonable degree of common sense--let alone backcountry experience and tracking skills--the smell of smoke in the air would give away the recent presence of humans. They would, he

hoped, be far from the area by the time that happened, if it happened. The candle blown out and stowed in the burlap sack with everything else, he joined Liz on the rockslide, the two of them clambering to the top, where he put a hand on her arm, whispered for her to wait inside until he had a chance to take a look outside, listen to the night, make sure they were alone. Quiet except for the forlorn rushing of the wind through the twisted little high-altitude firs and over the broken rock of the mountainside above the mine entrance, the night ought to have brought reassurance and comfort to Einar, but it did not. He stood stooped over, plastered against one of the trees that stood just outside the fissure that led into the tunnel, smelling the faint hint of smoke that still rose from its interior to be carried away by the wind and feeling that even if the tunnel was not being watched, the enemy must be very close by. Letting his eyes rove over the dim forms of the wind-tossed snow trees all around and below him, ears and nose searching for any concrete sign of human presence, he could find nothing to substantiate the warning that he felt. But it did not need substantiation. Someone was out there. If not watching them, then about to be, and he was pretty sure that it would be equipped with night vision goggles, scopes...wait. Dont move, dont make a sound. Snows slacked off a little right now but its gonna pick back up in a minute, Im sure, and then we make our move. Real hard to see through a blowing snowstorm, even with that kind of technology. Now I just wish I was here alone, so I could circle around on them and tear down their tents while theyre out and about . Cause Im real sure theyre out and about tonight. Didnt look like the type to spend the night hunkered down in camp. Wonder if its our smoke thats led them up here, or if they already had a good idea of which way we were headed after leaving the house--or the mine, evenmaybe theyve found our sign down in those tunnels, already--and headed up here to intercept us after their cameras didnt pick anything up at that natural chokepoint, down there Could be either one or, he told himself, could be neither, could be youre imagining the whole thing and those guys are sound asleep in their warm sleeping bags down in the tents. But I dont think so, because this is exactly what I would do if I was trying to catch me under these circumstances, and those guys looked to me like the type who would know it. But thats assuming they realize by now that its me theyre looking for, and not just Liz, having gone missing from Susans. Got to assume they do. May have found my tracks in the tunnels, in Susans woodshedheck, theyve probably found my hair or prints or something in the house by now, if they had reason to go over it that thoroughly. Sure hope not for Susans sake, buthe shook his head, stared intently into the swirling snow. It was growing heavier, obscuring the dim view hed had of the little white-plastered knot of firs just below them. Time to go. Slowly, cautious of dislodging a rock beneath his foot, snapping a stick, anything that might alert another to his presence, Einar retreated to the tunnel, felt for Liz and found that she had not moved from where he had left her. Silent, he pressed a finger to her lips and hoped she would get the message, quiet, we got to be awful quiet, not make any sounds that might be taken as human-like, and led her out into the storm. Liz wanted to ask him what he had seen, heard, what, exactly, she needed to be watching for out there--she had taken off the sunglasses and stowed them in her pocket as soon as

the candle was blown out, knowing that they would render her entirely blind on a stormy night like that--but she could feel the coiled-up tension in him as he took her hand, saw the dim form of his firmly-grasped knife against the snow, and kept silent. Up through the trees they crept, inching forward, Einar pausing frequently to listen, taste the wind-can still smell that smoke, just a bit of it, fires looking like it may have been a bad idea-picking up the pace once they had crossed the remainder of the open, rocky area and reentered the timber. Only when they had traveled what Einar estimated to be a good mile from the mine site and reached a low area of denser timber did he begin to relax a little, slowing the pace, badly winded and limping painfully. Stopping in the shelter of a densely-boughed fir, he turned to look back at Liz. Couldnt see her of course, the darkness being nearly complete there beneath the timber, but he found her, put a hand on her arm and spoke in a low voice, barely audible through the wind. You getting along alright? Warm enough? She moved closer to better be able to hear him. Yes. Im fine. Warmer than before, for sure, when the snow was soaking in so badly. But what just happened back there? Did you hear something? Was somebody following us? Dont think they were following us, but they were there, alright. Somewhere down there below the mine. Hope they didnt end up inside and smell our fire, because if they got on our trail pretty quickwell, if theyre good, theres no guarantee that its snowing and blowing hard enough to keep them off our trail. If we get some lead time well be fine, long as the storm keeps up. Thats why the hurry. That, and the need to stay warm. Kinda working, it looks likebut we better keep moving. Where are we going? Wanted to keep following this little series of timbered ridges. Theyre stacked up like pancakes, on the map, and following them will lead us a little lower, take us to a series of real remote valleys with creeks and beaver ponds--Im hoping they have beaver ponds, anyway, never been over in there--where we can stay for a while. Long way from here, and not the direction theyll expect us to go, if theyve figured out by now that Im with you. I always head up, way up there into my territory in the high country, and they know it. Got to do something different this time. And if they dont know that were together well, theyll probably expect you to stick close to the house. Wait for me. Something like that. Hard to know just what theyre thinking, what they know, but that would be my guess. So either way, were doing good to head out across these little ridges. Itll mean a lot of up and down climbing, ridge, gully, ridge, gully, and some of its probably gonna be pretty rough going, all choked with fallen timber and brush and such, but thats good. Just what we need. Also need to He stopped, grunted, doubled over momentarily with a vicious cramp in his right leg--the thing never had regained all of its strength after him being off of it so long with the earlier fracture and then all the trouble with the toes, was not liking the pace he was demanding of it--before getting hold of himself and standing again, leaning heavily on

the tree. Need to be sticking mostly to the north slopes of these ridges, traveling along them just as much as we can. Winds largely from the north right now, has been all night, and thats where most of the snows gonna pile up. Most of the drifts. Well leave a lot less sign behind if we can stick to those slopes. And as we get lower, well find that theyre a lot more heavily timbered than the ones that face more to the south. You ready to go? That morning as Einar and Liz made their way down one heavily timbered ridge and up the next, an odd and unsettling discovery was made by agents patrolling along the outer, concertina wire-topped fenceline that surrounded the Mountain Task Force compound. The tracks, appeared to have come out of nowhere, limping along and following the fence for a few yards in an odd, shuffling pattern that was all too familiar to the agents who had helped in the investigation of the two deaths up at the pond above the camera site, shortly before Lizs capture. They knew those tracks--odd, mismatched, one badly worn vibramsoled boot and another, misshapen, appearing to be made of fur. It was the same sort of fur that they had found traces of in one of the tracks up at that beaver pond, where their fugitive had apparently dragged his odd, homemade boot across a slightly protruding tree snag shortly after he had left his atlatl darts in two of their fellow agents. The tracks vanished after those few yards, the fugitive having apparently gone up and over a slight ridge in the rolling sagebrush country that ran along that side of the compound, the wind and blowing snow of the night having served to wipe out all signs of his retreat. Clustered around the compound in great numbers, the cameras had not caught a thing. Had, in fact, apparently ceased functioning altogether sometime in the night, the ones that covered that area of fence, at least, a fact that had been overlooked at the time by a crew who had been paying more attention to their laptops and to a fresh delivery of pizza from town, than to the bank of surveillance screens that lined one wall there in the control room. When agents went to see what might be the problem with the cameras, which had been mounted along the treeline some distance beyond the outer fence, it was to find them missing altogether. The Agent in Charge told his men to cordon off the area where the tracks had been seen, guard it but do nothing further that might lead to trampling or contaminating it. The men from the tents up on the ridge were summoned, recalled, informed that their services were needed down at Task Force headquarters. Bob was up earlier than usual, sitting back in his faded blue recliner in front of the TV with his hands behind his head, watching that mornings local news broadcast out of Clear Springs, the frenzy of activity out along the fenceline surrounding the FBI compound clearly visible through the broadcasters camera, the looks on the faces of the agents they interviewed--and of those who walked by during the brief discussion--clearly those of men who knew that they were being hunted in their own stronghold, watched, stalked by an enemy whose capture had long eluded them and who had cost them many lives, in the process. Bob laughed, leaned back further in his chair and inspected the contents of a plastic bag that he was playfully tossing from one hand to another, contemplating the future of the elk bone atlatl dart head that it contained. So many

possibilities Tucked away in the forest above the trailer, Bobs fresh crop of illicit herbs was beginning to languish just a bit, all but forgotten in the thrill of tampering with the minds of the men down there at Mountain Task Force headquarters. For the remaining hours of darkness that windy night Einar and Liz pushed on through the thick, tangled timber of the low ridges, keeping, as Einar had suggested, to the north slopes whenever possible, and though he knew the strategy was a wise one when it came to allowing the storm to cover the signs of their passage, the constant struggle up and over snags of fallen timber, treacherously slippery beneath its coating of snow, was wearing badly on them both, exhaustion staring them starkly in the face as the black of night began giving way to a pale morning grey. For the last hour or so they had been pressing on in weary silence. Einars right leg near going out on him and he could tell that Liz, though she had followed him without complaining, was running on empty also, having had very little sleep since being released from federal custody, and he wanted to stop, let them have some rest and even a bit of sleep if possible--he believed they had come far enough, considering the continued fury of the storm and the persistent snowfall, to be out of immediate danger of pursuit--but they could hardly just lie down on the snowy ground. Very badly he wished for a blanket, a fur, even a sheet of plastic to wrap up in, but they had nothing of the sort, and he knew that they would, in the end, have to content themselves with crawling into some thick brush beneath the blackest timber they could find on that black night, curling up and resting as well as they could. Einar was ready, his whole body aching, eyes trying to drift closed whenever he allowed himself to stop moving for more than seconds at a time, and despite the bitter wind he found himself feeling strangely feverish at times, did not much like it. Wanted to find some dry duff to dig down into, but everything seemed to have been soaked by the wet snow from the evening before, and then frozen overnight to leave it in a state rather inhospitable to weary and chilled travelers. They kept moving, Einar hoping to discover a place where the timber was dense enough to have kept even a small section of duff dry, or nearly so. He would have been content with merely crouching on the dry bark plates that they still carried with them, that, or cutting and piling up a few evergreen branches to shield them from the dampness of the ground, but with nothing beyond their clothing--and the thin and mostly dry burlap sacks--to cover them against the cold, he knew that they had better try and keep looking until they found those sheltering trees, and could dig down into a pile of dry, insulating needles for their rest. Wanting to tell Liz his plan, to assure her that the end was in sight and that they would be stopping just as soon as he found a suitable spot he tired to speak to her, but his voice came out as a dry croak, and he grabbed a small handful of snow, took a bite. He knew that they were both somewhat dehydrated, had to be, though they had been softening and eating bits of snow now and then out of necessity, wished they had a way to carry water and knew that they could use one of the Nutella containers to transport a bit of it, as soon as the thing was empty. Which wouldnt be long, the way Liz was going at the stuff, and watching her consume yet another scoop of their precious rations--shed been stopping every half hour or so to have a generous taste, it seemed,

breaks which he had for the most part refused to participate in; he would have made those three jars last for weeks, sustain him for weeks--he felt a hot prickle of annoyance which would have quickly turned to anger if he had allowed it. But he did not, shook his head, terribly ashamed of himself for his brief lapse of discipline, turned to look back at the valley so she wouldnt feel his eyes on her as she ate. Whats got into you? You know shes not doing this out of greed. She needs the fuel, needs protein real regularly, or shes gonna start having serious troubles, and so is the little one. You know that. Now get ahold of yourself, and find us a way to carry water. Cant be letting ourselves get this far behind, out here. Liz had finished her snack, was holding the jar out to him and he took it, swallowing a lump in his throat--he hardly felt worthy of partaking in the meal, after the frustration he had allowed himself to feel towards Liz, if only briefly--and had a bite, at her insistent urging. There in his hand, he realized, was the solution to their water problem, for the jar was so close to being empty that he could not imagine what harm could be done by putting snow in there with the remaining smears of hazelnut and chocolate to begin melting. The greasy stuff would cling to the sides despite the presence of the water, could be scraped off and eaten later. Without a word to her--throat was pretty dry still--he scooped up a handful of snow and pressed the air out of it, starting the melting process with his hands before shoving it into the jar, adding a bit more and fumbling the lid into place. Down inside his shirt, then, he slid the jar to keep the snow melting, shivering at the icy touch against his stomach but not much caring; they had to drink. And had to move, for the time, had to keep looking for a sheltered spot to stop for some rest. Finally they stopped, just before sunup, or what would have presumably been sunup, had the sun been inclined to show through the flat grey sameness of cloud that was drawn like a wet, heavy cloak over the entirety of the sky that morning. They stood swaying and exhausted on the verge of yet another steep, brush-choked descent--the sixth, the seventh, Einar was no longer sure--in what had become a seemingly endless series of such scrambles, down into the trench between ridges, pause at the bottom, struggle to catch your breath and, finding no running water down there often as not, go ahead and eat a bit of snow, knowing that you would regain the heat you lost in doing this when you climbed up the other side, but also knowing just as well that you could not go on doing this indefinitely, any of it, shoving the thought aside and pushing on up the slopethey were done. Both of them. Stood staring dully at the tangle of wind-felled spruces that awaited them down there, matted with thickets of chokecherry and red osier dogwood that were sure to grab at weary feet and lead to more than one spill as they navigated the slope. Liz sat down on a rock from which the wind had scoured most of the snow, Einar crouching beside her, knowing that he might have quite a struggle getting on his feet again if he sat, just then. Come far enough, I think. That big patch of spruces down there, about halfway down the slopegonna hole up in there for a while. Which sounded good to Liz, and she stood, pulled him to his feet and started numbly down the slope. Time to rest.

 That the tracks along the fenceline were a ruse was obvious to the experienced men who the AIC had called down off the mountain, and off of a promising lead--they had smelled smoke, had, they believed, been nearing its source when he demanded they pack out of there--early that morning to help with the investigation, and they said so in no uncertain language, pointing out the inconsistencies in the mans gait, even within those few yards for which the tracks were visible. Had his limp been real--which they knew from observing past sign that the subjects was--it would have been more consistent, and the fugitives tracks, if they had appeared at all, would have been far less obvious than the ones the men studied that morning. He was too cautious, too wary to give himself away like that. Such actions would have been entirely inconsistent with his past behavior. The agents would hear none of it, insisting that the erratic behavior on the fugitives part was merely further evidence that their plan to use the girl as bait was working, was drawing him in, bringing him down out of his mountain fastness to search for her and leading him to behave carelessly as he forgot about his own plight in his frenzy to get her back. They had to believe in the tracks, in their authenticity, as their appearance went a long way towards making up for the fact that they no longer had the girl, that she had somehow managed to slip out of their surveillance net and disappear into the stormy night. It did not matter terribly much, anymore. They no longer needed her. Their fugitive apparently believed she was being held at the compound, and he would be back. It was enough. Later that day in the conference room at the compound, the men from the tents just listened in silence--as was their way--as the agents repeated their assertions that the tracks must be taken seriously, shot each other ironic, disgusted glances at the realization that the agents were not only refusing to show any respect or consideration for their greater range of experience and knowledge when it came to such subjects, but were entirely unwilling to listen to reason. Coming, they realized, had been a mistake, agreeing to participate in the hunt, and the agents did not really have any leverage when it came to insisting that they stay, no real authority over them, no jurisdiction. As if on cue the six of them stood, headed for the door, as much as shaking the dust from their boots as they left. Bud Kilgore, known personally by more than one of them, had been right. The spruce thicket that Einar had chosen somewhat arbitrarily as their stopping point offered little more in the way of dry shelter than had the miles of forested ridge and valley behind them, but, determined to make it work, he systematically investigated each windfall, hoping for a spot that might offer them a bit of dry ground litter to curl up in and finally finding it beneath a jumble of old spruce logs, cramped, not much space between the floor and ceiling, but at least the ground was more or less dry down there, and when he dug into the ground litter with his hands, he found it to be at least a few inches deep. Good He let his breath out in a great sigh, resting his forehead on the ground for a moment, dizzy, before rising. This is as good as we can hope to find here, better than anything weve run across yet, and we just got to have a little rest now. Let me justbreak a few branches here and there to give us more shelter from the wind, and well call it done. Breaking and leaning a number of green fir branches where they

would provide the most shelter from the wind--he wasnt worried about the branches showing from above as they turned brown and giving away the one-time presence of humans, as the timber overhead was so thick there--he crawled in, motioning to Liz to follow. Dry as the snow had been, their clothing had, much to Einars relief, remained mostly dry aside from some damp patches around the shoulders and cuffs of their pants, and he unrolled the burlap pack-sack, helping Liz quickly get into her second layer, struggling into his sweater when she refused to wear it. Their feet had not fared so well, boots having had inadequate time to dry there by the hasty fire in the tunnel, but they had dry socks, one pair each, and got into them, burrowing their feet down in the dry duff for further protection and heaping the stuff over their bodies as well as they could, movements slow and clumsy and not very efficient. He had an idea, then, began stuffing the spare burlap sack with spruce needles, and Liz helped, the result being a lumpy, prickly quilt of sorts that he knew would help prevent their cover of duff from being shaken so quickly from overtop of them by their own shivering. It was going to be that sort of a night. Arranging the improvised quilt widthwise across their torsos where they lay pressed close together, he tucked with Lizs help in beneath each of them, stuffing a few hands full of extra needles beneath it to add insulation. The second burlap bag Einar kept loaded with their possessions and close at hand in case they had to make a dash for it, which he doubted, as deep as they had crawled into the thick, sheltering timber. Sure hope not, wed probably end up running off without our boots in the hurry, but were gonna freeze our feet if we try to sleep in those soaked bootsbetter put the boots in the bag too, in case that happens. Then well only have one thing to grab. Bags gonna stay right here with me, right in front of me where I can get at it real easy and where the bootsll have at least some chance of not freezing solid overnight. But before I get things situated and settle in to rest for a while Retrieving the Nutella container from the front of his shirt, he was glad to see that the snow inside had melted thoroughly over the course of the last hour or so, handed it to Liz. Drink. Take half of it, and Ill finish up, get some more snow melting. She drank, scraping at the somewhat waterlogged remains of Nutella that clung to the sides of the jar and handed it to Einar, removing her modified sunglasses and watching him in the grey morning light as he thirstily gulped his portion. He didnt look quite right, somehow, not that she expected she looked all that great herself, but something was wrong with him, with his eyes, they looked too bright, cheeks pale but flushed, and she put a hand on his face, found it awfully hot beneath the chill of the wind on his skin. Youve got a fever Guess so. Trying not to give it too much notice, but its been coming on for a while now. I thinkmaybe my bodys just making a real serious effort to finish off thegunk in my foot, the infection, burn off whatevers left of it, really get the healing process going. Thats what Im hoping, anyway. If I get an awful lot hotter and youre aware of

it, maybe you can just take away my sweater and roll me out into the snow for a while that ought to cool me down, for sure. But I dont think its gonna be anything to worry about. Long as I can keep getting some water now and then, anyway. And he began scooping up snow and packing it into the empty Nutella container, pressing it to his stomach and curling around it to begin the melting process. Liz curled up against his back, wishing she had a way to keep him warmer and that their quarters were spacious enough for her to take a good look at his foot and make sure it was not showing any worrisome signs, but the shelter was too small, and she too tired to insist that Einar crawl back outside into the storm where there would be room. He probably needs rest as much as anything. We both do. It will help And she was asleep. Einar did not immediately sleep, his mind too full of the details of their escape and of what was to come next, the journey he hoped to make across a number of additional ridges until they were reasonably certain that the search had been left far behind them, the well-concealed valley he hoped to find, and for a time his mind wandered pleasantly through the little meadows and stands of aspen and spruce that would offer them promising territory for snaring and trapping and, he was sure, the opportunity to take an elk or two, maybe even find a location to settle down and finally start on that little cabin he had promised Liz Near sleep, though, his thoughts kept returning to the men he had seen placing surveillance around the old mine road that he had been about to cross, wondering just who they were and whether all of his efforts would be enough, in the end, to prevent their tracking him down. Expect so. Theyd have caught up to us already, if they were going todidnt look like the sort to hesitate when it comes to getting a job done With that meager consolation--and the sure knowledge that he would soon be all but useless, to both of them, if he did not get some rest, Einar slept then, too, pulling the burlap sack down close around his neck. Dozing, he was soon lost in a tunnel-dream, fever-enhanced, fuzzy and at times confusing, creeping and sloshing along with painstaking care through what seemed like mile after mile of dark, partially flooded tunnel, feeling his way forward and searching, searching for some way out, any side passage above his head or to the side but finding nothing, but he could not turn back, of course, had to keep going until he found the end. The passage grew increasingly waterlogged until finally he reached an impasse, a spot where he knew that he was going to have to duck his head under and swim for it, down and then up, hed done it before and aside from that initial prickle of hesitation each time at the thought of what might wait for him down in that black water--the possibility of becoming entangled and trapped where he could not free himself in time was never far from the front of his mind--such dives did not much frighten him anymore. This time he hesitated, though, the knowledge that someone was waiting for him over there at the other end where he would surface-knowledge? How can you know? Cant hear anything, or smell, and you certainly cant see--holding him back to crouch there trembling and sick in the shoulder-deep water. Do it. You know you must. No other way out of here. And he did, compelled forward against the screaming certainty in his head that told him he was making a mistake, real serious mistake, heading inevitably, unavoidably for destruction, or worse. Deep breath, head under the water and kick your feet, feel your way along the wall and thenthere,

hands back out in the air, made itpull yourself out, take a big breath, relief, now youre really getting somewherebut then they had him, just as hed known they would, just as they always did, blinding light in his eyes and a heavy blow to the side of the head, and he never even had a chance to try and fight back. That was the part that always bothered him the most, it seemed. More even than what had come later. Ought to have had a chance Strangely, so strangely that he could hardly believe it at first, it seemed he must have found a way out this time, somehow struggled free and pushed his captors down, down into the black water from which he had just emerged, held them until they stopped struggling, reached the end, finally, of the passage, because not only could he see light through his closed eyelids--daylight, he was sure--but it was cold, he was cold. Freezing, actually, teeth rattling in his skull and legs cramping, trembling, and as he took a breath, relieved, the smell that met him was that of his own hills, the good sharp green spice of snow-damp spruce and somewhere off in the distance, the tang of willow. Grinning through his joyous, relieved tears, Einar pressed his face into the ground and strove to empty his head of everything, every last thing but the dear, honest, cleansing scent of the evergreens, the welcome bite and tingle of his chilled limbs. He was hungry. Opened his eyes. The snow had slowed and very nearly stopped outside the shelter but the wind continued, and though the day was noticeably brighter than when they had first entered the shelter, the light was grey and flat, diffused as it passed through the still-heavy cloud cover. Liz, plastered against his back, arms locked around him as if afraid he might have been going to wander off, was still sleeping, though she seemed to have ended up very nearly as cold as he had, was shaking and not appearing very comfortable when he twisted around to get a look at her. The burlap and spruce needle quilt had stayed in place, though, had made the difference, he expected, between mere discomfort and the very real possibility that the two of them in their state of exhaustion might have slept right through their own deaths and left their bodies to return to dust beneath the deadfall. He smiled at the sleeping Liz, laid his forehead against her cheek--warm, warmer than his own--and gave thanks for their lives. His fever was gone, mind clear and foot feeling, despite the miles hed put on it that past night, better than it had for some time. Healing. Time for a little breakfast, put our boots on and then back on the trail. Awakened when Einar eased himself free of her grasp to begin getting his boots on, Liz sat up so suddenly that she nearly bumped her head on the logs above them, grabbing for her sunglasses at the reflected snow-glare from outside. She had been dreaming, too, not the world of dark and winding water-filled mazes that Einar had journeyed through, but of a place bright with aspen-diffused sunlight, the edge of a meadow, sun warm on her back but the wind crisp with a coolness that spoke of the still-remaining snowfields not too far above In her arms was a child, their child, unruly shock of straw-colored hair tossed in the wind as he struggled to get free--he was strong, must be the mountain air-reaching for the ground, his eye caught, apparently, by the movement of a patch of foxtail grass in the breeze. Blinking in momentary confusion at Einar as she realized that it had

been he who was struggling to get free, and not the child, she reluctantly met his eyes, hoping that she had not too badly aggravated him by persisting in her hold on him. Einar met her with a smile and she returned it, seeing in his eyes that the fever was gone. He was better. So much better, in fact, that he could not stop shaking, face drawn and almost purple and looking terribly cold after the hours of stillness there in the inadequate protection of the little shelter, and come to think of it, she was pretty cold herself, grabbed him and held him close once again, pulling the needle-filled burlap sack up over them and working to rub some warmth back into his chilled limbs. We must have slept for awhile, mustnt we? Yep, for a while. Cantreally tell for sure how long, cause its still so cloudy. Time to get moving, though. Got pretty cold. Howre your eyes? They hurt, but not too bad. The glasses are good. Ill be able to see today. He nodded, rested his chin on her arm and lay there for a minute staring out at the morning--he was pretty sure it was still morning, at least--with its occasional spat of wind-driven snow and leaden sky. The storm, though taking a reprieve, did not necessarily appear to be over. Good. Cover our tracks. Cracking open the second jar of Nutella, he and Liz handed it back and forth as they made a breakfast of small tastes of the rich stuff, huddling together as they ate, both feeling the results of their cold hours on the ground rather acutely, now that they were awake and moving and getting the blood circulating a bit, once again. The meal finished Einar turned, watching Liz as she struggled into her boots, hands looking as numbed and clumsy as his felt, but persisting, going at the task with the steady, stolid determination that so many of lifes small tasks began to demand of a person, under their circumstances, and he shook his head, put a hand on her shoulder. Im sorry you have to be here like this, Lizzie. I know you got to be awful cold right now. Not the best circumstances, and you know Id like to be doing better for you, for the little one. She looked at him for a long moment, oh, you silly, silly guy, you have no idea just how glad I am to be right here where I am, freezing and starving with you under a pile of old dead sprucesa day or three ago, I would have given absolutely anything to be right here where I am, with you. Einarits my fault that were here. I got us discovered, got caught, made it so you had to leave everything to come after meand now were right back where we were before all that, only without all of our furs and weapons and the things you worked so hard to makeand thats my doing. Im sorry. Nah, dont be. I got my freedom still, got a dry place to sleep, the hope of being able to get some more food soon, andwell, Ive got you, havent I? Somehow or other, I guess thats come to be pretty doggone important in my goofy little world No matter about the stuff we had to leave up there. We can take more critters for fur, make another atlatl and maybe even a bowtime I try a bow again, and you sure ought to learn to use

one. Well be alright. Theres no chance of going back, then? Making a quick trip back over to our old camp and seeing if my pack is still theremaybe they didnt ever find it. His face darkened. Never. Be pretty surprised if they didnt find it, and if they did, they probably left it right exactly where they found it, kept it looking undisturbed, but left us a nasty little surprise or two. Booby traps, poison, orprobably worst of alltiny tracking devices thatll let them know when the things start moving again, set them on our trail. Like I saidwe can come up with new furs! Now. Lets crawl on out of here, stomp around till our legs start working again, and see if we cant put some more distance behind us. Doesnt seem theyve been able to get anything up in the air yet, and the more traveling we can do before they manage to do that, the better off well be. Creeping out from beneath the shelter of the deadfall, checking to make sure they were leaving nothing behind, they began the slow and tedious descent of the brush-choked slope that had stopped them, exhausted, earlier that morning, paused briefly in the draw at its bottom and started up into the firs on the opposite slope, beginning the day with the same routine that had marked the last half of the previous one, an endless blur of climbs and descents, covering distance, keeping to the timber and praying that it would be enough to keep pursuers from reacquiring their trail. Several hours later they stood near the crest of yet another ridge, just below it on the far side, with an uprising of boulders at their back to block the wind. Things were changing down there in the lower country that they now traveled through, the remaining snow crusty, dust-browned, far less deep and fresh that it had been in the high basins, and Einars heart quickened a bit in recognition of the change; it had been a long winter. Very long winter. But was near its end, as was the storm, clouds beginning to show ragged holes where the wind grabbed and tore them in places, making way for the sun to begin prying its way through to fall in golden patches on the timbered hills that stretched away below them. The aspens, still appearing starkly lifeless there on the high ridge where he and Liz stood catching their breath after yet another strenuous climb, were just beginning to leaf out in the valley below them, a thousand feet of steep sandstone and shale striated with varying shades of green, darkest near the bottom where the leaves had been out long enough to get a few days worth of sunshine on them, progressing in the middle ground through a hue that could be described as nothing short of florescent, a bold and clamorous tone nearly too bright to be believed natural, all the way up the very tiniest, day-old leaves that hovered in a delicate canopy of ethereal splendor just a few hundred feet below them, pale, translucent, glowing with a soft and brilliant light as the sun struck them. The winter had passed down there, down in the valley, and Einar turned, began a zigzagging course down through the ranks of still-leafless aspens, keeping them near the evergreens in case there should come a sudden need to take shelter, heading for the spring-country. The more elevation Einar and Liz lost that day, the smaller became the banks of

remaining snow that lingered in the lee of little boulder rises and knots of evergreens, patches of bare ground growing more frequent and even beginning to show hints of green here and there, signs of returning life. For the most part Einar kept them moving at a steady, distance-eating pace with few pauses, few breaks, knowing that he must strongly resist his own growing desire to stop, to curl up in a patch of sunlight and give himself over to sleep, and expecting that Liz must be similarly weary, if not showing it quite as much as he feared he was. When every now and then he did allow them a brief respite from the forced marching--usually near one of the small seeps and springs that were becoming more numerous as they descended; the plentiful water was most welcome, after subsisting for two days on the small jar of slow-to-melt snow--they sought with eager gladness the tiny emerging shoots and leaves of the spring vegetation, dock, spring beauty, the tiny grasses and clovers and dandelions of the high country, their diets over the winter having been very nearly devoid of such fresh greens. The fresh food tasting especially good to Liz, she settled herself in on a low, flattish boulder near the edge of a narrow, steep clearing, grey granite and covered along one side with splashes of orange and green lichen, and began harvesting. Filling her hands with the tiny, two inch long leaves of a cluster of newly emerged dandelions, she sat there munching, finally looking up and, realizing he was not there beside her, thinking to offer some to Einar. When she did not immediately see him she went looking, found him some distance upslope from where she had stopped. He looked--what she could see of him through her modified sunglasses--cold and awfully weary, and she tried to lead him out into the sunlight, but he just shook his head and motioned for her to give him a minute. Glad that Liz seemed to understand his intent and stopped pulling at him and insisting he follow her right then out into the sunlit clearing, Einar leaned wearily against the bare, branchless trunk of a long-dead, lightning-scorched spruce, the knee of his bad foot resting on a rock to give the foot a temporary break from contact with the ground. The thing was doing better, as far as he could tell, the wounds finally beginning to close just a bit, and he was very glad, but the foot still hurt terribly with all the use he was demanding of it, and he was beginning to think seriously about the need for a good walking stick, something that could function as a cane or, if things got much worse, even as a crutch to take some of the weight off of the foot and give him a bit more stability. They had a good distance to go yet, by his reckoning, a lot of ground to cover before they could begin stopping for anything more than the occasional gulp of water, or, when it became imperative, an hour or two of restless sleep in the heaviest, most tangled timber they could find, and he really needed to foot to hold out for another good five or six miles or so. The sun was out, cloud cover becoming more and more broken, dispersed. Raising his head and easing his foot back onto the ground--he bit off the groan that wanted to escape at the contact, just do it, come on, full weight on the foot and get moving, itll get better as you move, less noticeable, less sharp--Einar limped over to where Liz was waiting for him on the sunny rock with her handful of dandelion greens. She was offering them to him, and he took a few, ate. They were reasonably high in iron, and, he knew, that could only do him good. Suns out. Im a little surprised we havent seen anything scouring those ridgelines back there, yet. Maybe weve come a little further than I had reckoned. Thatd be good. We

need to get moving again, though. Yes, I know. I was just enjoying these greens. Theyre so good after last winter! We have to put an effort into saving more seeds for sprouting this year, so we can have some greens throughout the snowy months. Im glad to see spring! He nodded. Yep. Dont know what the date might be, but its definitely spring down here, isnt it? Gonna guess somewhere in late April maybe, just by the look of things. I havent know the exact date for a couple years, and Im no worse off for it, as far as I know No, I dont suppose you are, but somehow it seems important to me to knowmaybe to keep track of things with the baby, to know when we can be expecting him and to be able to record the date when hes born. I know that there was a time when our ancestors would have just said they were born in the second moon after the snow came, or some such, but I seem to be unwilling to quite let go of that aspect of civilization--the desire to mark the passage of time, somehow. But you know what? We do know when to expect the baby, more or less! While I was down there, Susan showed me a little chart that she has, its like a wheel with two spinning parts, top and bottom, and a little window in the top half, and she asked me a bunch of questions about what I had noticed about my body, and when, and then somehow used the wheel-chart to determine an approximate due date for the baby. The date she came up with was November thirtieth, but she said we should not take that too literally, and just expect the little one sometime in the last week or two of November, as near as she could figure from what I told her. Really? Huh. November. Good time for the little critter to show up, I guess. Youll be just like a mama bear by then, all holed up in a good warm secure shelter--cabin, if things settle down some and I can manage it this year--though of course unlike the mama bear, youll not be hibernating. But you will have plenty to eat. Well. Sorry I dont know the date, so you could keep track of it, and know when the last week of November comes but like I said, havent known for a long time. If I had to take a guess, Id say this must be the moon when the first leaves show on the aspens. Now theres a reckoning that makes sense, out here. Means more than March, or April, and is a whole passel more meaningful than first day of spring, or first day of summer. I always had to laugh when Id see that on calendars, when I was living back in my cabin. Here it was first day of spring, and Id just had the biggest snowfall of the winter, often as not, with a couple more months of that on the way. Ha! Those calendars are made for folks way down in the valleysor on the seashore, more likely. Im content to name the moons as I see them, as they look up heregood enough for me. She was about to shake her head and inform him that he was not living in the real world, with such notions, but instead reminded herself that he most certainly was living in the real world, far more real, in many ways, than that inhabited by the people down there in the valley, running the daily rat race and bound to clocks and calendars and other manmade constructs, most of them giving absolutely no thought to where their food came from--the grocery store, of course, and the local fast food joint--and having little

knowledge or understanding of the vast and complex structures by which their daily needs were produced, provided for and delivered into their homes, as if by magic. Might as well be magic, as little as most people knew of the details of their procurement, and as little able as they would find themselves to begin providing for those needs themselves, should circumstances demand. That is definitely not the real world, down there. Not realistic, anyway. Not compared to this. And it is not going to last, and then where will they all be? We wont see much change when it all falls apart, I dont expect, aside from the search ending and us having a lot less to worry about! But still Oh, but we dont have to worry about figuring it out, this time. I got the date from Susan. Much as I do like the sound of the moon when the first leaves show on the aspens, the rest of the world would say that its the twenty sixth of April today, if Ive managed not to lose a day or two already. It can happen so easily. I really wish I had some paper or something to write on, so I could make a rough calendar of some sort and mark off the days as they pass. That would be so much easier than trying to figure it all out again if I lose track Einar was quiet for a minute, thinking. Well, I dont know if theres any room left on it for writing, but you do have some papercheck the back pocket of your pants, left hand side. She gave him a puzzled look, checked. The folded sheet of paper, light green, water resistant, was wrinkled and a bit crunchy after receiving a very through washing in the mine and being dried, along with the pants that contained it, over the fire, but as Liz carefully pried it open, she saw that it still contained a full page of Susans neat, even type, made smaller than usual in order to best use the space. Inside the folded sheet was another, smaller one, and it too was thoroughly covered with Susans writing, but Liz saw that it was addressed to E. She handed it to Einar, sat down and began squinting at the larger piece of paper through her sunglasses. How did you know these were here? And why didnt you tell me before? Chuckling a bit at Lizs accusing tone, he lowered himself to the ground beside her at the sunny edge of the clearing, supposing they were going to be there for a few minutes, and knowing that he ought to take the opportunity to get off his feet for a bit. Didnt tell you because I didnt remember, until just now when you mentioned wishing you had paper. Kinda had a lot on my mind since we left there. Saw Susan stick the note in your pocket while you were sleeping, down there in the basement, but it looked like she didnt want it read right then, so I just let the matter be. And then forgot. Surprised that paper didnt turn to pulp and wash away, with all the water weve crawled through since then. Guess it must be that specially treated all weather stuff. Liz did not answer, being entirely absorbed in trying to decipher the slightly smeared text of the note, once lifting her sunglasses for a clearer view but drawing in a sharp breath at the hurt of the bright light in her still-sensitive eyes, and quickly replacing the glasses.

Einar was attempting to decipher his note, too, but for a different reason than Liz. It was, apparently, quite literally a cipher of some sort. That last line, at least. Deut. 19:14, ESE He thought for a minute, searched his brain for the possible significance of the passage (seems that passage has something to do with private property, or some such, but I sure cant recall the wording right nowand ESEwhats that supposed to mean?) couldnt quite pin it down, shook his head, folded the note and tucked it away in his pocket. It was a puzzle--he liked such puzzles, generally, was good at figuring them out, or used to have been--and one he would have to think on. But not before he ate something. Brain was running low on fuel, he could feel it in the vague confusion that met him when he attempted to ponder the meaning of the cryptic last line of Susans missive, the fragmenting and falling away of pieces that he knew he ought to have been able to grasp and weigh and fit together until he got the message she was trying to send him. Later. Eat. He removed the burlap sack-pack, opened the lid and was about to help himself to a taste of Nutella, but couldnt bring himself to touch it. Not yet. The contents of the second jar were showing a serious dent, reminding him of the urgency with which they-which means you; her eyes are still messed up--needed to be pursuing other food sources. Have to get real serious about coming up with some more to eat pretty soon here. Havent been staying in any one pace long enough to think about using snares, and probably wont be for a couple more days, at least. Need to come up with a real quick improvised bola of some sort, I guess. That way Ill be ready if we startle a grouse in one of these spruce thickets, have a chance of taking it. Gonna be eating it raw, looks like, butprotein is protein, and thats what Liz needs most right now, and so do you, really, if you want to start getting a useful amount of strength back. So. Bola. Taking out the six foot length of paracord that he had used to guide Liz through the tunnels, he folded it in half, made a loop a good eighteen inches above the two loose ends to keep the stones he intended to add from flying too far apart when the weapon was thrown, and went looking for a couple of suitable rocks. He tended, based on past experience, to prefer more than two stones on such weapons, but needed the remaining longer section of cordage to secure the pack to his back, and was not particularly interested in cutting it, anyway, unless absolutely necessary. Being far from a river bottom, there were no round or oval-shaped rocks available there on the steep slope of the timbered mountainside, and Einar had to content himself with two ragged chunks of granite, each about half the size of a clenched fist, that he was able to find below a nearby rock outcropping. The fact that they were rough and irregular was, he told himself, actually a benefit, under the circumstances, as he really had no way to attach them to the cord, aside from wrapping and tying. Anything that would help them stay in place would have to be beneficial. Securing the paracord ends to the granite chunks as efficiently and securely as he was able, Einar studied the results, shook his head and shaded his eyes as he scanned the nearest grove of evergreens. One good throw, and he expected one or more of the rocks to come loose, possibly before the weapon had managed to serve its purpose and catch

them some dinner. You can do better than this. Look around. Got a forest full of spruce pitch there, candle to melt it overwhy not cement these things in place with some glue? Why not, indeed? And he rose, chastising himself for his lack of quickness when it came to settling on the idea, supposing he really needed that snack, about then, but not wanting to stop for it until he had finished the weapon. The third tree he checked had a good bit of dried pitch showing in golden-brown, solidified lumps there on its trunk where a tumbling rock had some years ago come down from above and bruised its trunk, and he set about collecting them, taking a good bit more than he would need for his current project. Here we are with practically nothing again, and we cant pass up opportunities to get ahold of useful materials, whether they be tinder, glue, cordage plantsgot to keep our eyes open, become gatherers again, as time and the pursuit--if there is a pursuit-allow us. Thats the only way to get along, out here. Cant always find the raw materials when you really need them urgently, but if you keep your eyes open you can give yourself a real good head start by collecting them when they are available Einars head jerked up and he grabbed a nearby branch just in time to keep himself from toppling forward onto his nose--would have been a nasty tumble, as steep and rockstrewn as the ground was right there--and he realized much to his chagrin that he had nearly fallen asleep crouching there in the sun beside that tree. Talk about keeping your eyes opencant be doing this. Not right now. Wake up, you fool, and stay that way. He hauled himself to his feet and limped back over to where Liz sat, apparently still absorbed in the contents of Susans letter. Retrieving the candle from his pack, he lit it, melting a glob of pitch that he held pressed between two sticks, and dripping the sticky, sappy results along the cords that held the bolas granite chunks. Quickly smoothing the semiliquid pitch in place with his fingers, he kept adding more until he was sure the cords wouldnt be slipping off, knots as securely protected as they could be, before lightly dusting the drying glue with soil, to keep it from sticking to his clothing as he walked. Taking the weapon and giving it an experimental swing, he nodded. Should work. Now all we need is a grouse, rabbit, something thatll give her some extra protein, and allow me to eat without worrying so much about chipping away at the only supply she and the little one have, right now. That would be a definite improvement, and is gonna become necessary before too long here, if I plan to go on traveling like I have been. For now though, wed better get moving. Not too likely to have our food come to us here where were sitting, and we really need to put some more distance behind us, anyway. You ready to head out, Liz? Im hoping to come across some dinner here in a while, and our chances will be better if were moving She looked up, startled, from the paper in her hands, a hint of a tear escaping from beneath her sunglasses. Yes. Im ready. Lets go. And he wondered just what that note could have said to get her all upset--if she was upset; sometimes it was difficult for him to tell exactly what a person was thinking, or feeling--but he supposed hed have to wait and see if it was something she wanted to discuss with him. Not good to push a person when it came to such things. And besides, he had distance to cover, his balance to maintain as he traveled down the steep, rough ground of the slope--a task which very nearly required more focus than he could muster at the moment, anyway--and, if he could

begin to wrap his brain around its meaning, his own puzzle to solve. He pulled a clump of wispy, grey-green usnea from a nearby spruce branch and stuffed it in his mouth in the hopes of easing the hungry ache in his stomach, tightened the pack-ropes, tied a loop around his waist for stability, and took off, Liz beside him. The ground was growing muddier as they descended, increasingly dotted and smeared with patches of earth from which the snow had just finished departing or where it was in still in the process of doing so, their old vegetation flattened and browned and whitelaced with a lingering network of snow mold, and Einar diligently sought to avoid setting foot on such damp, soft stretches. Liz was right there beside him as if, he thought, having more trouble with her eyes than she was letting on, and not wanting to let him out of her sight lest she have trouble finding him again, and he slowed his pace a bit--was badly out of breath, anyway, shouldnt happen on a downhill like this, really shouldnt happen-spoke to her. We got to be real careful to avoid the mud, stick to the rockier ground or even the snow, though itd be best to avoid the snow where we can too, just in case. At this rate though, the snowll be melted off in a matter of days or weeks at most, but this mud will end up drying, could hold our tracks all summer long, if were careless enough to leave them in it. Same thing with stepping on rocks with muddy boots. Those tracks and smears and even chunks our boots leave behind can last for an awful long time, barring a real heavy downpour to wash them away. Can give clues to our enemy long after were out of the area. With all the snow and wind weve had since leaving the mine, I doubt we will have been tracked from there, so the last thing we need is for someone to happen along later and see a track dried in the mud that they can match to your boots, or to mine. Yes. Ive been trying to be very careful, but its a little hard to see well with these glasses. Id take them off, but the way it hurts when I try, I can tell that my eyes would just start swelling shut again. You dont thinkthey could have been permanently damaged, do you? Nah, I really doubt it. Can take a good week or more before a persons eyes start getting back to normal after something like that, even sitting in a dark room, and Im just talking about the first episode of snow blindness you had. I know you dont really want to talk about the other partdown in Culverbut Im assuming it was a good bit more intense than the long day out on the meadow and the frozen lake that gave you the first round of trouble. Itll just take time. Give it time. Youre doing just fine with the tracks. Better than Im doing probably, as clumsy and lame a critter as I seem to be today. She nodded, thankful that he had tactfully avoided asking her to recount the events of those seemingly endless hours of questioning back at Mountain Task Force headquarters. Youre right though, it was worse, an awful lot worsebut I dont want to burden you with it right now, not in any more detail than Ive already given it to you, because I heard the rage just below the surface in your voice after I told you the cleaned-up and greatly abbreviated version of ityou think you hide that from me, but I can hear it, Einar, and

Im afraid of what you might decide to do if you get the whole story. I need you here, the baby needs you here, not shot to death outside the FBI compound because you couldnt sit still and decided it was your duty to go take some action. Maybe someday Ill tell you, but for now, this is how it must be. I think you know that, and I think you understand, or would, if you could stand back and look at it objectively. I know you do the same with me when talking about certain things, only for different reasons, I expect. I dont like it, but Im trying to understand, and be patient, and I thank you for doing the samethough maybe this would be a good opportunity for me to ask you a bit about some of those things Liz looked up at Einar, who had started moving again shortly after explaining to her about avoiding the mud, but he appeared to have moved on to another subject in his mind, lost in his own thoughts or perhaps, she thought, just lost in the effort of keeping himself going. She could tell it was a struggle for him, knew the foot had to be hurting terribly though he had said nothing about it that morning, and knew also that hed had nothing to eat, aside from a few clumps of raw usnea that he had snagged from the spruces they passed beneath. You probably think Ive overlooked that fact, too, but I havent, and youre not going to keep getting away with this, either on my account, or that of your own body. Next stop, youre getting a good snack, even if I have to threaten you with my new war club to convince you to accept it. Maybe youll find that grouse you were talking about earlier, and then we can both have a good meal. Ill keep a lookout, as much as I can. Can still see movement through these little slits, even if they very nearly wipe out my peripheral vision. Einar, too, was keeping a sharp eye on the surrounding trees as they descended, hoping very much to obtain a meal, but it was an automatic thing, requiring little thought, the hunting instincts of a wary and half starved wild creature taking over while his brain was actively focused on other matters. Specifically, the matter of that cryptic and puzzling last line of Susans note to him. All morning he had struggled to recall the exact words of the Scripture passage she had referenced, but the best he had been able to come up with was that he seemed to recall it having something to do with private property. Which seemed strange, as he was pretty sure that term did not appear in Scripture, at least not in so many words, but he was also fairly certain that he had the intent correct. He seemed to remember, in fact, an old prospector-type hed become acquainted with shortly after starting work on his own cabin--the man was surely dead and gone by then, had, as Einar recalled, been in his mid eighties back then, several decades ago--adding a reference to that particular verse to the bottom of a hand-made, wood-burned no trespassing sign that he had posted at the gate to his land. And then he had his answer. His friend, he remembered, had made the sign after having some trouble with the Forest Service regarding the exact location of one of his property lines, and in particular the validity of a pile of old, lichen-encrusted rocks that he claimed were referenced in the original patent as a corner marker. The Forest Service had, apparently, disagreed. Thats it. Says something about not moving your neighbors boundary stone, thats why he added it to his sign And he went right on pondering, trying to assimilate the new information and convince his maddeningly fuzzy brain to make some sense of it. Need to get that grouse, Einar...

As they neared the valley floor, Einar progressively slowed the pace, increasingly weary, but, more than that, cautious almost to the point of not being able to convince himself to continue at the prospect of leaving the steepness of the mountainside and entering the fairly level and--presumably--more accessible patchwork of mixed aspen and willow scrub that covered the lowlands. Taking advantage of his hesitation, Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him down on an aspen log, pressed the Nutella jar into his hands. Eat. You need to eat. He nodded, opened the lid and sat there smelling the stuff, offered her some, but she would not take it until he had eaten. Which he intended to do, but not before he had settled a question that might tell him if he was even headed in the right direction with his thinking about the meaning of Susans riddle. Did Susan ever show you where her property line is? The corners, the original corners of her mining claim? Especially the one that would be down on the Eastern edge, down kinda near the road and towards town? What? Not that Iwhy would you ask that? Well, did she? Never mind why. Liz shook her head in confusion, wished Einar would go ahead and eat, instead of rambling on half coherently about such irrelevant trivia. Poor guy must be so hungry that hes starting to get a little delirious, or something. But she could tell from the unwavering intensity in his eyes as he stared at her that he would not easily be diverted from his course until he had his answer, figured she had better go ahead and try to give it, so he could get some food in him. Not specifically, as far as I remembercant think why she would have done that. But we did take some hikes down there last summer picking serviceberries--there are some really good patches down there just above the aspen grove that lines the highway--and she showed me some old mining relics along the way, an over-grown tailings pile, the remains of a couple of mine carts and track, some old rusted iron hardware, and this big boiler tank of some sort. That thing was huge. Probably well over eight feet long and all made of iron, and she said they had hauled it up there in pieces on mules, and assembled it on site. It was still in pretty good shape when I saw it, aside from a section in the back where it looked like some water had collected on the ground at one point, and rusted a hole in it. I do remember Susan telling me that the boiler sits very close to one of the corners of their claim. A slow grin spread across Einars face. Now he knew. Clever woman. Cant take her up on the offer of course, cant ever, ever risk that, but very clever

The message had, Einar knew, been Susans way of attempting to communicate to him the location of the cache she had wanted to leave for he and Liz, the one she had asked him about, and though he had at the time refused her offer, it seemed that she had taken matters into her own hands and decided to do it, anyway. Well-intentioned, but not, he knew, something that it would be wise for them to participate in. That Susan was being watched he had no doubt, especially after Lizs disappearance and whatever might have taken place during the agents most recent visit to her place, and even if she somehow managed to slip away and make a trip down to that old boiler site appear legitimate to anyone who might be watching, a trip back to her property, or anywhere near it, was looking highly unwise to Einar. Susan had made no mention of the cache in her note, aside for the single line by which he had determined its location, and that fact was encouraging, meant she was thinking, using caution and assuming that there was some possibility of the note falling into the wrong hands. Good. She is thinking, protecting herself and trying to protect us, too, but our best course of action is to disappear and avoid all future contact. Unfortunate, I guess, because I know Liz likes her company and would probably want her around when the little one comes, but we just dont have options like that. Shaking his head, he focused on the terrain ahead of him, tried to put the note out of his mind. He had read the entire thing, but had not really taken the effort to absorb the things she had been telling him, aside from the puzzle at the end. Later. When he had more time, and fewer other things on his mind. Like the difficult task of continuing to put one foot in front of the other, and that of ensuring that they left minimal sign of their passage. Things he understood, and knew what to do with. It was warm down there in the partial sun of the mostly leafed-out aspens through which they traveled, warm enough that Einar actually took off his wool sweater and stashed it in the burlap pack-sack, the first time in what seemed a very great while that he could remember voluntarily shedding layers, for a reason other than Lizs need for them, his own desire to take an intentional dip in the water, or their being too wet to go on doing him any good. It was a welcome change, the warmth, and before long he was down to his wool shirt only, having removed the thin fleece inner layer, as well, to prevent it becoming soaked with sweat. The situation would change, he knew, as soon as wither the clouds rolled in to cover the sun or he stopped moving, hed get cold again and need at least one of the layers back, but at least he had them to put back on. They had, by that time, very nearly reached the valley floor, and Einar took them out of the band of aspens, small, having grown up to cover what appeared to be a decades-old avalanche chute, through which they had been taking a zigzagging course down out of the high country, and led them into the spruces. Deep and protected, the evergreen-shade had preserved a good bit of the snow even down at that elevation, which was, best as Einar could determine from the map-images he had stored in his head, somewhere around 9500 feet. At first he sought to guide them around the icy, dust-browned banks and drifts, but there was so very little exposed ground that eventually he had to give up on the effort, and take off through the snow, slipping and sliding in the top layer, which amounted to little more than slush. It worked alright as long as they did not accidentally stray too close to the spots where barely-buried boulders

and fallen tree trunks had weakened the lower, icy layers, causing some sub-surface melting that collapsed the entire snow pack when a wrongly-placed boot or knee happened to weigh on them. The going was slow, frustrating and, to Einar at least, terribly exhausting, and besides that, they were leaving tracks a blind, snoutless coyote could follow. Not good. And, weary of the endless routine of taking a big, sloppy step or two, stopping and extracting himself from the deep, rotten snow, Einar flopped down on his stomach there in the slush and slithered forwards until he reached the aspens once again, rolled twice and ended up on his face in a pile of last years nettle plants. Nettles, but not, to his benefit, currently possessed of their stings, as such were only a threat while the plants were green. Picking himself up, panting for breath and reaching behind him for a little handful of slush to eat, Einar considered the nettle stalks, began pulling and folding them in half for stowing in the pack. Cordage, he told Liz, who had caught up to him and was watching in apparent consternation as he panted for breath and scrabbled frantically at the ground, pulling old nettle stalks--huh, guess I am moving kinda fast here, she probably thinks theres some emergency Nettles for cordage, he repeated, and she finally got the idea, helped him gather the plants. Theyll help replace this paracord when we wear it out, serve other functions and let us use it for snaring some of the larger critters, too. I snared a couple deer with paracord last yearthough its still too early to be seeing many deer up here, and those we do run across are bound to be kinda pitiful and skinny, after that winter. But theyll fatten up, and so will we! Anyhow, good to take along as much of this nettle as we can. cause its gonna be our rabbit snares. Moving on when they had gathered up and stashed a good-sized bundle of the nettle stalks and beginning to grown quite thirsty after the exertion of pushing through the deep, rotten snow, they ate slush as they went along, snatching it up from shade-protected patches that still remained there beneath the aspens, the day warm enough to preclude the risk of dangerously lowering their body temperatures by consuming too much of it. The spring snows high water content made the effort far more worthwhile and less unpleasant than it would have been with the high altitude Styrofoam-dry powder that was prevalent earlier in the winter. Pausing once to dig down beneath the upper, dust-fouled layers until he hit cleaner, whiter snow, Einar pressed lumps if it in his hands until they turned to ice, filling the Nutella jar that was serving as a leak-proof if rather water-carrier, wanting them to have a supply set aside before they got down to elevations where banks of snow would be less prevalent. Water would not, he suspected, be too much of a problem down there on the valley floor, as it would be highly unusual not to find a creek of some sort, even if just a small, seasonal one, winding its way through the lower ground between steep valley walls. Still, the snowmelt offered them a surer, cleaner source of water, especially considering the fact that they would not be stopping soon to build a fire and boil water. Einar had often in the past scooped up and drank ice-cold, clear water straight from one of those little snowmelt creeks without too much thought, and seldom suffered for it, but he knew the possibility for contamination always existed, knew Liz probably needed to be taking some special considerations when possible, to protect the health of

the baby. Parasites and pregnancy did not sound like a good mix, somehow Let her have the snowmelt water, and Ill drink from the creek. The way things are looking, seems there will probably be some lingering banks of snow even down there near the bottom, and we can keep melting it for her to drink. On the way down they had heard a good bit of air activity, the distant, echoing rumble keeping Einar jumpy and on edge, clearly not near enough to pose any immediate threat but certainly communicating through its presence some hint of a resumed search back there behind them, starting up again after a mysterious break that had lasted long past the ending of the storm. It was a mystery, and one that had left Einar wondering whether some misread clue had put the searchers onto an entirely wrong track for a while, sent them off chasing ghosts only to find that trail going cold after a time and leaving them to resume where they had left off, in the high, rocky country above the mines. He did not know. Could not know, not for sure, and that uncertainty, along with the very real and present rumbling in the distance, menacing, near-constant, left him wary and almost skittish as he led them down towards the sound of running water in the valley, all of his senses on full alert for any sign that the air search might be starting to move in their direction, scanning with his ears and eyes and with his sense of smell the land ahead of them, expecting trouble, reaching out beyond the limits of his conscious awareness in an instinctive effort to detect the danger before it became aware of him, and thus to meet it on his own terms. It was in this way, the world crackling around him with a brilliant intensity which was nearly as beautiful as it was threatening, that Einar came into possession of the turkey. Wild turkeys, all but extinct in those mountains for years, had been reintroduces with great success a decade and a half ago, their numbers growing and good-sized flocks becoming a common sight in the cow pastures and hay fields of the lower valleys, ranging at times up onto the evergreen slopes in search of insects to eat and secure places to nest. It was the movement caught his eye, a flickering over to the left just on the edge of vision, and before the bird, startled, was able to take wing, he had the bola in the air, hopelessly tangling wings and feet and neck as the sizeable creature fought furiously--and loudly--against its entanglements. Near panic at the level of noise the trapped bird was emitting--bad idea, snagging a bird-critter down her so close to the valley where were needing to keep a low profile, but we got to eat!--Einar threw himself on top of the hapless bird, quickly snapping its neck and silencing its cacophony of distressed cries. Liz hurried to him where he lay panting and shaking atop what appeared to be well over twelve or fifteen pounds of badly tangled tom turkey--his foot had not fared particularly well in his mad rush to silence the bird, and he was really feeling it, what have I got to do? Wrap the whole doggone leg in yellow warning tape to remind me not to use it like normal-- rolled him over onto his back and tried to brush some of the mud from his face. You got him! Wow! I didnt even see him, until he tangled with the bola and started screeching, didnt see you throw the bola, either. Either you must be awfully quick, or these glasses interfere more that I had thought with my vision! This is so much better than the grouse you were talking about. Look at all this food!

Einar nodded, grinned up at her through the hurt in his foot and picked himself up off the soft, snowmelt-softened soil, shaking the mud from his hair and rolling to his side, sitting. Yep. Got him.

Sitting there beside the tangled turkey struggling to catch his breath, it seemed to Einar a good idea to head on down to the valley floor with its creek and heavier vegetation before preparing the bird, make sure they had a good supply of water because--much as he would have liked to roast the bird over the coals with a few hot rocks sewn up inside to speed the cooking--he knew that they would be better to boil it up so they would have the broth to drink, would not waste the juices that would inevitably cook out during roasting. Hesitant as he was about having a fire at all and wishing to keep it as brief as possible, he did not want to waste time melting pot after pot of snow, if they could have access to the creek. Had he been alone, he would not have hesitated to devour a good bit of the turkey raw, keep the rest as cool as possible and cook it up the next day when he had put another dozen or so miles behind him--ha! Dozen? You dont move that fast right now, Einar. Not even close--but he did not want to potentially put the baby at risk by giving Liz a meal of uncooked turkey. More times than not, he expected, a person would be able to get away with such a feast without suffering any consequences--he had, many times--but at the same time he remembered his last bout with Giardia, the debilitating day-long illness of some sort that had got ahold of him once after eating a couple of raw frogs--had nearly done him in, on top of everything else--and the likelihood that he had intestinal parasites of one sort or another, after the way he had been eating for the last two years. A common enough affliction among the majority of people on earth, and there were things he could do to clear his system of such parasites, plants he knew, but none of them, as far as he remembered, were safe for a woman in Lizs situation. No, wed better be cooking that turkey. Liz can wait. She has all that Nutella to eat Ideal, he thought, would have been to find a place to hole up for a few days while they digested the feast and used bits of the turkey as bait to get themselves some more food, perhaps even tempt a bobcat with part of one of the wings, begin building up their supply of warm furs again, considering that they possessed not so much as a tarp or blanket in which to wrap themselves as they slept, but it was too soon to be stopping like that. They were still too close. The bait will keep. Will have to keep. Put some more distance behind us, get where we cant here that constant rumble and feel the ground shaking anymore, and then well stop, dig in under a ledge somewhere and have some serious rest, set out some snares and see what we can come up with. For today, this turkey just needs to be traveling food, strength to keep us going for a while. Which they both needed, and badly, himself especially, as he had still not eaten anything that day, unless you wanted to count the dry, tough mouthful or two of raw usnea that he had washed down with melted slush as he walked. Though Einar did count the usnea, actually, told himself that it has some protein, a little starch, though I dont know that its very accessible when the stuff is eaten raw like thishis body seemed not to agree with him, and it was to his chagrin that he realized--silly creature--that he had tears in his eyes as he

inspected the dead bird. Yep. Need to eat pretty soon here, but I dont want us having a fire during the daytime, at least not this close to where the search seems to be going on. Not too worried about them picking up on out heat signature, since they dont seem to be spending any time over here along these ridges, but if someone happened to see a stray puff of smoke Liz had, while he sat there thinking, been working on the turkey, had disentangled it form the hastily improvised bola and had begun the task of plucking it, much easier, as she remembered from numerous grouse and ptarmigan, if done while the bird was still warm. The feathers--all of them--she had been carefully cleaning of sticks and ground debris and setting aside, stashing them in the spare burlap sack for future projects. Already--in addition to the atlatl darts and arrows she knew Einar would fletch with some of the tail feathers--she was thinking of uses for the smaller, downy ones, something soft for the baby, a feather-stuffed rabbit fur quilt to keep him warm in the winter months after he was born, and it was out of these pleasant mental wanderings that she was startled when Einar suddenly stood--as suddenly as he was able, anyway--and hoisted the pack to his back. Where are you going? Arent we going to stick around here for a while and cook this bird? He smiled at her, shook his head. Have some Nutella, and we better get moving. Gonna cook the bird alright, but Im thinking we better head down to that creek, get some water and follow it up the valley a ways, see how far we can get before dark. Well do our cooking then. Think you can carry the bird? Of course I can! You caught him, Ill carry him. Only fair! I still cant believe you got him, in the first place. Hey now, you trying to say Im not much of a hunter, or what? Youre not the only one who can throw things at birds and come home with supper No, Im not saying that, and you know it! Its just that I didnt even see the turkey, didnt know he was there until I heard the squawking and saw your bola all wrapped around him. Einar shrugged. Neither did I You scare me. Thanks. Several hours later darkness was beginning to fall, dusk having crept its way early down into the narrow valley as the sun sank first behind a heavy rim of cloud that lined the spruce-bristling horizon and then disappeared behind the trees themselves, and Einar knew the days walking was nearly done. They had, after walking along the creek for a

time and climbing up onto one of the low, aspen-covered shelves that sat some seventy five to eighty yards above it, reached a heavily timbered slope, high enough above the creek that they would be above the deeper chill that tended to settle into creek valleys and around lakes at night, but still close enough that they had easy access to the water. It was a fine spot, as far as Einar could tell, and he led them over to a place where a tumbleddown cliff face granite, broken, but still very nearly vertical, could serve as protection from the wind and reflector for the heat of their little fire, and dropped his pack, allowed himself to slump down against a tree, his eyes closed. Ohbeen needing that for a long time Cant sleep yet, though. Time to get started on that bird. His foot hurt, he was bone weary and feeling rather keenly his bodys need for nourishment, but Einar was content. They had, it seemed, shaken their pursuers for the time, had traveled far enough that the rumble of the search choppers was no more than a memory, if a persistent one, andthey had food to eat! That, and the deep, dry duff of dozens of closely-growing spruces to bed down in after their meal. Life was very, very good. He looked up at Liz with a smile on his face, but she was already busy with the turkey, removing the few feathers that had been left when he had decided it was time to move on, before, and he chose a sharp fragment of granite and began scratching out a firepit, scraping away the duff and digging down into the black soil beneath. Time passed, the darkness became complete, and Einar sat there working on nettle cordage while the soup began boiling. Liz had added a big handful of spring greens to the mix, dandelion, the small green heart-shaped leaves of the wild violets that were so common down in the valleys that time of year, and, best of all, a good number of recently sprouted lambs quarters, barely three inches high and containing more iron than spinach. They were a favorite for Einar, and he was drooling over the smell of that soup, and of the two turkey drumsticks that Liz had insisted on roasting over the fire, hanging them from a horizontal cross-stick that she had suspended a good distance over the fire. It was anyones guess as to which of the two courses would be ready first, but neither of them really cared. Sitting there less than a foot from the fire pit both in order to take advantage of its warmth--hed started shivering again pretty quickly with the departure of the sun, even wearing his sweater, another reminder that he had a long way to go yet before he would be able to build up a reasonable level of body fat--and so that he could monitor the state of the little blaze, making sure to add a stick or two every time it began burning down and keep it from becoming too smoky, Einar kept himself busy with the cordage. Gently pounding each nettle stalk to separate the fibers, he split them in half with his fingernails, removed the whitish pith from the center and began working the remaining bundles of outer fibers in his hands to ready them for twisting. Which he was about to start doing, sleepy and half in a daze from the flickering of the fire on the granite wall behind them and the wonderful smell of their supper, when Liz touched his shoulder. Time to eat!

Four men sat in Bud Kilgores living room, Kilgore, or course, being one of them, gathered there amongst an eclectic collection of cured bobcat and beaver hides, rabbit

skins and the glossy red-brown fur of a marten or two, all of which lay draped over the log railing up to the small second-story balcony where Kilgore slept and across the backs of the two easy chairs and the couch that sat along the walls, armadillo and turtle shells bolted to the ten foot high balcony-post to leave it looking something like an odd, unbalanced totem pole. They sat there sipping lemonade, for the day was hot, the walk up from the gate had been long and dusty, and lemonade had been all Bud could produce in the way of cold drinks. As they sipped--lunch was on the grill out on the deck, the odor of barbecuing elk wafting in with the breeze through the open window--they stared out at a magnificent view of the sharp volcanic contours of Northern Arizonas San Francisco Peaks in the distance--Humphreys was most visible, at least during the late spring and summer months--partially obscured by the gentle, tremble-leafed aspens that surrounded the log house, the peaks hard edges softened some with the passage of time, smoothed, evergreens lining their lower slopes and climbing in ordered ranks very nearly to the summits of some of the lower ones. Kilgore loved those mountains, the living, breathing, earth and rock metaphor, life emerging out of that lava waste, ash, cinder, scorched devastation, re-emerging, regrowing, time--it had taken time, a lot of time, and that fact had often given him a bitter sort of comfort--and water and the gentling, softening work of erosion transforming the place from utter desolation into a vibrant if still somewhat stark home for bristlecone pine and ponderosa and aspen, golden eagles and elk and more species of songbirds and insects than a man could easily count. Sometimes Bud had found himself wishing he could have been there to see it all, could have somehow lived long enough to watch the process occur, unfold, beginning to end, knew, though, that he would have gained little insight in the watching of it, for he had already been first-hand witness to a similar process, was still witnessing it, in fact, and would be until the day he died. Those volcanic hills had, in may ways, saved his life. What was left of it. And he loved them for it. Looking at the kudu hide with its wavy white lines that was carefully draped over Kilgores balcony railing--hed skinned the thing out himself, fleshed and dried the hide and sent it back to the States with a friend when he got a chance, bypassing customs, best not to ask--the Zulu assegai and shield on one wall and the mounted impala skull with its spiraling black horns that hung in burnished splendor on the massive rose quartz and granite chimney--hand-built, piece by piece--that stretched from the woodstove to the apex of the ceiling, a visitor to the house might have surmised that its owner had been on safari a time or two over the decades. If, that is, such visitor did not know about the five years he had spent in Rhodesia, fighting the Communists--a fight he had wished to carry on, and when the opportunity presented itself, he had gone, joined--with the Rhodesian Light Infantry. Kilgores visitors that day did know. Two of them had been there with him. The third, a younger man, had been something of an apprentice to Kilgore in the years after his return to the States, later helping run classes at his tracking school before going out on his own to become a sign cutter for the Border Patrol. It was not often that the four of them got together, those days, and even more seldom that they did so at Kilgores home--the tracker generally did not much like company, even if

they were people whose company he enjoyed--but upon taking their leave from the Asmundson search, they had been fairly close to begin with, and, knowing that Kilgore was still recovering from the injuries he had sustained that past summer after having a Hellfire missile impact the ground far too near his location, courtesy of the FBI, they decided--each having budgeted several more days in Culver Falls than they had ended up taking--to make a short trip down to see him. His leg was taking its time healing, the one that had been crushed by the falling aspen, and though he got out and about as well as he could, the injury had limited him and would continue to do so for some time, and they knew that this had been difficult to him, as it had curtailed his accustomed hill-wandering and prevented him from going elk hunting that past fall. Waiting for lunch to finish scorching, the four of them reminisced a bit about old times and shared some laughs at the poetic justice apparent in Special Agent Toland Jimsons inglorious end that past winter--inglorious end, yeah, that was definitely the end they found first when they dug him out of that snow bank; Ive seen the photos Jimson had been the one--seeking to definitively finish off the fugitive who had so long evaded their search efforts, and who had been stumbling around in the bushes at the time, rapidly losing his faculties to the effects of the two bear tranquilizer darts Kilgore had got into him--to authorize the strike that had temporarily crippled Bud Kilgore. It was a fact that Kilgore had never forgotten; he figured the snow and cold that finally trapped and did in the hapless and somewhat foolish Jimson had saved him from having to do the job, himself, and he was grateful, if a bit envious. But the three men had not come to talk about Jimson that day or to tell war stories, and as they went out to the picnic table on the deck to eat their elk steaks--hummingbirds droning in the background, Kilgore was fond of the little critters, always put out feeders--the conversation turned to more current matters.

Sitting there in the fire-glow, backs against the rock wall, which Einar had cushioned with spruce boughs to prevent their becoming further chilled by contact with the cold rock, he and Liz feasted on turkey drumsticks. The drumsticks had finished cooking first--they had decided so, anyway, the odor of the roasting meat finally becoming too much for them--and were gone within minutes, the two hungry travelers grinning at each other as they chewed, hearts full of joy and thanks at the rather tasty respite from hunger. Neither of them could really imagine anything better, and, cracking the bones for their marrow--Liz, seeing that Einar always did this, had adopted the habit as well--they sat close together and waited for the soup to finish cooking. The night was quickly growing cold but having placed themselves between the little firepit and the rock wall, a stack of rocks on its far side to act as reflector, they were managing to stay quite comfortable, further warmed by the introduction of all that good food. Before long they had finished one pot of soup and begun preparing the next, Einar feeling as though he could hardly hold another bite, but knowing that this would almost certainly change in a few minutes, his stomach demanding more. Which he intended to give it, well aware that the future was a most uncertain thing, and having learned that one had better eat when given the chance. Make the most of it. Besides, the night was promising to be a fairly frigid one,

even at their lower elevation, and with nothing but a damp burlap bag to cover themselves, he knew that theyd be freezing that night if they did not get a good bit of food in them before attempting to sleep. Liz, who was chopping meat for their second batch of soup, was concerned, though, that they ought be trying to save more of the turkey. We never know when well get ahold of our next edible critter, so hadnt we better stop now, pack whats left of this bird in snow or hang it way up high in a tree for the night? I mean, it cant be good to stuff ourselves like this can it, after being on short rations for so long? Oh, I think were fine as far as thats concerned. We have a lot of catching up to do, both of us, and this turkeys gonna do us nothing but good. Stuffing yourself on a regular basis is of course be a very bad idea if a persons living down there in civilization and has ready access to food every day, three meals, as much as you want to eatthat leads to nothing but trouble. But I dont believe we human critters were designed to eat like that, anyway. Look at history as a whole. Most people across the world at most times in history havent been able to eat like that, same things, same quantity day after day. No matter what culture you look at--there are exceptions, of course--its usually a matter or either feast or famine, go hungry for a few days, few months even if things are real bad, scrounging what you can here and there, just managing to get by, then get ahold of some game, gorge yourself, sleep, start all over againa lot like a pack of wolves, really. And since we were designed to live like that, I think its a lot healthier for us, really. Eat when you can, dont worry too much about the days when you dont have anything, or anything muchthe body needs some variety, needs time to clean itself out and get good and hungry now and then, makes your body more resilient I think, and your mind, too. This three meals a day, same time every day bit that a lot of people live bywell, it doesnt make a lot of sense, and I really dont think its good for a person. Aw, youre just jealous because you cant eat like that, arent you Liz teased him, poking him in the ribs with the soup-stirring stick. No! I mean it. Used to live that way, even before. Back when I did have access to what right now seems like an unimaginable wealth of food. Skip a couple days every week, eat real light for a couple more, then feast! Think that habit had a lot to do with my being able to keep going out here, some of the conditions Ive seen. Its something that everybody really ought to at least try, even if they dont make it a lifelong habit. Conditions your body, strengthens your mindyour body can only do what you ask of it, you know, and theres an awful lot you can do, beforehand, to make it easier on yourself if you ever end upuhlike we have. Might even save your life. Anyway, thats my theory. So, now is our time to feast, you see. Feast! Which they did. Sleep was a sound, peaceful thing for Einar and Liz that night as they lay curled up in two and a half feet of good dry spruce duff with fire-warmed rocks beside and beneath them, bellies full of turkey and wild spring greens, and Einar smiled in his sleep as he dreamed of soup, great pots of the stuff, stock tanks full of it, two hundred and fifty

gallons worth, in fact, and he holding a ladle with which to eat it, what could be better? but then the images became less distinct, the tub of soup disappeared and the ladle became the Big Dipper, its stars blinking down at him with an icy white lightwhat are you carrying tonight, Big Dipper? Split pea soup? Hot fudge sauce? Both? Why not? But the dipper was empty--the fact seemed utterly tragic to him, in his sleepy state--and suddenly he was wide awake and very cold. All around him the earth seemed to be trembling, vibrating slightly, and he knew it was more than his own shivering.

Knowing very well what he was feeling even before the vibrations reached the audible range, Einar quickly crawled over to the remains of the fire, barely warm but still a threat, should anyone be looking closely enough, and shoved the pile of cold dirt back into the pit, filling it. Liz was awake by that time, her head a bit fuzzy with sleep and sluggish after all the feasting they had indulged in before sleeping. She couldnt yet hear anything, but could tell from the way Einar was moving that something was seriously wrong, or, at least, that he thought it was. Not sure of the source of the concern, she knew better than to speak and potentially give away their position, but she crept over to him and put a hand on his arm, found him on all fours on the ground, head tilted to one side, apparently trying to pick up on some faint sound, to gain information on it through contact with the earth, the rock beneath them. What? She whispered. Choppers? She felt him nod. Up against the rocks, quick. Lets get ourselves buried as deep in the duff as we can, and we ought to be alright. Trees are thick here. And before she could answer he was gone, scrambling back over to the rock wall and digging down where their bed had been, deepening the depression, going until he reached the cold earth, still mostly frozen but having begun to thaw somewhat from their body heat, that had so slowed his efforts while digging the firepit. By then he could easily hear the rumbling, they both could, and Liz was there beside him, pressing herself into the depression and helping him pull spruce needles and even dirt over them, for Einar had in his haste dug down a bit into the soil in places. The flying menace was long in coming, echoes sounding off the surrounding ridges--the thing was large, thundering instead of buzzing, as the lighter ones tended to do--and leaving them unsure of its direction of approach, leaving Liz to think there must be more than one of them up there, though Einar knew better. For what seemed like many minutes the two of them huddled together against the icy soil, its chill creeping unheeded into their bones. The thing made its approach, finally, thundering low over the ridge opposite them and up the valley, passing directly overhead but not lingering there, seeming to give more focus to the higher reaches of the valley. Random, then, Einar told himself, even as he tried with all his might to press himself into the soil and disappear altogether. Random searching, hoping to pick up on a lucky IR signature but he was not quite sure he believed it, wondered why they would be searching so far out and why, if they thought it wise to do so, it had taken them so long to expand the search area to that degree. Wondered if they had seen something, if possibly

there might be a man or two on their trail, the ones from the tents who had appeared to him so much more experienced and at home in the backcountry than their federal counterparts. He shook his head, fought to keep himself still. Too early to move yet, had to make sure the chopper wasnt coming back down the valley, and besides, it was never a good idea to go dashing off into the night without giving the matter proper thought and planning. Almost never, anyway. He could think of a few exceptions, could remember a few exceptions But this probably isnt one of them. Think about that storm. Not much chance they were tracking you through that, unless they were literally right behind you. And if they had been, theyd have caught up to us by now, as slow as youve been. Theyd have had us. Or called in the choppers to keep an eye on us at least, if they were waiting for help to show up. But those guys really didnt look like the type to wait for reinforcements. Random searching, thats all it is. Made sense, but he still did not entirely trust his assessment of the situation, got his knife into his hand as the rumbling lowly faded to silence in the still, cold night, and knew that hed had all the sleep he was going to get, for a while. Got to watch, listen, make sure nobodys on our trail tonight and he needed weapons, something with a little more reach than the knife and the bola that had so successfully netted them their turkey--stomach grumbled at the thought of it, time to eat again?--and he determined to produce an atlatl and a couple of darts the following day, if not a bow. The night quiet, and having been so for at least a good ten minutes, Einar finally stirred, crawled stiffly out of the temporary pit shelter and, shivering, hauled himself to his feet and brushed the cold dirt from his clothing. Liz was standing also, stomping around in an effort to restore some feeling to her legs, and he gave her his sweater, helped dislodge the clumps of frozen soil that had adhered to her. Well. Havent had that sort of company for a while. I was kinda enjoying the quiet. Liz thought she heard an unaccustomed sadness in his voice, a weariness that exceeded his lack of sleep, knew he had been very hopeful that they might have finally worked their way out from beneath the search and could soon slow down a bit, rest, spend some time working on their food supply, coming up with some furs to sleep in and thinking about a more permanent place to shelter. His foot had been troubling him with all the miles they had been covering, the difficulty being far greater, she expected, than he had been willing to let on to her, and after the events of the past week or so, he was long overdue for a good rest. None of these things she said aloud. The saying, she knew, would have been a mistake, would not have helped matters. What would help, she thought, was a good drink of turkey broth, and to that end she retrieved the pot where they had hung it suspended from a high spruce branch, broke the film of ice that had formed while they slept, and pressed it into Einars hand. Flavorful and mineral-rich from the cracked, boiled turkey bones and Lizs addition of greens, the broth was a welcome snack for Einar and Liz both after the cold hours of sleep, though it served to awaken Einars hunger again without really satisfying it, leaving him to stare up hungrily at the remains of the bird where they hung some fifteen feet up off the ground, black silhouette against the starlight, enticing, and he very nearly went and lowered the thing in anticipation of a midnight snack of turkey sushi, but restrained himself, shook his head. You can eat later.

Why dont you settle in and see if you can get some more sleep, Liz. Ive got something to check on. Be back in a while. She caught his arm as he turned to go. Something to check on? Where are you going? I can come with you No. Sleep. Stay up close to the rock there in case the chopper comes back, but I dont think its going to. Not tonight, anyway. Im not going far. Just up on the ridge here above us, maybe back down the valley a bit. Please stay. You need the sleep too, and as cold as it is tonight, were both going to have a hard time staying warm enough Youll be fine. I got to do this. Id take you, but your eyes arent back to normal yet, night vision probably isnt functioning too well. And one of us might as well get some sleep, anyway. Your night vision cant be doing all that well either, Einar, as short as youve been on food lately. But youre right I guess. I cant even make out individual stars up there, not yet Alright, Ill sleep. But come back, you hear? Because I dont want to have to finish this turkey all by myself. You be careful out there. He grunted his assent, gave her hand a squeeze and was gone, before she even had time to try and insist that he take back his sweater, take it with him. Einar didnt want to worry her too much, but at the same time knew he must settle his mind regarding the possibility that they had been followed, needed to spend a few hours watching. Watch morning come in. Had been too long since hed done it, and he was starting to feel like he might be missing something, letting his alertness slip because off the sheer force of the weariness that had gripped him since leaving the tunnels. Cant afford that. Not now, not ever. You let your guard down, you die. Or worse. You know that Climbing, navigating the dark timber with some difficulty in the faint starlight--easier to do when there is more snow on the ground, the stuff is amazingly reflective--he worked his way up the ridge, unsure exactly what he expected to be able to see from up there, as the men on their trail, if there was indeed anyone at all on their trail, would not be using a fire or visible light of any sort, if he had them figured correctly, would not risk giving away their position. But it seemed the right thing to do, heading up high, might allow him to hear something, to get a better sense for the terrain around them. Finding at last a slightly more open area near the top of the ridge but still below its crest, Einar settled in on a clump of last years old dead vegetation--only after committing to the move did he think to wonder if they might be thistles; thankfully, they were not--and stared out at the dim shapes of the surrounding ridges. Closing his eyes, he took in a great breath of the night air, sharp with chill and faintly spruce-scented--he smelled aspen in there too, last seasons old, half decomposed leaves--but giving no hint of fires or human presence, not close enough for him to detect, at least. Good. Thats good. But not definitive. For well over an hour Einar held vigil there on the ridge, arms wrapped around his knees

in a barely successful attempt to stave off some of the chill of the breeze that whispered and crackled through the still-bare tangle of oak brush immediately beneath him, shivering and listening to the night. He welcomed the cold. Without it, he would have been hard pressed to keep his eyes open. After a time, though, hearing nothing out of the ordinary and finding himself increasingly struggling to keep himself still enough to do any useful watching or listening--he could hold the shaking off for a while, but there are limits, and his body was beginning to rather urgently demand the production of some warmth--he got up and headed back down towards the valley. Moving stiffly at first and almost falling as he traversed the steep, rocky slope, he eventually made it down to the valley floor, found their back trail and prowled it for a good half mile or so, paralleling it, keeping to the heavy timber and finding nothing, no cause for concern. Climbing yet another ridge--the one opposite their sleeping spot--he greeted the dawn with red, weary eyes when it showed itself as a faint green brightness through the spruces on the ridge to the east, straight and orderly as hairs on a dogs back, green growing and blossoming to yellow and then orange, the suns molten gold finally making its way up to the ridge top and pouring a river of living light down into the valley. He blinked at its brightness, headed down through the timber. Got distance to cover, and an atlatl to makeneed to be hunting for a likely-looking stick, and maybe some willows for shafts, too. Better get back to camp pretty quick, though. Liz will be awake by now. Which she was, had been for some time, and had been moving, too.

Crouching beneath a spruce that overhung the creek which ran along the valley floor, Einar steadied himself on a protruding tree root, a weird arc of twisted, gnarled wood that had been gradually exposed by erosion, and listened intently for a moment before bending to fill his cupped hands with achingly cold snowmelt water. Gulping, filling his hands once again, for hed had nothing to drink all night and had done a fair amount of walking, something caught his eye, a hint of green just around the bend and mostly obscured by a clump of still-leafless thimbleberry bushes. He rose, creaky, cramping, crouching had been a mistake, limped over to investigate the plant life that had shone with an odd brilliance through the brush. Nettles. That was it. Nettle shoots, barely four inches high, a good-sized patch of them nestled in around the bend of the creek, drawing life from its water. They appeared to have been damaged by that nights freeze, wilting as they thawed, but still green and looking very appetizing. Settling himself crosslegged--as near as he could come to it, anyway--on the ground beside the patch, Einar used a folded over shred of aspen inner bark that he had stripped from a fallen tree some distance back to begin harvesting the nettle shoots, stacking them up on a similar section of bark. A bit clumsy, he missed with the bark on one of the tries, grabbed a couple of the nettle stems in his bare hand and realized that he wasnt feeling anything. Hands a little cold this morning, huh? Shook his head, stuck the hands in his armpits, teeth rattling as a morning breeze found its way down from the adjacent ridge and through his two layers of wool and fleece; his body was not liking the stillness, was missing that sweater, some. Yeah, maybehands may be just a little chilly. Doing better, though, regaining a bit of feeling and flexibility at least, and the next nettle he pulled, he felt. Kept at it, setting aside the bark and picking the plants with his bare hands, remembering how he had used

nettles in the past to help restore function to nearly frozen hands and figuring the increased circulation could not hurt him at all, chilled as he had apparently become. After harvesting a good-sized pile of the small live nettles, Einar noticed, on the edge of the patch, a decent number of the previous years dead stalks, as well, cutting and bundling them for future use in making the cordage that they were going to need so much of when it came to making a good life out there. Finally tearing himself away from his nettle-gathering work--person could keep at a thing like this all day, and not even realize where the time is going--he began the climb up the camp-slope with a vague but growing sense that something was not right, a feeling he attributed at the time to the fact that the sun was well up by then, and they ought to have been moving, covering ground. Well, Im working on it. Hopefully shell have things all packed up and ready to go by the time I get up there. Einar did not even have to make it all the way up to the campsite before he realized that Liz was not there. He could feel it, an emptiness, and absence--his earlier uneasiness given a name--and he stopped, wary, behind a cluster of firs and listened, tested the air, waited for a good many seconds before cautiously continuing, keeping low and moving with a stealth that had so often allowed him to be aware of potential enemies before they had a chance to detect his presence. But there was no enemy, there was no one. The camp was abandoned, Liz gone and along with her the burlap sack, cooking pot andthe turkey! Hungry as he was feeling that morning--the stomach can be a terrible thing when it begins reawakening after a period of sleep and realizing the extent of its needs, demanding that they be met, a veritable monster--the absence of the turkey seemed, at the moment, the greatest tragedy of all. Shaking his head--greedy critter, be gone--he struggled to shove the hunger aside, focus on the matter at hand. Liz seemed to be missing, appeared to have packed up and taken all of their gear with her, too, and that was a problem. Big problem. He didnt quite know what to make of it, scoured the ground around the camp for signs of anything that might have frightened Liz, might have convinced her that she must vacate the area for her own safety, tracks or other signs of possible intruders, but he saw nothing, knew that there had been no further air activity during the night or that morning, and could not make any sense of it. The spot where they had slept, soft, almost-warm nest of spruce needles--was cold. Not a hint of warmth remained, even when he dug down beneath the surface, which Liz had neatly packed and smoothed down until one could hardly recognize that it had been disturbed. She had been gone for a while. Shivering, Einar hauled himself to his feet and stood rubbing his cramping right leg as he scanned the remains of their camp. What are you missing? Has to be something. He was awfully tired. Knew the clues must be there, but seemed entirely unable to pick up on them. Well, looks like youre gonna have to track her, then. Ought to be able to manage that. But the prospect of tracking Liz was, like everything else that morning, looking a good bit easier said than done. The ground had frozen hard overnight, everything from exposed, muddy soil to the remaining banks of slushy snow having formed a hard, icy crust that would easily allow a person passage without taking much of a mark; he had seen it himself, as he watched his own back trail on the way up to the

camp. Not much of a mark, maybe, but shes got to have left something, everything that passes leaves some sign, and youll find her. Got to find her. What have you done, Lizzie? Are you coming back? Should I wait for you here? He did not think so. Figured she would have left some things, the turkey at least, safe as it had been, suspended in the tree, if she had been meaning to return. Also figured it would be a mighty foolish thing if he ended up tracking her in circles, though, as she headed back to the camp to look for him, if she intended to do so, but unable to come up with a better idea, he began casting about for clues, anything that would tell him in which direction she had headed. Einar found his first clue in a boot-scuff some distance above the camp, a spot where the steepness of the slope had apparently caused her to slide on the icy, needle-covered ground, and before long he found his next bit of sign, a small fragment of burlap--a single thread, really--that had snagged in the gnarly claw-hand of a dead fir branch as Liz had passed beneath the tree. Burlap, he knew, had a tendency to snag like that, to leave pieces behind to alert potential pursuers, and he had been scrupulously careful to prevent that happening as he traveled with the bag-pack, frequently checking the brush and lowhanging branches along his back trail for strands that needed removing, saw now that he needed to mention to Liz the importance of doing so. But at least Im the right path, looks like. Figured it right when I thought she would head into the dark timberbut why up? Where are you going, Liz? And why? Why, though definitely part of the puzzle-always easier to track a critter, human or not, if you know something of its intentions, its habits, its likely destination--was apparently beyond his reach for the moment, but where he could handle, kept his eyes sharp for indications of her path and found them, one by one, slowly gaining information as he went about the reasoning she was employing to pick her route, his job becoming progressively easier. Far up onto the ridge Einar followed her, the sun finally finding its way through the evergreens in swaying golden patches to soften and begin melting some of the ice that seemed to have replaced his bones since his long sit near the ridge crest that past night, a welcome change if one that he little noticed in his intense focus on Lizs trail. She had, it seemed, been following a course nearly identical to the one he had taken up onto the ridge the night before, though shed been a good twenty to thirty yards higher than his path the entire time, so she had not been tracking him. You trying to find me? Thought I was taking too long up there maybe, thought Id decided not to come back? Now, you know I wouldnt do thatand Im pretty sure you wouldnt do it either, so what was the idea, here? Whatever it was, he really wished he might be able to catch up to her soon, was tired after his near-sleepless night and beginning to grow impatient with Liz for wandering off, was anxious to get moving so they could make the best use of the day and was starting to worry just a bit, too. He stopped, scooped up a handful of still-crusty snow and chewed on it for some moisture, tried to put it all out of his mind, everything but the trail he was following. Finally he reached the ridge crest, a spot very near where he had kept his vigil that past night and saw that Liz had sat there too--a small depression in the brown, snow-flattened grasses told the story, and he sank to his knees beside it, pressed a flat-palmed hand into the ground as if hoping to receive some insight--a mere ten yards from his lookout spot. She had been there, and had gone.

Bud Kilgore sat grim-faced and glowering, a half-eaten bite of elk steak speared and forgotten on the tines of his raised fork, forlorn, dripping steak sauce--he made the stuff himself, the secret being the use of horseradish and orange peel and fermented raisins, a secret which he guarded as closely as he did any other worth guarding, and there were many--listening in silence as his three companions related their brief experience working as contractors for the FBI. While it had, arguably, gone better than his had--doesnt get an awful lot worse than having your extensive skills used to track down a target, and then getting a rocket dropped on your head because they decide youre expendable--the descriptions of rampant arrogance, waste and sheer disregard for the voice of experience and common sense were all too familiar to Kilgore. He shook his head, finished his bite of steak. Hope they paid ya well, anyway. Got to get the money up front when youre working for that sort. I had to take them filthy buggers to court just to get them to cover my medical expenses after they dropped that tree across my leg and burnt the hair off one side of my head. And wrecked my hat, too. Good hat. And that was even after the Congressional hearings, where they were told just how wrong theyd been Cheapskates. Guessing they didnt want to give further acknowledgement to the fact that they were at fault in that whole mess by agreeing to pay to have me patched up. Well, they paid real fast when I initiated the court action. Sure didnt want that kind of press. Paid for the new roof on my barn, too Laughter, ironic, satisfied, as Bud stabbed another bite of steak and mopped up the remnants of Secret Sauce from his last one. Pay? Roger--one of Kilgores buddies from his Rhodesian Light Infantry days-snorted. Ha! Dont think therell be any pay for us, not after the way we walked out on them. Oh, they bought the plane tickets, so I guess that counts for somethingbut it was worth it, just to see the look in the AICs face when I told him what I thought of the way he was running his operation. Told him real plain. And you know whats real funny? I think we were getting real close to this Asmundson character when they called us off to come look at those phony tracks out along their perimeter. Yep, pretty sure of it. I mean, you know thats why the girl went missing. They didnt really believe us on that, either. They still think she ran because of their interrogation tacticswhich I wouldnt doubt, but we talked about it, and were convinced he came for her. Shes carrying his child, after all, so the rumor goes, and he seems to be the type who would take that sort of thing pretty seriously. And besides, would she really run off into a storm like that all by herself, when theres a real good likelihood, from what they told us, that she couldnt even see? Nope, I dont think so. He came for her, somehow got through their security and whisked her out of there. Anyhow, I think we were gettin real close to them. Had it figured pretty close which way theyd be likely to go--were only a couple routes that seemed to make sense, and less than that that fit what hed mostly done, in the past--and we were camped up there, smelled smoke and went after it. Windy night, snowing hard, hard to tell where it was coming from, but I do believe we were getting close, because we came upon some mine tailings, and I got a whiff of smoke that was a good bit stronger than the hints wed smelled before. Like somebodyd just doused a fire, almost.

Couldnt pick up a heat reading, but I think that was mostly because of the wind and that doggone blizzard we had going on right then, and we were about to circle around above those tailings piles and see what we might see, when they called us in. Wouldnt even give us fifteen extra minutes to go check it out, and they were the ones calling the shots, made that real plain to all of us, sodown we went. Wish now that wed taken those fifteen minutes, cause I get the feeling we might have had him. Was kinda looking forward to the encounter. Huh. Durn fool agents probably saved your hide on that one, if he was really there. Asmundsons not a fella you want to tangle with down in any mine tunnel, not even you, Roger the ferret. Woulda had to nuke the thing, gas it, something. Legend has it hes half wolverine, you know. What legend? You been stuck away up here in these hills too long, Kilgore. Need to get out more He laughed. Just the way I like it. But yeah. Legend. Think I read it in the newspaper or something--my all-time favorite source for legends--but I may not have got the details quite right...there was something about a wolverine, anyhow. Think hes supposed to have killed one with his bare hands, or something, when he found it raiding his food stash. Jumped on it and strangled the thing. Read some other stuff, too, heard some talk here and there, dont know just how much of it to take seriously, but some of it comes from reliable sources, fellas who were there with him, before, and they got some real interesting stuff to say. When theyll talk to you, which isnt often. Not about that. But I do know this. He got a shot off at me, hit me in the leg, too--and me in real heavy concealment down in the spruces--with a bear tranquilizer in him. It was a real solid hit, right in the shoulder. I saw it plainly, saw that orange fuzz from the dart sticking out of his shoulder. And thenwell, he ran off and disappeared over the shale cliffs, after I got a second dart in him. Just saved himself by a hair from that rocket, and you know, he really shouldnt have been able to move a muscle by that point, not with all those chemicals in him. Things were meant to stop black bears, and Ill tell you, this fella was no bear. More like a sack of bones, from what I could see of him. Probably shouldnt have even been able to breathe with those things in them. I hadnt intended to use more than one dart, not at once, anywaybut these things happen. The men were quiet, nodding, eating, and a very thoughtful look came over Bud, a hint of a smile twisting his face. He slid off the picnic bench, grabbed his cane--still needed the thing, leg wasnt back to normal, quite--and hobbled over to the grill to flip over the second serving of elk. You know Rog, I think you may be right. I dont get out enough. Think I got somewhere to go now, got an idea And Bud Kilgore stood there humming to himself as he speared the steaks, piled them on a plate and returned to the table.

The light was stark, angled light of the morning sun, the best light by which to track,

tending to highlight slight irregularities in the ground that would be all but invisible as the sun climbed higher in the sky, but Einar seemed to be making little progress. Hed lost Liz up there on the ridge, the rockier ground obscuring signs of her passage and leaving him to return numerous times to the last indication of her passing, a spot where the frost-heaved ground had been weighted, the nights ice crystals broken as she stepped on a patch of bare, frozen soil. That was it. And even that last track was softening, the ground around it thawing, ice crystals disappearing, causing it to blend and very nearly vanish as the sun did its work. If there were any more like it, they would very soon be lost to him. He was tired, bone tired, brain was tired, but he shook his head, shoved it all aside and went back to studying the ground. Can think about the rest of that later. Come on, Einar. You can do better than this. Got to do better than this. Where would she go? What was her intention, here? Need to know where to look for that next sign

Moving slowly, seeking clues and finding only the occasional scuff mark or snagged bit of vegetation to guide his steps, the questions pressed in on Einar. Why had Liz left like this? Had she simply got tired of being out there, grown weary of the hardship and of the prospect of finishing out her pregnancy up there in the hills with an uncertain food supply, a crazy, half-crippled critter such as himself and no certainty where--or even if-she would be sleeping, from night to night--the thought of raising a child under such circumstances He shook his head. Doubted it. Shed had plenty of opportunities to back out, if that had been it. Didnt really sound like her at all, but then, Einar knew quite well that desperation of one sort or another can lead a person to do some mighty unexpected things. Sure figured he would have seen some sign though, if she had been getting to that point, if such had been her reason for leaving. Couldnt be it though, could it? Desperation? Surely not. Not with the feast theyd just shared, the relative warmth and comfort of travel down in the spring-livened valley. Things had been going unusually well, really. Hed thought. But he couldnt say. Not for sure. Knew hed been too flat-out weary and fuzzy-headed to be a particularly astute observer of another persons state of mind, even one so close to him. For all of his ability to read the natural world and follow sign that others might not have even realized existed, to piece together and act correctly on an array of tiny clues before his conscious mind even realized they had been seen or heard, Einar never had been particularly astute at understanding the motivations and intentions of his fellow human critters. Unless, that was, they were hunting him, or he them. That, he understood, and better than most. But thishe might well have missed something, some clue, something shed said The thought was pretty dispiriting, the mere consideration of the possibility that Liz might have intentionally packed up all their worldly possessions and taken her leave of him, and Einar knew that he could not afford to let his mind spend too much time or effort on it, had spent too much already, as a matter of fact, and he kicked the thought into the darkest corner he could find, preserved for later perusal, out of his way. Yet there it was, right in front of him when he went to continue, to search once again for the next track, couldnt seem to get the matter out of his head, not entirely, as he knew he needed to do. So he just did his best to ignore it, kept moving, searching.

Tired. Hed decided to climb up to the ridges crest in search of any clue that Liz might have taken a path down its backside, had made it, but the blood was pounding so in his head, sending a many-fingered, growing blackness welling up before his eyes that he could barely see. Had to catch his breath. A minute or two later, head resting on a tree and breath coming hard, rasping in his throat, he again became aware of his existence, did not feeling much like moving and was not, at the moment, even entirely certain that he could. Opened his eyes. Sure you can. Get up, you lazy old sack of bones. This is important. Liz may be in some sort of trouble, may have seen or heard something that spooked her--must have spooked her awful bad. I guess--may have been hurt or trapped somewhere In trying to get out of its path, and even if none of those are the case, well girls got all the food and shes got your sweater and the cooking pot, and thats reason enough right there to keep moving until you track her down! Isnt it? Which it was, as he was having a difficult time convincing his stomach and certain renegade portions of his brain that he was not, at that moment, on the verge of starving to death. Cant be, not after that turkey feast last night. Not technically possible. Just feels like it, and you know what thats all about, have done this beforebut yes! Got to track down that turkey. Einar was, when he shut off the clamorous complaining of his stomach and tried thinking rationally, glad that Liz had the turkey, wherever she was. At least she, and the baby, would have the opportunity to eat. Finding no indication that Liz had crossed the ridgecrest--it was brushy up there, she would have let sign--Einar turned and started instead down towards the creek, roughly paralleling the path he had taken in the night. She had, so far, seemed almost to be following him, though he knew quite well that she could not have been tracking him, not in the moonless darkness and with her eyes still troubling her quite a bit. There on the downslope he discovered, not far from a tiny scrap of burlap that had hung up in a serviceberry bush as Liz had passed, a torn-apart log, its wood rotten in places, black and damp and punky, and as he inspected it--looks like a bears been at this thing, and recently, too--he realized that he must have passed very close to it on his way down to the creek that past night. Hoping the bear might have left him something, he sank to his knees beside the savaged tree, pawing at the chunks and crumbs of rot left in the tracks of the great bears claws--it had been a big one--digging and clearing and scattering the fragments. Mouth watering at the realization that he was soon to eat, if only a few morsels, Einars face lit up with a big grin when three fat grubs tumbled out of a cavity in the wood, two more being found in the wreckage beside the log. Good! A less-thanthorough bear! Just what I needed The grubs with their bits of fat and protein did help him some, gave him a bit of an energy boost and let him rise with a bit more spring in his step, brushing the rotten wood from his clothing--hed been lying in the stuff as he scrambled for grubs--and continuing down the slope. The next time he saw indication of Liz was down at the creek, where she appeared to have crouched for a drink--he did the same, throat dry and sandy--before leaving a slight smear in the not-quite frozen mud on its far side. She had done pretty well, had managed to move through the night without making herself too obvious, and he would have been proud of the progress she had made in learning to move stealthily, if he had not been so thoroughly focused at the moment on finding her.

Across the creek and up the opposite ridge Einar traveled, casting about for Lizs sign, finding and following the occasional faint clue she had left him until he stood at last in a place very near the one from which he had greeted the dawn, patches of early afternoon sunlight falling through the spruces. He sat down, rested his head on his knees, let the sun beat down on his back for a time. Cold. He never had really warmed up after that long night, not even with all the climbing hed done. Had been moving too slowly. Felt like he had been going in circles all day, and had very nearly convinced himself, weary as he was, that he had simply been following his own trail, not tracking Liz. Which he might have believed, had it not been for the occasional scrap or string of burlap that he was continuing to find. He had no burlap with him, on him or otherwise about his person. And to be accurate, there was no point at which he had actually been on his own trail. She had always been a number of yards off, though near it, and had more than once taken a long, roundabout detour which had added greatly to the time it took him to follow her. Knew he had to be on the right trail, and so after a brief rest he kept moving, right down off the ridge and towards the creek again. By the time he reached the spot where he had gathered nettles that morning--she had sat down very close to it, mere feet from where he had cut the plants, and he saw that, bad eyes or not, she could not have helped but see the patch of clipped-off nettles, since she would have come by in the light--Einar realized where she must be headed. Finally he ceased scouring the ground for her tracks, heading instead straight up the hill towards the site of their camp, heart pounding in anticipation but also apprehension at the thought that she might not actually be there. He knew that he ought to be able to get some sense of whether the place was inhabited or not, had many times relied on such perception to keep himself from danger, but he was just too weary. There was nothing. No information. Well. He would know soon enough, because there was the last cluster of firs that had shielded their sleeping spot, patches of the granite wall that had so well reflected the heat of their cooking fire showing stark and grey behind the gently swaying branches. Liz stood at the sight of him--sorry sight that he was--quickly draped her string of three ptarmigan over a fir branch and ran to him, nearly knocking him from his feet with the strength of her embrace. Einar! Where have you been? Are you Ok? He wasnt, couldnt get enough air with her squeezing him like that, squirmed free and sank to the ground, Liz looking on with concern and offering him water, which he brushed away with a dismissive gesture, fighting for breath. Where have I been? Where have Iwhywhyd you take everything? I was almost starting to wonder if you hadnt just decided to clear out of here and head back down to civilization, or something Einar, Im so sorry I made you think that. I would neverI only took everything because youve taught me over and over again that you only really own what you have on you, on your person, that youre real likely not to be able to return for a thing if you leave it behind, in this life. I just didnt want us to lose our turkey, or be without a cooking pot. Just trying to do like you would have done

Well nowguess Ill have to admit some fault when it comes to that that. Youre right. You did just like I would have done. Did good. But what I cant figure is why youd leave in the first place? You hear something, get the idea that somebody was sneaking up on the camp, or what? No, nothing like that. You were just gone for so long last night and it was getting awfully cold, windyI just kept thinking about you sitting up there in the wind on that ridge without your sweater and then I started thinking about the time you went and sat in the snow up in the rocks above our camp and I couldnt seem to get it out of my mind Einar, Im sorry. I shouldnt have doubted you like that. Ridge? He was keeping his voice low, trying not to be angry or at least not to let it show too much. What ridge? Howd you know I was up on the ridge? I dont know, I could justtell. Could tell you were up there, could picture you sitting in a little clearing and watching the valley, and I went and tried to fine you in caseyou were up there, werent you? Scowling at a nearby clump of exposed shale to avoid directing his wrath at Liz, he finally glanced up at her. Yeah, I was up there. You sat down not ten yards from where I had been watching. For all I know, we may have been up there at the same time. Shook his head again, scrubbed his hands over his face. Well. Its done, and wed best get moving. Lost most of a day, here. They had indeed lost most of a day as far as travel was concerned, lost, but not, as it was to turn out, entirely wasted. For had it not been for the delay and the angle of the afternoon sun, they surely never would have made the discovery, glint of sun on metal, distant, mostly tree-obscured, that caught Einars eye just as they turned to leave the camp. Before Liz even had time to realize that Einar had seen something that caught his attention, he had thrown her to the ground and had got the two of them rolled into a slight depression that ran behind a long-fallen aspen, her face pressed into the damp earth as he lay there with his elbow clamped over the back of her head. Startled as she was, and wanting to demand and explanation of Einar, Liz dared not speak. She had no idea as to the cause of his strange behavior, but did know that he tended not to do such things on a whim--not most of the time, anyway--so she kept quiet, didnt even raise her head as she felt him slide the burlap sack from her back. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he eased Susans binoculars from the bag and dragged himself slowly, incredibly slowly and keeping very low, out to the end of the log, peering around it, not over. A few long, silent moments, sound of the wind sighing through the spruces the ooze and seep of melting snow seeping into a bit of soil below her left ear, and she felt a bit of the tension go out of his body, heard him breathe again and he turned to her, face still strained but relief in his eyes.

Here. He was barely even whispering, voice a mere sigh that was nearly lost in the wind. Take a look. Sorry I had to jump on you like that, but I saw a flash over there, andwell, therere only a few things it could have been, and most of them real bad, considering the circumstances. But its Ok. I think. She looked, couldnt see anything out of the ordinary at first but then there it was, a narrow strip of tin hanging loosely from what appeared to be a manmade structure of some sort, tree-hidden, indistinct, flapping lazily in the wind. That? Thatmetal thing up there near the rocks? You slammed me--and little Hildegard!--to the ground and knocked my breath out over that? Yep, that. I didnt know it was just some old scrap of tin, and if Id taken the time to find that out, wellyou and little Hildegard could very well have ended up with a federal snipers bullet through you, understand? Seemed knocking you flat on your face was the better of the two options, not that I stopped to weigh the options. You stop to weigh the options at a time like that, youre dead. Got it? Dead! Now, he softened his voice, realizing that he had been ranting at her but supposing the thing had needed saying, looks like its been there a while though, doesnt it? Not recent. Yes. Looks to me like its probably been there for decades, the way its just hanging Yeah. Hard to be sure until we get in closer for a look, but I think its just some old remnants of one sort or another, probably mining, though I havent seen too much other evidence off mining around here. Guess wed better go have a look. Which Einar intended to do, and right away, but didnt get past the point of standing up, his too-long neglected foot suddenly demanding attention by spilling him on his face in the soft soil there beside the fallen aspen. Gasping for breath and fighting the urge to curl up in a whimpering, trembling ball at the hurt it brought him, he got to his knees, stood again, more carefully this time. Liz took his arm and helped him, looking a bit worried. What happened? Your foot? He nodded, knee of his bad foot braced against the fallen aspen. Yeah. Doggone things a little tender all of a sudden. Im fine. Just need a stick or something to take a little of the weight off of it. Well no wonder its a little tender, as far as we came yesterday and then you wandering most of the night and all day today, too. Here. Sit down and let me have a look at it. Its bound to have oozed and bled and stuck to the usnea down inside your boot. Which it had, the foot, (though doing much better than it had been before Susans diligent treatments and the forced rest hed had while waiting in her basement for Liz to return) raw and red and appearing as though he had been using it as a sledgehammer to break up

rock. Liz kept that part to herself, focused on loosening the mass of crusty usnea dressing that had ended up firmly adhered to the wounds. She was afraid at first--and not without reason--that perhaps the tissue had begun to heal over some of the usnea strands in places, a prospect which would have required a terribly painful scrubbing to reverse, but soon realized, to her relief and no doubt to Einars, that no such thing had happened. The dressings would come loose, but were going to require some water to do so, and she took the Nutella container, glanced at its contents--the thing was nearly full of creek water, every trace of lingering Nutella having been long ago polished off by herself--and added two drops of tea tree oil in the hopes of lending the water a reasonably strong antiseptic quality. After that began the painstaking process of loosening the old dressings so new ones could be applied from the supply of usnea that she had gathered in her wanderings that day. It was then, badly needing something to distract him from Lizs ministrations to his foot, that Einar first noticed her three ptarmigan, half out of their winter plumage, cleaned and partially plucked, as well, dangling from a length of paracord at her shoulder. Wow! When did you get those birds? This morning. Two of them were feeding down near the creek, and I surprised the third in the rocks just below camp. Theyre not anywhere near as big as the turkey of course, but I figured for when he was gone You did great. Youre really good with that rabbit stick, let me tell you. All I came up with was three good fat grub worms, and Im afraid I consumed them on the spot. War club. What? Its not a rabbit stick, its a war club, and youd better not forget that, either, she teased him, shaking the weapon threateningly in the direction of his head. Right. War club. Well, its a rabbit stick when youre braining ptarmigan and rabbits with it, and a war club when you happen to be using it to crack my skull. Which you havent done for a while, but no, I sure havent forgotten So really, its both. Liz nodded, laughed and set down the weapon, returning to Einars foot. The water had done its work; the dressings were soft enough to remove without taking half of the healing tissue with them, which had been her goal. Einar had done enough damage with all his walking, she certainly did not want to cause any more. A quick rinse in tea tree water and she was done, applying fresh usnea before easing his sock over everything and helping him get the foot back into his boot. There. Is that better? Einar sighed gratefully. Much better. I shouldnt havelet it go so long.

No, you shouldnt. I wish we had some sort of salve to put on there before adding fresh usnea, because that would really help when it comes to not having the stuff stick to the wounds. I think that was probably a good part of what was hurting you--the stuck dressings pulling and worrying at the new skin thats trying to grow, with each step you took. Yeah, that was part of it. Cant think of anything, though. Should have saved some turkey grease, maybe. Roasted some and let the grease drip off and caught it to use for salve. Have to do that next timemaybe even with the ptarmigans. Sure! Why didnt I think of that? Well collect ptarmigan fat, find something to store it in, and maybe Ill even mix in a drop or two of this tea tree oil to turn it into an antiseptic. But that wont help you right nowhey! We could use a little Nutella! Thats pretty greasy Einar glanced up at her with a look of mock hurt and shock on his face--more convincing than he had intended it to be, perhaps--then grinned when he saw the worried creases between her eyes, shaking his head. Trying to get me to eat my own foot, are you? Cause thats probably what would end up happening, if we were to use Nutella for salve Im sorry! You have got to be awfully hungry after wandering around all day with only those three little grub worms. I was going to try and get you to eat something, but you took off in such a hurry Oh, wont take much trying, this time. Any of that Nutella left in the other jar? Maybe Id better have just a little taste of it, might help keep me from taking another tumble like that last one. She held the jar out to him and he took a sparing finger full, turning his face away lest he be tempted to seize the stuff and finish it off. Liz saw his struggle, pressed the jar into his hands. Here, please, have more, have a big scoop. Weve got the ptarmigans now, half a turkey leftwell, maybe a little less than half, after last night, and And we cant go getting careless with what we do have. No guarantees out here, when it comes to food. Got to make things last, the ones that are in a form that makes them easy to travel with, anyway. Lets go climb up there and check out that tin and stuff we saw, use the rest of the daylight to put some distance behind us--Im ready to be out of this place--and then we can find a good spot to hunker down for the night, have a little fire and feast on turkey again Not wanting to head directly for the recently-sighted tin--it was against his nature to so such, even though he believed the potential for danger to be minimal--Einar took them on a roundabout course by which they circled around and climbed the ridge above it, approaching it from up high in the hopes of seeing any trouble before it managed to get a good look at themif it had not already done so. By the time they neared the height of

the ridge the weather had taken a turn, the sunshine and gentle breezes of the day replaced by a glowering wall of cloud, flat, grey, nearing them as it swallowed up one sun-drenched, ridge of vibrant spruce and fresh-leaved aspen after another, winds gusting strong and bitter and leaving them to wish very strongly for the bearskins they had been forced to abandon just after Lizs capture. Eyes watering in the raw wind--it felt far more like autumn than spring, at the moment, they crouched there on some rocks just below the ridges crest, squinting down the slope in the hopes of getting a decent look at the object of their explorations. It was hidden, of course, the bits of tin and wood that Einar had observed from the opposite ridge, well concealed by the brushy tangledness of the slope, chokecherry and serviceberry and willow having filled in beneath the aspens and spruces arrayed in tight phalanxes here and there to prevent their getting a look. Have to go in closer. Which they did, Liz rejecting Einars offer to go scout the place out and return for her if it was safe. She, after all, had the rabbit stick/war club, with which she had proven more than once that she could make a good accounting of herself, when the need arose, her eyes were doing better and allowed her to more of an asset than a burden when it came to scouting, and besides, she simply did not like the prospect of being so soon separated from Einar, after having just found him again. He simply nodded at her explanation, gestured for her to follow close behind him. It was looking more and more like rain, humidity rising, wind taking on a damp, cutting quality that made him anxious to be done with their explorations and get moving, find shelter for the night. Yet he could not rush things too much, the sight of something so obviously man-made having inspired in him an almost animal caution, a reluctance that kept his senses sharp and his steps measured, deliberate. And then the sky opened up, and the rain came. Einars first clue that the downpour was to begin came in the form of the odor, fresh, piercing, alive, which swept up at them from the valley, where the storm had already been unleashed, and it would have been wonderful, welcome, had they possessed any way to keep dry. Which they did not, Einar quickly hurrying out of his waterproof pants and stuffing them with their dry clothes, wrapping and folding in the hopes of ending up with something dry to put on, later. Early spring rains were a thing Einar had come to dread, to some extent, during his time out in the hills. Unlike snow, they could not be brushed off before they could soak in or easily evaded by huddling beneath a tree--some trees would shield a person thoroughly, but not as easily as from snow--and they were, at that time of year, easily cold enough to kill a person, if said traveler found himself stuck out in the open and forced to continue moving with no way to get out of the wind, to get dry and warm. Before he got the burlap sack closed up and again secured to Lizs back, the rain had reached them, the force with which it swept up the hill and began pelting them a bit of a shock even to Einar, to whom sudden rainstorms and inadequate protection were certainly nothing new. He lowered his head and kept walking, tried not to give quarter to the grumblings and groanings that wanted to arise unbidden in his mind as the freezing water quickly soaked through his clothing and began running in disconcertingly icy little streams down over his ribs and along his backbone. It wouldnt have been so bad, he

thought, had the wind been slightly less forceful. The very recently leafed out aspens beneath which they walked offered very little shelter of any sort, and Einar steered them over towards the evergreens, the two of them finding shelter there, if incomplete, as the thin, piercing rain had grown to a hard-pelting downpour that managed to find its way through all but the heaviest of cover. There in the evergreens he ran across a spruce, scarred, scored, porcupine-eaten, and paused to pry a handful of time-hardened pitch lumps from beneath one of its stripped sections, shoving them into his pocket in the knowledge that they would come in very handy in any later firestartng efforts they might undertake, that evening. Cold as he was, and with a continual supply of fresh water flowing over and through his clothing to help maintain the cooling system--he laughed, shivered, sure dont need it right now!--he doubted the pitch lumps would even soften and stick. With meticulous care--the fact that the sky had loosed an icy torrent on them which was turning more and more to something resembling sleet did not preclude the possibility of the manmade structure containing a trap of some sort, after all, an enemy outpost--Einar worked his way down closer to the site of the tin and wood, reaching at last what proved to be the final section of dense timber above it and observing through the rain and the wind-tosses spruces a bit of water-darkened wood, a strip of tin, appearing nearly white in the contrast, loosely attached at one end and flapping ferociously in the wind. The site appeared the same as the one he had seen through the binoculars, and after a few minutes of stillness, he was satisfied that they were alone, motioned to Liz and picked his was across fallen spruces and granite scree to the collapsed structure. Not much was left, the remnants, he supposed, of an old ore-house off some sort, judging from the bits of iron scrap that sat around here and there. Over to one side of the collapsed structure was what appeared to be a rubbish pile, overgrown by many decades of gooseberry and other scrub and littered with spruce duff that had blown over from nearby trees, but he scraped the duff aside to reveal an old blue-glass bottle, rusted out cooking pot and a few tin cans, glanced up at Liz, grinning and gleeful at their newfound wealth. She was staring dully at the collapsed wood structure, did not meet his eye. Liz, though uncomplaining, was the picture of abject misery as she stood there soaked to the skin and shivering, and Einar knew from looking at her that though possible, it would be unwise to continue their travels that night. Assigning Liz the task of sorting through the little debris pile for anything they could use--had to keep her busy. She looked close to sinking to the ground, putting her head down and huddling there for an undetermined amount of time, which, come to think of it, was precisely what he felt like doing, himself, though he knew he wasnt allowed to do so, an that would be enough, at least until he got good bit colder and forgot about such things--Einar went in search of the mine, got to be a mine, and we sure could use the shelter The mine, though, when he finally found it by locating and following an uncharacteristically grown-over tailings pile, had caved in a very long time, all that remained being some scraps of tin, iron and wood, the remnants of what must have at one time been a small bunkhouse or the mine-workers. The ruins, as he inspected them, clearly lacked the quality and robustness that had allowed a number of smaller cabins to survive more or less intact over nearly a century of winters, its frame construction having long ago succumbed to the weight of the snow and of dry rot,

collapsing. He was about to quit the area for the night, grab the largest section of intact tin he could find and hurry back to Liz so the two of them could seek out a suitable tree beneath which to spend the night at least partially sheltered from the rain, when he saw it. One corner of the long, narrow building, the back corner, which had been sheltered from the worst depredations of sun and snow by a cluster of firs, seemed still to be standing, more or less. Working his way in among twisted, rotted remains, fragments of nailstudded wood and broken glass--theyd had glass windows; somewhat of a rarity up there--he finally got himself in to where he could crouch and crawl beneath the stillstanding portion of roof, leaning heavily, creaky, but standing, and it was to his great relief and joy that he found the place to be largely dry, at least in one corner. It was too dark to gather much information about his surroundings and the thought of staying long in such a place-was not far from the course of that last helicopter pass and could, as he had seen, be spotted from a distance if conditions were just right--was rather unnerving to Einar, but he was just about done in, knew it, knew Liz must not be too much better off. The conditions of wet and wind under which they were traveling were very nearly ideal when it came to robbing heat from a body and quickly leaving a person dangerously hypothermic, and Einar knew it, knew that before long, neither of them would be likely to posses the judgment necessary to know when to stop, might simply and nonsensically end up walking until they could walk no longer, sinking to the wet ground and sleeping. One last time. He knew the odds. Darkness was coming, and the storm increasing in its fury. They had found their shelter for the night. Though she was clearly making a valiant effort to stick to the task he had assigned her-sorting through the mines old garbage pile for anything they could use--Einar could see that Liz was in trouble when he finally scrambled his was back through the trees and down to her. She was cold but seemed oblivious to any need to try and protect herself from the ravages of the wind, and did not appear particularly able to focus on her task, either. Einar spoke to her, grabbed beneath the arms and lifted her when she did not respond. That got her attention and she turned to him, mumbled something about glass jars and gestured at a nearby cross-timber that sat horizontally beside the rubble heap like a shelf. Like a shelf, it was arrayed with a variety of bottles and jars and one small enamelware pot that she had apparently salvaged from the heap, before becoming too chilled and clumsy to keep at the task. Many of the glass containers were broken, fragments, only, but Einar saw three that appeared to be in fine shape, two blue-green glass Ball canning jars and a narrow, ornate brown bottle that he supposed must have once held medicine or liquor or something of the sort. Gathering up the bottles and the pot and stashing them in the burlap bag--couldnt seem to get his fingers to tie the knot to hold the thing shut, after, so he just slung it over his shoulder as it was--he returned his attention to Liz, who had slumped back down beside the rubbish heap and was idly poking at what looked like the remains of an ancient and much-rusted tin can of some sort. Again he hauled her to her feet--was nearing the limit of his ability to do so, had to pause for a minute after while he struggled to regain his breath--keeping a firm hold on her arm lest she go down again, and only then did he think to try and tell her about the shelter he had found. Whether or not she understood he could

not tell, as his own words, he was certain, were a bit slurred and uncertain with weariness and chill, but when he started walking she followed him, and that had been the intent, so he supposed he must have managed to communicate something. Darkness had grown nearly complete by the time they reached the tumbled-down bunkhouse, and Einar carefully helped Liz in over the jagged remains of the collapsed, nail-studded wall, and into the welcome little alcove of dryness and shelter that remained beneath the last corner standing. Out of the wind and rain, the two of them huddled together in a heap for a good minute on the dry spruce needles of the floor, the sound of their breath loud in the sudden silence before Einar forced himself to move again, knowing that they had to have fire and seeing that Liz seemed little inclined to take the initiative, herself. He didnt blame her. Hardly felt like moving, himself. But had to. Feeling around in the darkness he found the burlap sack, fumbled with its contents for far longer than he would have liked before finally finding the candle and getting it onto the ground in front of him, only to find when he felt for it that it had rolled away. Thing must have ended up on its side. Oops He found the candle again, got it set upright--had to feel for the wick with his mouth; fingers were too numb-- and found the book of matches that he had taken from Susans. Not gonna be easy to light one of thesewould probably have a better chance with the fire steel, bigger pieces to grasp, but I dont really want to go starting a fire on the ground in here before I get a good look at the place and know whats going on, and besides, I dont know if I have any dry wood, besides what they walls are made of! And its a lot easier to light a candle with a match than a fire steel, though both are possibleso, here goes. Struggling with slightly soggy matches--the little book was, fortunately, out of an MRE, the matches damp resistant--and wet, half-frozen hands, it took Einar a good while to get the candle lit but he managed it, sat there blinking in the orange glow as he inspected their surroundings. The intact portion of the old structure was small, remaining section of roof sagging so that while the portion nearest the back wall was a good five and a half feet off the floor--those old back-country buildings had traditionally been rather lowceilinged; more efficiently heated and saved on lumber--the section they had crawled in through stood a mere three feet off the ground. Einar didnt care. The place was dry! Mostly. Near the corner, a gaping, head-sized hole sat open to the sky, scar left by a long-ago spruce, wind-felled, which had clipped the building and punched a gap in the tin of its roof. In the wall to the right of the gap stood a single window, glass-paned but broken, which was admitting a good bit of wind and, to his greater dismay, allowing light to get out. The roof-gap, dripping at the moment with rain, had clearly allowed snow to filter in through the winter, and a small bank of unmelted stuff still lingered against the wall beneath it, diminishing as the cold rain sank into it. No matter. The overhanging bulk of the spruces was keeping the dripping to a minimum, and they could simply avoid the spot orhe had an idea, started for the entrancepatch it with tin. We can patch the hole with tin, leave just a little gap as a smoke hole for when we get a fire going. Can cover the window, too, because this winds gonna freeze us in the night if we keep letting it blow through like this. And I dont like the idea of light getting out on the downhill side like that, either. Crawling for the door he looked back and noticed Liz, who had not moved

since entering the shelter, crouching over against the back wall with dead-looking eyes, arms wrapped around her knees as she rocked back and forth, shivering. Huh. Not so good. Shes cold, but so am I, so that cant be her whole problem, I dont think. Bet she hasnt thought to eat anything for awhile, and that seems to be a problem for her right now. Fumbling in the pack again he dug out the Nutella, took a little taste himself-instant energy, and he would be needing it, heading back out into the rain and wind as he intended to do--and offered her the jar. No response. Come on, Lizzie. Eat. Here, you got tohe scraped up a generous glob of the stuff on a stick, pressed it to her lipsgot to eat now. Finally getting some of the Nutella into her mouth he set the jar at her knee in the hopes that she would take another helping as soon as she managed to wake up a little. Be right back, Lizgo ahead and start warming up over that candle, but dont burn the place down, Ok? Back out into the storm he went, then, crawling over the rubble of the wrecked portion of the small building and scratching himself pretty good on something sharp and metallic-too dark to tell what it was, but he stuck the heel of his hand into his mouth and tasted blood--until he found a good-sized sheet of loose tin, freed it from the timber that had kept it from blowing away and searched until he had found three more. Two he set near the glow of the shelter entrance to retrieve on his way back in, carrying the third around to the outside of the building-corner, where the hole was allowing moisture in. Climbing on the slippery wet wood siding, he got himself up to where he could see light coming out through the hole--saw Liz, too, and she was looking a little better, crouching there over the candle eating Nutella with her fingers--set the tin so that it covered the largest portion off the hold and held it in place with four good-sized granite slabs. Einar let himself slide back to the ground, then, resting for a brief moment before dragging himself back to his hands and knees and creeping back along the wall until he found the entrance, crawling in and pulling the two additional pieces of tin in behind him, slightly bent to allow them passage through the gap. Wood. Hed forgotten to hunt for dry wood to haul in for their fire, guessed hed have to go back out there again but looked up to see that Liz, much revived by her snack, had been thinking ahead of him. She was sitting there with an armload of dry wood, broken building-timbers, from the rubble that lay all over the floor, it looked like, and was working to break off thin pieces of the dry-rotted stuff for kindling. Seeing him enter she paused in her work, crawled over to him and took his hat, wrung some of the water out of it--you look like a drowned rat, Einar--before snugging it back down onto his head and reaching for his knife. Einar objected, pushed her arm away. Give me yourknife Einar, and Illmake some kindling. Ill do it. He couldnt, though, nearly dropped the knife once he managed to get it into his hand, and finally allowed Liz to take it from him and split some of the shorter timber pieces for kindling. While she did this, Einar hauled one of the tin sheets over to the window and set in in place, keeping it there by angling a long stick up against it, bracing the thing on the ground. Liz had chosen the fire location well, far enough from the wall so as not to risk igniting it but close enough to bit of the ceiling-gap Einar had left uncovered for the smoke to be able to escape, and seeing what she was doing, Einar bent

the remaining piece of tin, the smallest, and set it behind Lizs small firepit to help further shield the wall. By that time Liz had split a good pile of kindling. It appeared she was having a good bit less trouble than he was with the cold, now that shed had a snack, and Einar saw that he was right in thinking that a good bit of her problem had involved needing frequent infusions of nutrients, now that she was carrying the little one. Quickly arranging the kindling--Einar was fading fast, and she could see it, needed to get warm, though he didnt seem to realize how badly--Liz took a few of the pitch lumps from Einars pocket and arranged them in the kindling, ignited the thing with the candle, and before long they were crouching side by side near the little blaze, helping each other off with rain-soaked articles of clothing, wringing them out and fetching dry ones from the burlap sack. The change of clothes had not remained entirely dry wrapped up in Einars waterproof pants, but the minimal moisture that had managed to seep in was nothing compared to the drenched things they had just got out of, and they both found themselves immensely grateful for nearly-dry clothing to wear. It was time, then, for food, way past time, and Liz got out the remains of the turkey, working to fill the pot with chunks and strips of meat, bones for boiling. As she worked, Einar, wanting to do something helpful even if it had no bearing on that nights meal, tried to finish plucking one of the ptarmigans, a job that Liz had started back at their last camp as she had waited for him to return, but his chilled fingers were all but useless when it came to such fine work. Liz saw his struggle, took the birds and put them back in the bag, adding a handful of slushy snow from the pile in the corner and hanging the bag far from the fire to keep the birds fresh. Wait. Therell betime for that later. Come sit with me by the fire. What didwhatd you do to your hand? Here. Let me see. Youre bleeding. Wishing she wouldnt ask him questions--speech was seeming an awfully complicated prospect, just then--Einar tried to conceal his injured hand behind his back, but Liz grabbed his arm and insisted he allow her to take a look, cleaning the ragged tear in the heel of his hand with some snow and wrapping a usnea clump against it to slow the bleeding. Einar nodded his thanks, joined her by the fire. Sitting near the fire some minutes later, dry and finally starting to shake themselves warm as the food cooked, Liz put an arm around Einars shoulders, asked, What did thethe Indians use forrain jackets? Surely theres got to be something more we can do so itsnot like this all spring? Every time it rains Rain jackets? Einar chuckled a bit as he held purple palms out to the fire, trying to knead some feeling back into them and reveling in the feel of the dry sweater on his back. Guess they didnt really have any such thing. Well-smoked buckskin is the closest they came, I guess, but it isnt really waterproof. Its porous, just like wool cloth, but at least the smoking made it so it would dry well and stay soft even after being drenched over and over. That, and some of the plains tribes made hats and even suits, of sorts, out of long grasses, and in the Pacific Northwest they wove blankets and shawls of cedar bark. Those things went a long way towards shedding water. But mostlythey just got wet.

Like this. You get used to it. Lot easier when a person has enough to eat and isnt so far behind as we had managed to get. Regular meals definitely make the cold easier to handle, the wetness. Also helps to have some good dry sleeping robes to snuggle up in so it doesnt take so doggone long to warm up when you finally do stop and get under some shelter. Well work on that. Gonna work on that, the robes and the food supply, both. And for tonight wevegot plenty to eat, so maybe wed better go ahead and get started. Help warm you up. And me, too.

Halfway through their meal of turkey and nettle soup--he had carried along the nettles from his earlier harvesting down at the creek--Einar rose and crept over to the entrance, which was admitting the occasional icy gust when the wind changed direction. He had seen some tar paper hanging there, torn, flapping in the wind, as he had returned to the shelter from retrieving the tin, the sight not really registering on his mind until the need arose. Pulling a good-sized scrap of the paper into the shelter, he secured it over the opening by driving rocks and large splinters of wood through it, and into cracks in the walls, leaving a several-inch opening at the bottom, for ventilation. The improvised door flap greatly cut down on drafts, leaving the small room to warm quite quickly as Einar returned to his supper. He had, before beginning the meal and remembering Lizs mention of the need for some sort of salve to prevent his foot dressings from sticking to the healing wounds, skimmed some bits of fat from the top of the broth, reluctantly pouring them into the enameled pot from the rubbish heap. The pot, small, doublehandled and coated with black-flecked light grey enamel, a tiny rust-hole marring one side where it had apparently sat for decades, collecting rainwater, had been tilted nearly on its side to cause the fat to accumulate in a small pocket rather than running all over the bottom of the vessel, and the stuff cooled quickly in contact with the cold metal, solidifying. Studying it as he took a long sip of broth and passed the cooking pot to Liz, Einar felt a pang of guilt at so allocating a significant quantity of the precious fat from that nights meal, but he knew that without proper care his foot would not heal as quickly or as well as it should, might not heal at all, for that matter, before it managed to give him a fatal case of blood poisoning, and then he would find himself significantly less useful when it came to procuring an ongoing supply of food for Liz and the baby. Well, he wouldnt necessarily find himself so, he musedbut she certainly would. So go ahead and use the fat for your foot, mix in a few drops of that tea tree oil while youre at it, turn the stuff into a stronger antiseptic. The foots important. Being able to move, and do it at a reasonable speed, is real important out here. Tomorrow you can go back down to that trash pile and find a little jar or tin or something to keep this stuff in, carry it in your pocket where itll always be handy, make sure you keep changing these dressings real regularly. Not just then, though, because presently it was a time for eating, and he remained terribly hungry, staring wistfully at what remained of the nights soup and knowing that he was not going to end up anywhere near satisfied. No matter. You will live. Soup will be enough to give you strength for the night, warmth, enough to get by, and tomorrow youll eat again. Ptarmigan. And his stomach growled at the thought, a hint of a smile playing about his face at the knowledge that they already had the next

days meals secured, right there with them in the shelter. Good to know. Real good to know. Feeling Lizs eyes on him he looked up, returned the smile she was giving him and wondered why she was staring that way, didnt realize that his eyes had been drifting closed, head nodding as he pondered the meal possibilities for the coming day. She was still looking at him strangely, and he squinted his eyes, glanced away and busied himself with poking around in the soup pot after one of the remaining turkey chunks. Pretty good living, isnt it? This old shack is turning out to be real cozy, specially with the good supper youve fixed up for us. Its not bad at all! A few pieces of tin and some tarpaper, and youve turned this place into the best shelter weve had since leaving the bear cave, I believe. Hmm Bear cave. Now that was good living. The stove, qulliq lamp for light and cooking when we didnt want to run the stove, lots to eat and a good heavy bearskin blanket on that soft, warm cattail mattress you made usyep. Good times. Not that these arent. Were still here, arent we? Yes, we certainly are. And anyway, I thought you didnt really care for that cattail mattress I made. Too soft, didnt you say? Starting to turn you lazy, having such comfortable accommodations? I think this probably suits you better, doesnt it? Huh. Soft and lazy, was it? Yeah, guess I did say that, but if you remember, I also used the bed. And slept awfully well, too, nights when sleep wasnt entirely out of my reach like it is sometimes. No, you took that hole in the ground and turned it into a real home. Wild critter like me might have been satisfied with curling up at night in the dirt and pulling some spruce needles over himself to keep the ice from creeping into his bones, but that doesnt mean hes unable to recognize a real good thing when he sees it. And what you did there was a real good thing. Gonna get us set up somewhere before long here where you can have a place like that againmay not be a bear cave, exactly, but a place where we can stay, have a home, and Ill get it fixed up real comfortable for you before the little one shows up. Know you must want that Einar, she had crept closer, was leaning on him, cheek against his shoulder, that sounds great. Really great, and yes, Id love it. But you know Ive said I would be satisfied being the mother of a nomadic tribe, if thats what the circumstances require, and I meant it. He nodded, buried his face in her hair. It was mostly dry by then, and smelled of spruces. Wished he knew what to say to her, but never had been any good at such things. Yes. I know you meant it. And now, O Mother of a Nomadic Tribe, we had better be finishing our dinner and thinking about how were going to keep warm tonight. Gonna be getting pretty cold it seems, and humid, too, with all this rain. Might be a good idea to see if we can make another quilt out of this dry burlap bag, maybe scrape up enough spruce needles in here in the dry to stuff it with, and still leave plenty to lie on, keep us up off the ground. Father of a Nomadic Tribe is starting to have a real rough time keeping his eyes

open Oh, yes, you must be absolutely exhausted after last night. Here. I found a stash of dry leaves and needles and things over in the corner here where it looks like the wind must have piled them. There should be more than enough to stuff the bag and still have some left to pile under us. Together they worked to fill the burlap bag, Einar once falling asleep on top of it as he attempted to even out the insulation a bit, work some of the lumps out of it, and Liz would have left him where he lay, but he jumped at the sound of her setting the soup pot back on a rock near the fire to reheat, scrambled to his feet and stood there stooped over beneath the low ceiling, blinking sheepishly at her. Think I got the lumps out Yes, I think so! Come help me finish this soup, alright? Only after finishing the meal did the full force of Einars exhaustion finally catch up to him, the weariness of the past sleepless night of wandering in the cold and the subsequent day spent constantly on the move as he climbed ridge after ridge in his attempt to track and find Liz, and when she suggested that it might be time to lie down, he did so without hesitation, eyes closed before he even had the chance to realize that he had set his head down squarely on the lid of the cooking pot. Liz saw, eased it out from under him and set it on the pot before snuggling in at his back, adding a stick to the fire and wrapping her arms around him. The burlap sack--stuffed with as many dry spruce needles as they had been able to scrape up from the sheltered areas of the floor--was not nearly as warm as the yearling bear hide she frequently found herself wishing they had not had to leave behind, but it was something, would go a long way towards keeping them warm when the fire died down and the little room began cooling sometime in the night. Careful not to disturb Einar--he was sleeping so soundly that she doubted she could have wakened him, had she been trying--Liz pulled the bag up over them, wrapping her arms around Einar and drifting off to sleep with her head against his back. Einar had not been asleep for five minutes before he began squirming frantically to get out of Lizs grasp and she woke, rolled away from him in the realization that she would only make things worse by insisting on remaining close. She did hurry over to the dying fire, though, threw a few splinters of wood on it in the hopes that the light would help remind Einar where he was, and with whom. Didnt seem to be working though, not very quickly anyway, because he had scrambled away from the fire and pressed himself against the far wall, knife in hand, crouched there staring wild-eyed at the flickering orange light on the timber and tin ceiling above him, the sound of the rain crackling in his ears--cant hear anything but this rain, not a thing--and when finally Liz managed to catch his eye, she did not recognize the person who was staring back at her. Neither did he, for that matter, and for a few moments they watched each other warily from opposite sides of the room until Liz finally worked up the courage to inch over closer to him, reached out and put a hand on his knee, cautious but firm, kept it there until he looked at

her. Come back to bed? He put away the knife, shook his head. When Einar headed for the door Liz wanted to stop him, wanted at least to go with him and make sure he did not wander off in the rainy darkness, but knew she had better not. Must let him have some space; hed be back. She hoped. She would stay, do what she could to keep the fire going and dry his other set of clothes so theyd be ready for him when he came in soaked and freezing, which he inevitably would do, if he insisted on spending any length of time out there. Time passed--bring him back to me, please. Bring him back--minutes dragging by, and Liz, tending the fire and setting some water to heat for nettle tea, realized that something had changed, something in the quality of the sound out there in the dripping woods, and when she pushed aside the tarpaper flap and stared up at the inky sky, it was to the realization that the rain had turned to snow, and was still coming down quite hard. Still no sign of Einar, and as she retreated back into the warmth and protection of the shelter--it really had heated up nicely in there; she estimated the temperature to be somewhere in the high sixties--Liz tried to tell herself that he was going to be just fine, that everything was, eventually, given time, but she wasnt sure that she believed herself anymore. Outside, the snow fell heavily, began whitening the ground around the bunkhouse, clinging in soft, wet flakes to the trees. She found him beneath a spruce a few dozen yards above the remains of the bunkhouse, wide awake with his arms wrapped around his knees, head up, staring off through the snow-laden trees, and she sat down at a respectful distance, knew he had seen her approach and waited for him to speak. When he did not, she moved closer. Liz had been reluctant to go after Einar at all, had given him a good half hour out there before finally making the decision to pursue him. It was one thing, she had told herself, to allow him some time alone, some quiet and some space in which to collect his thoughts, quite another to sit by while the father of her child froze himself out there in the snow, lost awareness and finally succumbed to sleep, if by intent or accident it had been allowed to go that far. Which, despite her concerns, appeared not to have even come close to happening, Einar looked about as wide awake as she had ever seen him, though clearly pretty chilly. He had, mercifully, stayed almost entirely dry there beneath the tree, the downpour dampening his clothing on the quick climb but not soaking it as she had feared, and when Liz finally went to him and took his hand he stood, hobbled stiffly down the slope with the aid of a makeshift spruce-limb spear that he had apparently found and sharpened while sitting there, and allowed her to lead him back to the shelter. Will you come inside? Ive got some tea ready He glanced up at the warm, inviting glow of the fire where it was finding its way out

through a few random cracks in the timber of the bunkhouse wall, kicked idly at a clump of snow-covered rock near his foot and turned, shivering, to survey the dark but increasingly whitening world that lay beneath them on the mine-slope. Did not want to go back in there. Knew hed be falling asleep again--had to, as far beyond weary as hed become--and really, really did not want to do it in Lizs presence, didnt want to wake up again to the sight of that roof above him, wished he could just creep away and curl up under a tree somewhere as he would have done if by himself, crawl into the heavy timber and drag himself into a dense, tangled thicket where hed be safe, and could sleep. Would be better for him, and, though she might not realize it, better for Liz, too. But he didnt want to try and explain any of that to her--couldnt really--as she would surely think him unreasonable if not worse for wanting to do it, which he probably was, knew it, not that such knowledge changed the situation muchbut without an explanation he supposed Liz would probably have something to say about his taking off like that, knew that he couldnt continue putting her at risk by causing her to go wandering out into the snowy night searching for him. Looks like youre just creating more problems for her, no matter whether you stay or go. No good answer. Im sorry, Lizzie And he shook his head, turned away from her and was about to say something about needing to sleep outside that night, but stopped himself. Quit it. You quit it! Try being reasonable Einar, why dont you? Strange concept, I know, butfor her sake? Right. Do it. Get yourself in there. And he did, crawling clumsily over the rubble near the entrance and crouching against the wall, the wet one, as far as he could get from the fire. Einar might have stayed like that all night, or attempted to, but after tending to the fire Liz came to him and helped him off with his damp sweater, all but dragged him over in front of the flames--it was warm there in the little room; as the numbness wore off, he was beginning to realize that the fire had been quite effective--and insisted on rubbing the chill out of his arms, his back, gently and thoroughly. At first he objected, really didnt want her touching him, but he was awfully cold, come to think of it, and she was helping, so he kept still and let her do her work, and eventually some of the tension began to leave him. Why do you even bother, Liz? You do so much for me, try to, anyway, and I just sit here like a lump of granite, or something. Cant even seem to find the words to let you know how much Iuhhyou really do deserve better than this, but I dont know how to give it to you And when she spoke-tea, she was asking if he wanted tea--he turned to her with tears in his eyes. Im sorry Nono, you dont have anything to be sorry about right now. I love you, Einar. But he just shook his head. As soon as they were both warm again and in dry clothes--wet ones again hung a distance from the flames to dry--they shared the pot of nettle tea, taking turns adding sticks to the fire and listening to the wind as it plastered the half-ruined building with the heavy, wet flakes of a late and unexpected spring snow, both immensely weary but neither especially wanting to be the one to suggest that it might be time to sleep. Despite the earlier and somewhat unresolved strain between them the silence was a comfortable thing, familiar,

stretching on into the night as eyes grew heavier and bodies eased without intention towards the ground, quilt of spruce needles and burlap pulled up over them as the fire died down, and finally they slept, Einar flat on his stomach with one hand on his newlyfashioned spear and the other on Lizs shoulder as if to protect her, ear pressed into the ground. A good way to sleep, and perhaps the only way, all things considered... Liz dozed also, if lightly, aware of the changes in his breathing and relieved when he sank without incident into a sound sleep, joining him. For the remainder of the night she kept one ear open, aware whenever Einar began growing restless and pressing his shoulder or hip with a reassuring hand until he grew still, slept, and they both managed to have a fairly restful night, what was left of it. Before Einar again became aware of the world, a pale daylight had crept over the hillside and in through the wall-cracks, the gap in the roof of their little shack-shelter, and he woke to a sense of immense peace, rightness, saw Liz sleeping beside him, nose buried beneath her sleeve for warmth, and smiled, allowed his eyes to drift closed once again. Tired, awful tired, still. And cold too, come to think of it, jaw aching fiercely where his face had spent the night pressed into the damp, icy earth--gonna have some frostbite on your cheekbone from that onewhat were you thinking?--body stiff and sore with chill and trying to cramp up on him when he tested its muscles, and then he saw that Liz was shaking, eased his arm off of her shoulder and rolled over, tucking the burlap quilt in around her as well as he could before he left. Which wasnt particularly well at all, his left hand seeming nearly useless that morning, swollen and stiff-jointed in what he supposed must be some delayed reaction to whatever hed cut it on the evening before. The thing didnt look particularly infected, wasnt red or warm--ha! Nothings particularly warm, this morning--and he supposed a few good washes with tea tree water or berberine might be enough to clean out any potential infection that might be attempting to take hold in the injury. Outside the snow was still coming down, a good six or eight inches of it having fallen in the night, and the low, heavy skies promising more to come when Einar pushed aside the tarpaper flap to peer up at them. Huh. A surprise, but a good one I guess. Means we can have a fire this morning, thaw out a little and maybe cook up one of Lizs ptarmigans before we get moving for the dayhe shuddered as a damp, icy gust found its way in through the opening and washed over him, let the flap fall closed. Spring, huh? Well, this is spring in the mountains, for you! I like it While Liz remained sleeping, Einar made two trips down to the rubbish pile and returned with three more fully intact jars, a nice half-gallon bottle and an odd assortment of metal scraps that he believed looked useful for one thing or another, including a piece that was nearly three feet long, a narrow, springy strip for which he already had plans, if it tested worthy. Seeing that Liz was still sleeping, he crept back out of the shelter and went on a firewood hunt, finding some clusters of dry twigs on the undersides of a few good-sized spruces and a large, leaning dead aspen from which he broke a few branches. Quietly getting the fire started there in the remnants of the bunkhouse, he finished plucking one of the ptarmigans and got it into the pot to cook, setting a jar of slushy wet snow to melt for tea. They still had a good pile of nettle leaves left, wilted but not even dried yet, and he knew their iron would do Liz, and the baby, a lot of good. The jar proved a perfect brewing container,

but its antique glass, he feared, might shatter if exposed to too much heat or to direct flame, so he kept it at a reasonable distance, heating a few rocks in the coals and carefully lowering them into the jar, once hot, with a pair of hastily improvised tongs. By the time Liz was awakened by the incredible odor of simmering ptarmigan, the tea was gently bubbling, a vibrant shade of green. Einar fished the leaves out of the tea, tossed them in the soup pot and took Liz the jar, curling up beside her as she spent a minute inhaling the steam and warming from the night. You made breakfast! Oh, thats my job--you should have woke me up! This morning, it was definitely my job. Here. Enjoy. Soups ready. Figured I should have it ready when you woke, because we ought get a pretty early start this morning. Snowed overnight, but the clouds are starting to thin a little, and with all these wide open aspen groves we got to pass through to get back on coursewell, Id hate to leave a bunch of tracks that may not get completely hidden by the snow. Would show up real easy from above. For that matter he glanced out through the tarpaper door flap, snow seems to be tapering off pretty good already. Huh. Guess we may have to take a real long detour around through spruces to avoid those open areas. Well. At least we get to enjoy this bird, first! Liz took a long drink of the hot broth, chewed thoughtfully on a bite of ptarmigan. Yes, we could go around through the timber like youre saying, but why not just stay here for a day or two? It would give us time to look around and see what else we could find and pick up out of that trash pile, and let us wait and see what the storms going to do, too. Then we could either leave when the snow gets heavy enough to really cover our tracks, or even wait until the snow melts off, if the storm is almost over. That way we could avoid the long detour, have a good chance to do some cooking and eating, and make that atlatl you keep talking about, too! Einar, taking his turn with the soup pot, wanted to dismiss the idea straight off, was anxious to get moving, needed to move, but he saw that Liz was very serious about the possibility, and gave it some thought. Though he didnt like the prospect of remaining in place for very long down as low as they were, especially considering the helicopter that had come through the night before the storm, Einar really could think of few reasons why they should not be safe in doing so. Gonna be a long day or two for me, but I guess shes right. Makes some sense, and might even be good for us.

That morning as Bud Kilgore sat in main terminal at the Flagstaff Pulliam airport--his flight delayed by a late spring storm that had brought a heavy mixture of snow and sleet to the area--the building light, airy, laminated beams and rock-chimneyed gas fireplace giving it a bit of a rustic feel, he pored over maps, studying, planning, plotting, an occasional grin breaking his look of solemn, absorbed concentration.

As soon as he had eaten his portion of the stewed ptarmigan and broth that morning, Einar headed back down to the rubbish pile, wanting to explore it further in case the snow returned in full force and began piling up to make such investigations far more difficult. At the moment it appeared as though the clouds were thinning, sky growing brighter and even hinting at the possibility of the sun coming out later in the day, but he knew that such mountain storm, particularly in the spring, are tremendously unpredictable, whimsical, almost. Rather than risk soaking his one set of dry clothes in the wet snow-his thinking on the matter being significantly clearer than it had been on waking in the night--he changed back into his still-damp sweater and the waterproof pants, leaving everything else behind to stay good and dry in the shelter. Hed be alright, if a bit uncomfortable. The temperature, while it seemed to have fallen some overnight, could not be far below freezing, by his estimation, and he did not intend to be out there for a particularly long time. Liz wanted to go with him but could sense that he still had a need for some solitude that morning, some space, so when he mentioned that he hoped to find something down at the rubbish heap that might prove helpful in getting some snares set out, she offered to stay behind and work on turning his previously-gathered bundle of nettle stalks into some good strong cordage. Einar gave her a big grin at the suggestion, said it sounded great, and ducked out the door. The route from the ruined bunkhouse down to the rubbish pile and old mine works took him through a narrow band of heavy timber, a short, steep spruce-covered slope, and the overhead cover left Einar a bit less concerned about the possibility of his trail being seen than he would have been, had he needed to pass beneath the aspens to reach the spot. The trash heap, too, sat beneath the spruces--they looked to have grown up since the mining days, were not the huge old spreading things that one found in other areas of the forest, but were fairly close-growing and provided nice cover--and Einar kept close beneath them as he dug out a few more articles of aged enamelware, a bent fork--silver, interesting, might find a use for this--and some random articles of rusty iron. Most of the enamelware was damaged in some way, a spot or two here and there having chipped and rusted through, but he did come up with one plate--grey with black flecks, just like the pot Liz had found the other day--which appeared still to be serviceable. Beneath the plate he found a coil of wire, badly oxidized and, when he tested it, somewhat brittle, but still a treasure, and he gathered everything up and prepared to head up to the shelter. The wire, he knew, would be nowhere near flexible enough to serve as snare wire, but would have dozens of other uses in creating fasteners, trap triggers and things he probably hadnt even thought of, yet. And he knew from past experience with such leavings that as he unwound the stuff and got in past the first few layers, the wire was likely to be in better and better shape, having been protected somewhat from the elements. Good find! Also encouraging was the fact that he had discovered, growing out of the snowy rocks on the downhill side of the rubble pile, a good-sized patch or Oregon grape, the plants leaves just beginning to take on a brighter green hue as they lost their light-deprived winter shade of rust red. Relieving himself of his pile of scavenged items and crouching somewhat precariously on a protruding rock, he worked one of the plants free, clearing the rock chips and partially frozen dirt from around its roots and pulling it

out virtually unbroken, bright yellow where he wiped the clinging soil from it. Berberine. They had been needing to come across some, to begin drying the roots and building up a supply against the time when the little bottle of tea tree oil from Susan should be used up, and seeing the opportunity, Einar spent a good many more minutes harvesting roots, stacking them deep on the enamelware plate for the return trip. If it had not been for the Oregon grapes, Einar might never have discovered what he considered to be his most important find of the day, a two foot length of rebar that protruded by less than two inches from the rocky rubble there at the base of the pile. Pulling, twisting and finally freeing the rusty, slightly bent piece of metal, he added it to the growing horde in the crook of his left elbow, knowing that where there was one, there must be more. He would be back. Making a slight detour on his way back up through the spruces, Einar noticed the tracks of a single rabbit, fresh, barely snow-dusted there beneath the timber, and saw that the creature must have been ambling about in search of some breakfast, as the tracks led over to a fine-looking little patch of dandelions and spring beauty that clung to the ground in what must have been a sunny little opening in the trees, when there was sun to illuminate it. The snow had not accumulated quite so heavily there, function of the trees and of the high winds, and the hungry creature had apparently found some greens to nibble on. Following the rabbits example, Einar collected a good handful of dandelion and spring beauty greens--digging a couple of the starchy white corms and adding them to the mix, will be good in that soup!--before continuing on up the slope, his mind occupied with thoughts of that rabbit. Spring rabbit tends to be pretty skinny and pitiful, most spring game is that way up here, but Id better try and snare this critter, and others, because hes bound to have some meat on him, and those birds arent gonna last us too long. Need to make the most of our time here. Looking back, he marked the spot in his mind--just to the side of that burned-out fir, trail goes right in between it and that little granite outcropping--with the intention of returning for the rabbit. Moving quietly, carefully, he kept the bola at the ready, all of his new treasures stacked up in his left arm, hoping perhaps to encounter the rabbit, or even a grouse, on his way up, but seeing nothing aside from a lone chickadee that flitted lazily up into the evergreen canopy at the sight of him. Late. Seems youre a little late leaving for the spring, doesnt it? He silently inquired of the bird, wondering at the same time if perhaps it knew something he didnt. Winter, it seemed, had not quite yet released its grip on the high country. Creeping back in through the door flap, Einar discovered that Liz had completed nearly ten feet of fine, evenly-twisted nettle cordage in his absence, as well as turning another of the ptarmigans into soup. While he might have been inclined to save the bird-one bird a day, split between two peoplethats practically a feast--he knew that Liz had a need for regular meals, a regular and fairly frequent supply of protein, knew he could not begrudge her that second meal. Might even join her at it. She stood, handed him the length of cordage for his inspection. Youre really getting good at this. Fast work, too. Hey, I saw some rabbit tracks down there just now.

In this snow? That must have been a hungry rabbit! Yep, must have been. Was munching on some dandelions and things. Here. Brought you some for the soup. And some more dishes, too. Now how about if I take some of your new cordage, and the shorter section of paracord that were not using for pack straps, and get a few snares put out real quick right now down there in the timber, since it looks like were gonna be here for a little while? Be good to add to our food supply. And he set down his armful of scavenged treasures, began coiling up the cordage, intent on heading back down there without delay. She grabbed the coiled cordage, stopped him. You havent quit moving since you woke up this morning, have you Einar. My turn to do some of the work That sounds like a good idea, but how about if you let me do it? Just tell me where you saw the rabbit tracks, and I can get the snares set up. I did it before, remember, up at the bear caveand a person does need to keep in practice! He squinted at her, picked up the yard-long strip of springy steel he had found the day before--I know what youre up to--nodded. Sure, you could use the practice. And I, he jammed one end of the steel strip against the ground, pressing the other end down with his hands, bending it, have a project to get started on!

Anxious to begin testing his prized length of steel so he would know just how much nettle cordage he was going to have to make over the next few hours in order to get his crossbow project under way, Einar first crouched over the fire for a minute, warming his hands and sipping the broth Liz had left for him. Not wanting to give him time to change his mind about letting her take care of the snare-setting chores, she had herself gulped a hasty breakfast and headed out into the snow, and Einar stuck mostly to the broth, determined to save the majority of the remaining ptarmigan meat for her to feast on upon her return. With a bit of the water from one of the jars that Liz had filled with snow and set on some rocks near the fire to melt, he cleaned the pile of Oregon grape roots he had harvested, breaking several of them into smaller pieces and adding them to the water of one of the jars. Scooting the jar a bit closer to the flames, he added a few twigs and one larger branch section to the fire, giving his hands, which were finally beginning to be a bit more flexible and useful again, a final warming before retrieving the metal strip. Digging down in the floor-soil of the old bunkhouse until he found some gritty, slightly sandy soil, he used a piece of aspen inner bark to protect his hand as he sanded the surface of the metal, one side and then another, looking for major defects that would indicate its unsuitability for his purposes, but seeing none. The strip looked basically sound, despite its years of at least partial exposure to the weather, and Einar was grinning in anticipation as he braced one end of it against the ground, grasping the other end with both hands and slowly putting his weight on it, bending, bendingsnap! The thing came apart with an awful, rending screech and pop, Einar tumbling to the ground and lying there crumpled up rather uncomfortably on his back in the rubble beside the firepit, narrowly missing having his hair on the left side of his singed by the flames.

Einar--crimped and cramped and groaning under his breath--picked himself up off the floor, staring in dismay at the two broken lengths of steel which remained of the prized strip that he had hoped to turn into the prod of a powerful crossbow, shaking his head and pressing a bit off usnea to the cut on his hand, which had begun bleeding again with the strain. Well. Hundred year old spring steel. What was I expecting, realistically? The bending, and especially the breaking, had jarred loose a good bit of rust that had not come off with Einars cursory sand-scouring, and as he inspected the area of the break, the problem became plain to him. The metal had been deeply pitted by the action of time and moisture, leaving it too weak for the kind of strain he had demanded of it by attempting to bend it as it would have been bent for the bow. He picked up the bent-tined silver fork hed found down in the rubbish pile, briefly considered the idea of attempting to melt a bit of the silver and use it to reattach the two broken pieces of metal, a rough weld of sorts, he had done similar beforebut he knew that such a weak attachment would never hold up to the strain of the bend he wanted to put into that strip, not even if he wrapped the whole thing quite well with sinew. Which, at the moment, he did not even have. Alright. At least the steel is not a total loss, can turn it into tools of one sort or another, a couple good knife blades, even. Good thought, this crossbow, but its not happening right now. Not that one absolutely must have metalwood will work, they were all made of wood, originally, but not this weak spruce and fir weve got up here. Might be a project for later, though. Later when we get down where theres some scrub oak, or-ha!--back over to where one of those choppers went down, over below my old cache! Im sure they did a pretty thorough job of cleaning those messes up, would have needed all the parts and pieces for when they reassembled the thing to try and find out what went wrong, mere seconds after takeoff like that--bet they never found the rocks I threw into the engines, but the evidence would have given them a real good idea of what happened, anyway--but maybe they left me a section of tail rotor down there in the rocks, or something. That ought to work real well! Yep. Real well But, all daydreaming aside, any such project was a thing for the future, the distant future, and at the moment, Einar saw that his berberine water was beginning to simmer, the roots incrementally giving up their color and turning the water a bright yellow. The stuff looked done, and he pulled back further from the flames to cool a bit. Einars intention was to use the brown, narrow-necked bottle they had recovered the day before as a storage vessel for the berberine solution, and with a bit more of the melted, warmed snow he washed the bottle out until the accumulated dirt and grime was gone, searching about for a bit of wood that might be made to serve as a cork and finding one in a small aspen branch that he had set aside for the fire. Chopping and carving a two inch section of the branch with his knife, he fitted it into the mouth of the bottle, testing with a bit of water to make sure that it formed a watertight seal, which it did. Einar then cleaned a small corner of his wool shirt by pouring over it some nearly boiling water from the snowmelt jar, using the cloth to filter the berberine as he poured it into the bottle, filling it and ending up with some leftover solution in the cooking jar. The leftovers he set aside where they would be kept warm but not be exposed to enough heat to cook them dry, wanting to use them later when it came time to treat his foot and wash the still-aggravated

cut on his hand. With the berberine job out of the way, Einar again turned his attention to the making of a bow. Due to the broken steel strip and a complete lack of appropriate wood, it would not be a crossbow as he had originally intended, but he had made effective longbows before using less than ideal materials, and intended to do so once again. Glancing at the pile of nettle stalks that Liz had set carefully in one corner of the shelter on the completion of her snare-cords, he knew that his first task would of necessity involve twisting a good bit of nettle cordage, triple twining it, making two such cords and then twining them together in the hopes of getting something strong enough for a bowstring. Really wish I had some sinew, but that will require taking a deer or some such, and I havent seen sign of one yet and have no way to take one if I did see it, but Im hoping to change that, if this bow works out. Want to make another atlatl too, not entirely convinced that my shoulder will allow for a lot of practice with the bow, but Liz can use it even if I cant, so much, and we ought to each have a long range weapon, really. Something with a little more reach and force behind it than the bola or her rabbit stick. War club. Whatever shes calling it, right now Guess its both. And he rubbed the side of his head, chuckled at the memory of just how effective she could be with that particular weapon, when she was of a mind. She can take care of herself, thats for sure. Alright. Get to work on these nettles. While Einar knew that he could probably fashion a serviceable bowstring from the paracord that had been serving as pack straps, he was also aware that it would hardly do to have a bow, but no way to carry their possessions, and he figured he might as well get the nettle cordage made, whether to use in the construction of a bowstring, or simply to have it available to replace the pack straps, if he ended up appropriating them for the project. A good half hour later Einar had produced nearly twenty feet of fine, strong nettle cordage and was beginning to double-twine the stuff, taking three pre-corded strands and treating each as if it was a bundle of loose fibers, twining them together to form a much stouter string that he believed ought to do quite well for the bow. Wanting to go out in search of a spruce or fir branch that he might use to complete the project-hed seen one that looked good not too far above the bunkhouse the evening before, just out of sight of it--but knowing that Liz would be concerned if she returned to find him gone, he contented himself with inspecting aspen branches, long-dead but still sound, that he had brought in for firewood. Choosing one that was straight when he sighted down the length of it but which that had a slight bend to it, a gentle downward swoop towards the center, he began working to turn it into a replacement atlatl, carving out a throwing hook at the back of it. Now all I need is some good straight willows, and to work a few pieces of that broken glass--or the steel--into points for them, and I wont be far from being able to take a deer, should we see one. Which we really should, it seems. Soon. They ought to be back up around here by now, and we sure could use one, could use the meat, the hideitll be good to be ready. Would also be good to get out and do a little wandering, explore the area a bit more, and it was seeming to him that Liz ought to have been back by then, but there had been no sign of her and, beginning to grow a bit antsy, he was at first glad when he heard through the walls the distant crackling of brush, the wet crunch of the slushy,

half-frozen snow, but as the sounds began nearing, his gladness turned to alarm. That was not Lizs walk. From the start, Einar had been uncomfortable with the lack of a second exit to the remaining section of the bunkhouse, always wanted more than one way out, but as he crouched there just inside the door flap listening to the crunching footsteps approach, hesitant but continuing, he rebuked himself bitterly for failing to remedy the situation. Well, here you are with a half-done atlatl and a bowstring without a bow, Einar, and theyre coming, so here you go And, knife in hand, he edged the tarpaper back by a few centimeters, slowly, barely daring to breathe and hoping the enemys focus might be on the smoke, on the corner from which the smoke was emanating, maybe give him a chance to sneak of to the side and work his way in behind them before they approached the bunkhouse, but he knew that realistically, he had little chance of being able to move quickly or at all quietly through the mess of tumbled down wood and tin that represented the remainder of the shack. Theyd have him. Hopefully not silently, though; hed make sure the noise of it all was more than enough to get Lizs attention, to ensure that she had ample warning and, hopefully, time to get away. Go. You got to go, Liz. Dont be coming to see what the noise is about, just take off and dont look back. The shooting which would inevitably commence soon after his exit from the building would, he expected, be more than enough to give her a good idea of what was happening, warn her away. He couldnt see anything, though, and the sounds from outside had stopped, no more footsteps to give him an indication of where his enemy (enemies? Only heard one set of footsteps, but since when do they come alone?) were standing, and his other senses told him nothing, he could not get a good sense of where the men were or what their intentions might bethough he hardly needed to guess at that, and he was about to make a go for it, scurry out into the rubble and snow there outside the door. Then he heard it, a startled bark-hiss that sounded much like someone slamming on the breaks on a mountain bike, and he knew the sound, shook his head and shoved aside the tarpaper door flap with a to reveal a deer, scrawny, hungry and very nearly as scared as he was, himself. The creature was staring, not at him but down the slope, and scrambling to his feet, Einar saw what the deer saw--Liz, on her way up the hill, top of her head barely visible through the timber. He glanced at his knife, thought briefly about hurrying to retrieve the bola from the shelter but knew it was too small to be of much use against a deer. Deer would have to wait. Was, in fact, already bounding gracefully away through the timber when he looked back up, gone into the trees and hidden by a wind-driven swirl of still-falling snow. Liz emerged from behind a cluster of spruces, then, saw Einar standing there with his knife, leaning heavily on the wall of the bunkhouse and not, she thought, looking too steady. Wondering what he had been up to while she was away and a bit concerned for him--he hadnt quite seemed right, somehow, since the incident that previous evening-she hurriedly closed the remainder of the distance between them. Liz had never even seen the deer. Had seen a rabbit, though, as Einar realized when he noticed the bit of grey fur hanging over her shoulder, and she hoisted the rabbit around where he could see it--the creature was large and reasonably healthy, considering the time of year--smiling at the look of surprise and delight that she saw creep over his face.

Had a chance to use that war club, did you? Must have, because Ive sure never known a snare to work that fast! Yes, this guy ran right in front of me as I was starting back up the hill, so I let him have it. Lots of protein in a rabbit, right? And I really need protein right now. Sure, great source of protein. Almost no fat though. We can fix that somewhat by eating the liver, heart, marrowwhich of course we were gonna do anyway, always do, but itll help make the critter a more complete meal. Youve been quite the hunter lately! Ptarmigans, rabbitsI need to get out there and start doing my fair share of the foodgetting, looks like. Oh, Im surprised I got either the ptarmigans or the rabbit, as clumsy and fuzzy-headed as Ive been feeling lately. I guess thats to be expected as my body changes for the baby, joints get looser, all sorts of things start to change, but it sure is taking some getting used to. Well, dont think I would have noticed, if you hadnt told me. You seem to be doing great. And thats good, because we sure dont need two of us being all clumsy and fuzzyheaded around here, and he shook his head in dismay at his own lack of ability, knew that he must strive to do better, both physically and brain-wise. She would be depending on him, already was to some extent, but more so as time went by and the little one demanded more of her own resources. So you better eat, Einar. Not getting enough, and more food would help you, on both fronts. Theres some soup left, and now with this new rabbit, its not so urgent that you leave most of it for her. Go have some breakfast They went inside, then, Einar not mentioning the deer. Made an atlatl while you were gone. You happen to see any willows while you were down there? Yes! Theres what looks like a little seep down there below the garbage heap, some melted snow where it looks like water runs, and below that is a some boggy ground--I think it would be boggy, at least, if it wasnt frozen right now--and a patch of willows. I brought you a little bark in case you wanted to make tea or something for your foot, she pulled the coil of bark from her pocket, handed it to him, but didnt think to cut any of the shoots for darts. I can go back Ill go. Lets have a bite to eat first, I kept the soup warm, and then after I take care of one thing here, Ill head down and cut a few. Need to look for a bow-branch, too, because I made a string that I think will work, and we could use some of those willows for arrows, too. Got lots of raw materials here for arrowheads right now, and Im intending to get us all set up to do some serious hunting, before we leave this place. They ate, then, Einar finally taking something close to his share of the meal, knowing that he would need his strength for the tasks he had set for himself. The first of which, to Lizs dismay, involved digging a tunnel of sorts beneath the wall on the backside of the

bunkhouse, the dark timber side, which was where he had wished he could exit earlier when the enemy came calling. Going at the task with a determination and fury born of his earlier--and lingering--frustration at having so few options when he had believed it really counted, he attacked the hard soil there inside the bunkhouse, scraping and scrabbling with a slab of granite, shoving the dirt in behind him so it wouldnt show from the outside, not stopping until he could stick his head and shoulders out through the opening. Liz, warming herself by the fire as she finished her broth, watched him as if he had gone mad--which he probably has, and Id hardly blame him--wanting to stop him and ask just what he was doing, and whether, if she couldnt talk him out of it, she might be able to help so as to keep him from wearing himself out so badly, but she recognized in his movements the almost frantic energy that seemed to possess his activities at times, knew that it was usually a major mistake to interrupt him at such times, so let him be. Einar finally sat up, satisfied, smiling, smeared with soil as he struggled to regain his breath. There. Always got to have a back door And he covered the opening with a piece of tin to help cut down on the inevitable drafts it would admit into the shelter, got creakily to his feet and brushed himself of, ready to head out in search of those willows for darts. Einar was to be very glad of that second door, as was Liz, before their time at the bunkhouse was over. As soon as the clouds lifted sufficiently to allow his flight to take off, Bud Kilgore was in the air on the way to Clear Springs, a short, uneventful flight after which he got a motel room there in town under an assumed name--had all the documents to go along with it, too--and rented a truck, stopped by a sporting goods store and outfitted himself with a complete fly fishing outfit, hip waders, vest, trout net and rods. Thus prepared, he took off for Culver Falls, just outside of which two of the states best known Gold Medal fishing rivers intersected, making it a popular and attractive destination for fly fishermen nationwide. And it was Mayfly hatching time, too. Bud Kilgore was in for a very busy week. The smell of woodsmoke hung faintly in the air, clung to damp, dripping walls and to the jagged granite of the ceiling, unmistakable, quite fresh. Bud Kilgore hesitated there at the entrance, removing his sunglasses and blinking into the darkness below him as the tunnel slanted away at a fairly steep angle, a slanting path of finely broken rock, it appeared. The mine was deserted, no fresh sign anywhere near its mouth, unless one was to count that of packrats, rabbits and the bobcat which apparently frequented one of the low, protected little ledges of overhanging rock that jutted out from the jagged opening. The fragmented bones of many rabbits, rodents, a squirrel or two told him the story, sheltered lookout spot and snack station, and when he looked carefully he was met with the sight of a partial cat track in the snowmelt-soft soil just below the little alcove, rounded pad-impressions in the dirt beneath it. The cat had wandered a time or two into the mine, and had, judging by the tracks, come back out again, but still Bud Kilgore hesitated, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end at the thought of venturing down into the darkness. He had begun his explorations of the area early that morning-after a long day of fishing; had to keep things looking legitimate--by hiking up the old,

no-longer maintained mining road along which his recent visitors had described camping, slogging through the inch or two of slushy new snow that had accumulated and already begun melting atop the crust, crunchy remains of the winters snowpack. Without too much difficulty Kilgore located the spot where his friends had set up camp. The scattered scuffings and scrapings, the roundish depressions in the spruce duff there beneath the tree-cluster could very well have passed for the sleeping spots of a few shelter-seeking elk, had Kilgore not known what he was looking for. From there, he had climbed up along the gully that split the steep slope, crossing it when the terrain became too steep to allow him to continue his course without resorting to some serious climbing, just as his friends had described doing, working his way from there up along a narrow spine of rock and through a few bands of timber. It had been night, and storming, when his friends followed a similar course, but they had been able to recreate it sufficiently well to allow him to retrace their steps, and he did so, searching slowly and methodically for any sign that might point to a source for the smoke they had smelled that night. Thus he had come to find the mine entrance, the lingering scent of smoke telling him that he had come to the right place and giving him at the same time the caution that left him hesitating there at the entrance. Asmundson, as he knew both from the first-hand accounts of others and from his own personal experience in tracking--and being shot in the leg by--the man the summer before, was not one to be trifled with or underestimated. The mine tunnel, if Asmundson had possessed the time and wherewithal to do so, had almost certainly been altered in one way or another to make it no less than deadly to anyone who might be pursuing him. Kilgore was equipped to negotiate his way through such dangers, but it would take time. No rushing in. There was, he knew, another possibility, one which seemed to him the more likely of the two, and that was that the fugitive would have left no surprise behind, would have been trying his utmost to leave no sign whatsoever of his passage so as to clear the area without suspicion on the part on any who might be looking for him. Far more likely than a booby-trapped tunnel, unless the fugitive had known or strongly suspected that he was being closely followed. Which, knowing the level of skill and craft possessed by his friends who had been given the job, he really doubted. Probably safe, then, but still He took his time, moving slowly and scouring every inch of the slanting tunnel as he descended, finally reaching the bottom without incident and standing, sniffing, the smoke-scent unmistakable and soot marks clearly visible on the ceiling just above the back of the tunnel, the face, where everything had collapsed at some point in the distant past. The ground itself showed no sign of the little blaze, having been, it seemed, carefully cleaned up and dusted with hands full a fine grey dust in order to cause it to blend with its surrounding, the ground appearing, at least to an eye less trained than Buds, entirely undisturbed. But he could tell, slight differences in the texture and probably even the moisture content of the newly distributed dust making it possible for him to differentiate it from the old, and finally he found the location of the fire, dug out a few tiny pieces of charred wood, all, it seemed, that remained. Fresh-looking, though, and enough to confirm that the place had recently been used to shelter a traveler or two, provide them with some warmth and refuge from the storm.

Aside from the carefully concealed coals and a scuff mark here or two, Kilgore saw few signs that would add to his knowledge of the person--or persons; he did not believe Einar to be traveling alone--who had occupied it, other than a two inch section of undisturbed boot print--inner toe area, left foot--that he found over against the far side of the tunnel where it appeared that its occupant might have retrieved a chunk of firewood from among the tumbled-down, rock-laced pile of timbers. That, and a dried, duct-covered smear of what he took to be human blood on a granite slab down near where the fire had been. It was enough. You were here. And he left the tunnel, blinking in the sunlight and retreating to the shade of a wind-twisted spruce with partially exposed roots that clung to the rocky buttress above the entrance, sitting there and staring at the surrounding landscape for several minutes as if in a daze, before scratching his head and taking his sunglasses back out of his pocket, donning them. The trail would be a difficult one to puzzle out, as the storm, he expected, would have wiped out most physical signs of his quarrys passing, but there were patterns in a mans movements, there was--for a person such as Asmundson, at least--strategy to them, intention, and once he figured out what that intention might be, the rest would simply be a matter of investigating the corridors and paths that seemed to fit within that pattern, to match the intention, and he would eventually start seeing sign again, pick up the trail. Kilgore nodded, blinked, and began consulting his maps. His second shelter-entrance completed--good to have a back door, finally, and he wriggled out through it just to test and see that it worked alright--Einar headed down to the spot where Liz had mentioned seeing willows, wanting to get started on some darts for the newly-finished atlatl and perhaps find a branch that could be used in making a bow, also. The willows were as Liz had described them, down some distance below the rubbish heap where water appeared to collect--was even then beginning to collect, actually, as the snow was starting to melt even as it continued falling--and he cut a number of long, strong shoots that he knew from experience would make good darts for the atlatl. Studying the willows he had chosen, he was reminded of the time when, lacking adequate materials, he had bundled willow shoots together to make a hastily improvised bow for a trap he was leaving to slow his pursuers--the trap had worked, hed heard about it later, had taken a man right through the neck and had probably been responsible in large part for his escape--but it had only needed enough strength and resiliency necessary for a single use. Need to do better on this one, and it looks like the best Ill be doing around here is a good dry straight spruce branch, find one with the fewest possible knots and see what I can do with it. The slog back up the soft, melting snow of the slope--getting quite a trail worn into the ground here with all our ups and downs, not so good--provided Einar the branch he had been seeking, a strong, springy length of dead, dried spruce, and he knew that if he was careful and did not snap it in half in the attempt, he could shave it down and make from it a serviceable bow. Best he could do with what was available, at the moment. Liz had been busy while he was gone, had scrubbed clean all of the scavenged jars and bottles and the enamelware plate and pot he had found, and had, it appeared, also put in considerable effort on improving the sleeping situation, somehow coming up with great piles of soft, dry pinecone debris from beneath a tree outside and piling it atop the scanty

covering of duff that they had bedded on the night before. They would, if nothing else, sleep warm for as long as they stayed at the bunkhouse. Which, Einar hoped, would not be too much longer. Perhaps one night more, and part of another day. As fast as the snow was melting, storm seeming ready to taper off and stop dropping additional snow, he hoped that their way might soon be clear to leave the area without also leaving a trail that would stand out so badly in the late spring snow cover. Whenever we leave, I intend up to do so better armed than we are right now, and it seems since I already have the atlatl done, making some darts for it ought to come before finishing up the bow project. Will just involve making some dart heads, glass or even metal, though the tin is hardly sturdy enough and Im not sure how long it would take me to work a piece of that springy steel down into something practicaland fletching the things with turkey feathers. Then well be ready when that deer comes back! Which was to happen sooner than Einar might have expected, and bring with it consequences that he probably would not have imagined that afternoon as he sat there roughing out the shape of the first of four glass arrowheads. Lacking sinew with which to secure his mostly finished glass arrowhead--hed managed to cut his fingers a few times knapping the thing, wished more than once for some leather or rawhide with which to protect himself, but he had kept at it--to the end of the split willow stick atlatl dart, Einar decided to wrap it with nettle cordage and cement the stuff in place with spruce pitch. It wouldnt be as secure a connection as the sinew would have made, but then, glass wasnt as strong as rock, or metal or even bone, for that matter, so one must work with what one has, and he hoped to be able to get a deer with the darts he was making, and thus secure not only a bountiful supply of meat but sinew and hide, too. He hoped. Did not want to again face the prospect of having his clothing wear out and not being ready with something to replace it with, and especially did not wish Liz to have to face such circumstances. So it was with great determination that he worked the glass-jar bottoms, thick, two clear and one blue--into the rough shape of arrowheads, chipping and refining them until they had precise, fluted edges and narrow bodies, balanced, ready. Carefully splitting the ends of three of his straightest willow wands he inserted the finished heads, bound them in place and drizzled the bindings with heat-liquefied pitch, smoothing it into place and setting the darts aside in the cool far from the fire until the pitch shone with a glassy smoothness nearly matching that of the dart heads themselves. It was time, then, to split a few of the larger tail feathers from the turkey and fletch the darts, a process which Liz, curious, wanted to help with, and when Einar saw that she seemed to be doing a better and more precise job of it than he was, and enjoying it, he turned the task over to her and headed outside to get in a bit of practice with the newlymade atlatl. Using some of the leftover willow rods he took aim repeatedly at a tree over on the other side of the bunkhouse-clearing, a grizzled old spruce, porcupine, eaten, using one of the diagonal patches of whitish, barkless wood as a target and keeping at it until he was satisfied that he had not lost too much of his former ability with the weapon, and would be able to put it to good use both as a means of harvesting food and of defending himself. Glad to have the atlatl taken care of, Einar intended to complete the bow later that

evening--it was time for supper just then, Liz, finished with the fletching and having started some soup while he was out there working on his aim, was telling him so--but ended up being so very weary after the meal and his evening chores that he simply curled up on the newly-made bed and went to sleep. After a time Liz joined him, glad and relieved to see him getting some real rest, finally, and they slept warm and soundly for a good while, but Einars dreams were troubled, waking him more than once to lie there tense and listening, the dark familiarity of the room crackling around him, suddenly gone foreign and strange and somehow very threatening, and for a long while he lay there, wanting to get up and go prowling about but fighting the urge--was so strong he could taste it, and he almost went, but did not want to disturb Liz--the lingering, comforting smells of woodsmoke and ptarmigan soup and Liz there breathing peacefully beside him finally finding their way through, speaking to him, lulling him back to sleep. Einar was up first that morning, taking his leave of Liz and creeping outside with his atlatl in the dim, early hour when it first starts becoming apparent that night will, indeed, have an end, that it is on its way out, but before dawn really makes an appearance. Quietly, furtively he slipped into the timber behind the shelter, climbed some distance up the slope to a rocky outcropping he had earlier discovered (and where, waking in the night, he had very much wished to go and keep watch) and he crept out onto the rocks, lay flat on his stomach watched the sky brighten, losing himself, weary and heavy-eyed but fully alert, in the small, quiet sounds of the awakening world around him, the sighing of a morning breeze through the straight, supple spruce tops, birds beginning to wake and trill their joy to the greening grasses and the already-green aspens, and somewhere off in the distance, the forest-muffled yap and howl of a good half-dozen hungry coyotes excitedly pursuing a rabbit for their breakfast. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet Einar could not shake his uneasiness, the feeling that something was out there, someone, watching, waiting He shook his head, scrubbed a hand across his face and rose, creakily, not quite fully balanced--never had quite got his balance back since losing those toes, and sometimes felt as though he was walking with one leg shorter than the other, which he might well be, hard as it had been for him to sit still long enough to let that broken leg heal up--yet with a surprising speed from his rocky perch, melted into the forest behind him. Making a wide circle around the bunkhouse, Einar checked the snares Liz had set the morning before, empty, all of them, but he left them, knowing that there was at least some chance of snagging a rabbit before they headed out later that morning, supposing they could make one last round to collect the snares before leaving. He was nearly halfway back up to the shelter when he saw it, tiny flash of white through the trees, and he froze in his tracks, ear of a deer, he was sure, had seen its shape, and slowly he began stalking closer, hoping for a clear shot. Which he got, the deer, ribs still showing after a difficult winter, intently focused on the mouths full of succulent green grass it was ripping up from the edge of a very small clearing on a little shelf just below the shelter area. Raising the atlatl, breathing deeply to steady himself--nerves were fine, but he was sick and shaking from the exertion of the climb, not much of a climb, you better get this deer, start building your strength back up, Einar--he raised the atlatl and dart, bringing them to bear on the creatures side, perfect, looking down the length of straight, reddish-barked willow

and through the crazed, formerly clear glass of the dart head, looking right through the animals soft brown-yellow sun dappled coat and between its ribs, seeking out a lung, death for one and life for another, and he let the dart fly, knew even before the deer jumped that he had hit his mark. The taking of the deer, Einar knew, would mean delaying their plans to leave the place that day, not good, but there was no way he could have reasonably passed up on the opportunity for so much food, and as he slowly made his way over to the spot where the deer had been standing before it took off, stung, startled, down the slope, he saw that the blood it had left behind was pink and frothy; hed taken it in the lung, doubted it would be going far. Stooping, he tasted the blood, gave thanks, felt again as he did so the touch of the doubt-shadow that had been dogging him since the evening before, glanced up wide-eyed and wary from the sun-splotched little glace, eyes scanning the spruce woods around him, searching out the sheltered spots behind the thick white trunks of the aspens, but he could see nothing, could not put a finger on just what could have him so spooky and skittish that morning. Wondered if perhaps he was being stalked by a big cat. Had that feel to it, for sure, big mountain lion following him, watching from a respectful distance, waiting, never quite letting him out of its sightbut he doubted it. Whatever it is had better not be heading down there and getting after that deer, though. Which reminded him. Able to travel far or not, the lung-struck deer, and even considering that the critter was spring-scrawny and not too large, he doubted his ability to haul it back by himself, figured the simplest thing would be to take Liz along and have her help him drag it back up to the bunkhouse where it could be dressed out and hung in one of the nearby trees while they worked to process the meat and hide. Looks like were gonna be here for a while. Have to really watch that we dont get careless with our fires in our haste to get the meat taken care of, got to relegate them to the nighttime hours, count on the sun to do a lot of meat-drying during the day. Good and sunny right now, this ought to go pretty quick. And then of course Im sure well both be glad to do our fair share of eating, eat a lot of this meat fresh! We could really use that! Returning to the bunkhouse, he felt like shouting the good news to Liz, felt like singing, rejoicing, but something held him back, something beyond his long formed and deeply entrenched habit of keeping quiet, keeping hidden. Something was bothering him still, a prickle of warning running up his spine even as he climbed the last few steps up the steep slope and prepared to step out onto the level, needle-strewn ground in front of the shelter. It had grown stronger as the morning progressed, that creeping, gnawing sense that one gets when being watched, but he had been able to provide himself no substantiation for it, and had almost decided that it was merely a lingering uneasiness brought on by his dreams of the past night. Almost, but not quite. So he kept quiet, circled around the clearing, keeping to the timber, and crawled in through the low opening that was serving as back door, face splitting with a wide, impossible-to-conceal grin as Liz turned to look at him. What? What is it? Got us a deer. Yep, thats what. Got a deer!

They went together, the two of them, to track the deer, giving it a bit of time to wear out and hole up somewhere, but not too much, Einar still concerned about the presence he had felt out there and not wanting to give some other predator time to get its claws into their supper, their weeks worth of suppers, and they took the burlap sacks, both of them, on the chance that the deer might have gone too far or might simply prove too much for the two of them to haul up there, whole and entire as Einar hoped to do. As it turned out the deer was a fairly small one, in addition to being a bit bony after the long winter, and when they caught up to it, dead, had not made it far at all, they found that they could indeed drag it, working together. Easiest seemed to be to haul their quarry around the base of the little hill there below the bunkhouse and then up the path that they had been using to get down to the bottom of the rubble heap, to the spot where Liz had begun setting her snares. The route would be a bit steep, but not nearly as steep as attempting to struggle the lifeless creature directly back up the slope it had sprinted down after bring hit, and they started out, pausing for a brief rest whenever Einars leg threatened to give out on him, which was more often than he might have wished. Hard work, but they made steady progress, Einar wishing now and then between hard-panting, throat-catching exhausted breaths that they might have gone ahead and gutted the deer down below to cut down on the weight, but knowing that it had been wise to wait, wanting to catch and save as much of the blood as possible, and all the jars and pots were up there at the shelter. Nearing the top--he could see the steepness begin to taper off just above them there-Einar stopped for one final short reprieve, bracing himself against the tendency of the deer to want to roll back down the hill and resting his head on the trunk of an aspen, knees leaning against another, a fallen one. Breathe. Wait for the gathering darkness to clear a bit. Thats good. Getting better. Can see again. And then he saw it. Einar blinked, twisted his head to the side and scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes, but it was still there, the head of a cheetah, carved roughly and simply but unmistakably and very recently into the creamy white bark of the aspen, right there where a person climbing the trail could hardly help but notice it, and Liz saw him staring, craned her neck to discover what had caught his attention. What have you got there? A problem. Thats what. Einar wouldnt talk about the carving on the tree, some sort of cat, best as Liz could determine, wouldnt talk about anything, actually, and suddenly seemed to have come up with the energy and strength to lift his half of the deer up off of the ground, too, greatly speeding up the remainder of their journey up to the shelter. He wouldnt use the front door, guiding Liz instead around to the back of the shack where the timber was heavy and overhung the structure, quickly jamming a stout stick between the tendon and bone of the deers hind legs, using the paracord from the pack straps to hoist the creature up into a tree, again single-handedly and with a strength greater than she would have expected of him. Liz hung back, wanting to help but somehow afraid to intrude on the grim concentration which with he carried out the tasks of bleeding and cleaning the deer, quick, efficient, not so much as pausing to take a bite of the liver, as he normally would

have done, and surely needed to do. She took it, prepared some slices and put them on the enamelware plate, took them to him but he had retreated to a tree some distance up the slope, was crouching there staring out at the woods below the bunkhouse, apparently listening intently, and when he saw her, he motioned for her to stay where she was. After another half minute he scurried back down the slope, keeping low as he dashed across the brief open area between trees and plastering himself against the wall. When he spoke, his voice was low, a hint of strain showing around the edges of its well-practiced calm. You know how to process the deer, right? Have done it before? Just skin it, flesh the hide out and get the thing drying, start slicing the meat up real thin and setting it to dry, too Liz nodded. Yes. I can do it. Einarwhats going on? Got to go take care of something. May be gone for a day or two. I dont believe youre in danger, wouldnt leave you here if I did, but I want you to stay near the shelter, Ok, stay out of the open and keep to the heavy timber when you do go out. Fires only at night and when its storming. Just to be safe. Understand? I understand. Ill do it. But pleasewont you let me come along and help with whatever it is you have to do out there? Einar shook his head. This is one I got to handle on my own. You have a good dry shelter here, lots to eat, itll be alright, and He caught her eye, put a hand on her cheek-she couldnt remember him ever doing that before, and it only added to her apprehension-- Ill be back. You take care of little Hildegard, alright? He left, then, grabbing the atlatl, darts and remaining length of paracord and stuffing his spare knit cap under his belt but taking nothing else, hastily gulping down the strip of liver Liz was holding out to him before vanishing into the spruces without so much as a backwards glance. Returning by a circuitous route to the fallen tree on which the intruder had left his mark, Einar scoured the spot for additional clues, running a finger over the fresh knife marks on the tree, the cheetah incongruous, seeming a long way from home there in the high, cool aspen woods, and as he studied it Einar could almost feel that hot wind sweeping up out of the valley and washing over him, heavy, thick, portending, eyes stinging with sweat and dust and the acrid wildfire smoke that always seemed to obscure the distant, jungle-dense hills which lay in an orange, dying haze over there along the border to the east. He could almost smell it, that smoke. Right. Back to the present. Lowering himself to his stomach he looked beneath the tree, up at its underside, but saw nothing further. All right, who are you? Do I know you, or you just trying to mess with my head, break my concentration so you can get the jump on me? Knew I was aware of you lurking around here, knew youd lost your chance to sneak up on me without my knowledge, so you decided to try and slow me down, confuse the matter, some Whoever had left him that sign, Einar knew that the intruder must be tracked down and stopped, knew that he and Liz would not be safe until such had been accomplished, that there would be little point in moving on and trying to find a more permanent shelter location

with someone of that sort on their trail, and he wondered at the leaving of the sign, realized that its maker must be quite confident in his ability to keep one step ahead of his quarry, if he was willing to be so bold. That, or he is trying to get me to let my guard down, trying to unsteady me, add some doubt into the mix, some hesitation on my part, thats all hed need, no doubt, a split second of hesitation at the right moment, but hes not gonna get it. Hes gonna die. The intruder had left no mark in the clumps and piles of remaining snow that dotted the area, had carefully skirted around them and had at the same time scrupulously avoided leaving any impression in the soft, muddy soil that surrounded the sagging, melting snow dollops, which, to Einar, could mean only one thing. The man had been stepping from rock to rock, and using the tangled network of wind-felled aspen logs as his highway. Then, so will I. And he stood in front of the cheetah head, studying the possible avenues off approach and escape, scrutinizing every detail, a granite slab, sharply fractured at one time but time-worn and lichen covered--hadnt been used, the lichen showed no wear, no disturbance worthy of the weight behind a human foot or two--a little pile of sandstone pieces that appeared equally undisturbed, and three intersecting logs, including the one from which the cat stared out at him. There. Einar grinned, balanced himself on the topmost log, a faint white smear on a frozen-flowing ooze of lichen-splattered schist just above it having caught his eye. Aspen dust. Just a small smear of the distinctive white fungal powder which typically coated the trees trunks, often more heavily on their protected northern sides, and which worked every bit as well for improvised sunscreen as it did for sourdough leavening. A tiny smear, but it was enough for Einar, boottransferred, marking the mans passage as surely as a sole impression in mud might have. For quite some time Einar followed the mans trail in this way, tiny clues lending themselves to the continuation of his quest, and by the time he reached the dark timber and lost the trail amongst its deep, soft ground-cover of springy, yielding duff, he had figured out how the man moved--heavily, with a limp--and had some idea of the sorts of paths he would pick for himself. It was with caution that Einar followed the man, taking pains to keep himself out of spots that offered distant views, as he could at times feel eyes on him, crosshairs, he imagined, seeking out the back of his neck where the little hairs raised in warning and sent him more than once diving for the ground to flatten himself against it, rolling behind a log and listening, straining into the silence, but never hearing anything. Once, though, he found a spot where the man had lain to watch him--good thing Ive been so careful not to allow him anything close to a clear shot, or he might well be on his way home with my scalp, by now--the whitish, wilted look of recently mashed-down vegetation telling him that he was not as far behind as he might have thought, quickening his weary steps as he sought the next clue. The man was careful, had left nothing behind, nothing but the slightly damaged vegetation and a faint, lingering odor of sweat. The man ate a lot of garlic. Garlic and fish, he could smell it, and once more Einar--wrinkling his nose, didnt particularly care for that combination--became convinced that his pursuer was playing with him, deliberately attempting to gain the advantage by throwing him off balance and getting his focus off of his current circumstances. Clever, but its not gonna work. Dont know what kind of funny business youre trying to pull on me, probably counting on my

mind being a little less than one hundred percent after so many months out in the bush with no rest and not so much to eat, and maybe youre right, but this is just you and me out here right now fella, and I know it. Your days are numbered. As were the hours in the day, and Einar hoisted himself back to his feet, left behind the mashed-green spot of earth and began casting about for the next sign, even though he already knew that the man had gone up. Had been going up all morning, but he still wanted confirmation before committing himself to such a course. Confirmation which he found in a slight scuff to the side of a punky, half-rotted log that had apparently been dragged by the side of a boot. The man was careful, wise, experienced, Einar could tell, but he was also struggling with a left leg or foot that did not always do what he needed it to do, left him vulnerable to leaving more of a trail than he intended, at times. Seemed fair enough to Einar. Not that these things are supposed to be fair. For the first half of the day Einar maintained a good pace, following the trail up one ridge and onto another, sign clearer and clearer as he went--as if the man had progressively lost all sense of caution, all desire to pass unnoticed--out from beneath the heavy timber and onto a steeply sloping hillside of aspen which left him a bit nervous as it offered him a bit less concealment to satisfy a strong perception that he was gaining on his quarry, sign beginning to appear just a bit fresher, demonstrating a bit less caution as the man-perhaps--came to suspect or feel or maybe even realize that he was being pursued. Picking his way cautiously through the aspens, Einar, weary, thirsty and sweating in the early afternoon sun, found himself wondering more than once about the wisdom of continuing the pursuit, his exhaustion whispering to him that if the man was leaving, perhaps the most sensible thing would be to let him go. He must not, though, knew that if the man he followed had been close enough to their camp to leave him that cheetah sign--elaborate ruse, he had firmly come to believe, trap designed to gain his trust, and he hoped he was not even then falling for it--then he must have seen the camp, too, and Liz, and therefore could not be allowed simply to walk away as he seemed determined to do at the moment. Evening came, and then night, and Einar had to stop lest he risk losing the trail altogether, crouching down in a thicket of partially leafed-out serviceberry beside a big boulder, a damp, unwelcoming place, but the best he had been able to come up with in the few minutes of daylight that had been left when he had finally admitted to himself that he could no longer see what he was doing, and must pause for a few hours. The best he could do, that was, without wandering off and risking the loss of the trail. Damp with sweat and hungry after his long day of continuous motion, Einar was anything but comfortable as he crouched with his back to that rough-sided granite boulder, recently melted snow oozing up around his boots and threatening to soak his clothing if he allowed himself to come out of the wearying, leg-cramping crouch that he had thus far managed to maintain. Well. Good thing was that it didnt seem to be cooling down as quickly that evening, might not even drop below freezing. Not too far, anyway. Hed get through the night alright, crouched there chewing on a mouthful of raw usnea lichen that he had snagged from a spruce earlier and tucked into his pocket, willing himself to be less hungry and trying to breathe through yet another cramp in his right leg in the knowledge that to extend it and provide it some relief meant taking a seat on that damp,

squishy ground, an option that he did not particularly like, but was eventually reduced to when the leg gave out altogether. Before the light had faded entirely, Einar had believed hed caught a glimpse of something, just a fleeting look as whatever it was had moved through the brush some distance above him on the ridge, and he had been sure that the figure was a human one, hoped he had not himself been seen. Either way, he knew he was in for a long night of listening and watching, lest his opponent, probably well armed and equipped with night vision and infrared sensors--why would he not be?--circle around and take him unawares. Because it can be difficult to explain such items to the TSA personnel at the gate, thats why, and Kilgore had not wanted any questions or delays. He had, though, managed to retrieve a stash of goodies left in a small storage locker in Culver Falls on his way through, had them securely secreted in his pack against future need as he sat up there near the ridge top at nightfall, warm in his down parka as he gulped a can of chili--coldwhy not?--and prepared to settle in for a short night. Asmundson was down there, hed seen a brief glimpse of the man as he dived behind a rock, presumably for the night, and Kilgore hoped that he might get cold in the night--had bedded down in a swamp, from the looks of it, could not be ideal, at such temperatures and elevations--and give the whole thing up. Things were not going entirely according to plan for Kilgore--had not planned to be followed so far, for one thing--and he knew that he was just going to have to see how things went in the morning, and adjust his plans accordingly. Enduring a fairly brutal night down there beside the boulder--lots of shivering and no sleep, and he hardly dared to get up and move around for warmth, lest he give his position away to his quarry-pursuer, who might well be very close by--Einar found that the warm, stifling winds of his memories, the ones that had been stirred up by the sight of that cheetah head earlier, were welcomed, embraced, and he allowed himself for a time to wander through old landscapes, places he had not voluntarily allowed his mind to go for quite a long time, half dreaming, wondering just who he was going to find at the end of that trail in the morning. Or whenever he reached it. For all trails had ends, and at their ends, if one could stick with them long enough to discover the fact, could outwit their perils and withstand their inevitable hardships, were their makers. Always. Morning came, and Einar, clumsy, trembling, half-rational remnant of a human critter that he was, rose, stretched carefully behind the safety of his boulder, beat some feeling back into his numbed hands and did his best to wring the partially frozen moisture from the areas of his clothing which had been in contact with the soggy ground, prepared to resume the chase. Kilgore saw his target briefly that morning from his concealed perch up on the ridge, watched through his spotting scope as Einar stumbled out from behind the boulder, a man who had by all appearances just sat through a tremendously cold and unpleasant night, looking weak and uncoordinated but no less determined, coming for him, an inexorable force that would sooner run itself to death than give up on a trail before seeing it to its conclusion. Bud Kilgore shook his head, put away the scope, muttering under his

breath. Aw, Asmundson, youre not leaving me much choice here, man. Ive got to stop this. And he explored the lower reaches of his pack, pulled out several items and sat pondering them for a long minute, a slow gleam creeping into his eyes as he nodded, plan fully formed in his head. All he needed now was a valley, appropriately narrow and channeling, and a tree. Plenty of those around. Time to make tracks The deer had been skinned, hide scraped and hung in a tree to be dry-preserved until they could brain it, a good bit of the meat sliced up and hung to begin drying that morning and afternoon immediately after Einar took his leave. Liz worked quickly and with the efficiency of someone who had done the task before, but also with a nervous energy born of the realization that Einar was in danger and that she might very well be, also, though he had seemed to believe he was keeping her safe by leaving her there at the bunkhouse while he went out to pursuewhoever had carved that cat into the tree. It was a mystery to Liz, but she had seen the way Einar reacted to that symbol, something going all quiet and distant inside of him, the usual distance between the two of them--it was always there, and she had come to accept it, for the most part--suddenly growing to a vast gulf that she could not hope to bridge, and it seemed that there was something more at work than the typical wariness he showed at any sign of human presence. When Einar did not return before dark that evening, and had still made no appearance when, well after dusk, she lit a fire and prepared a big pot of sweet, rich venison stew, she began to worry for him, telling herself repeatedly that he had said he might be gone for a day or two, that she was wrong to be overly concerned, as he certainly knew how to take care of himself out there--knows how, but will he do it? Here we are with this deer, and him not even her to eat any, and Im afraid hes forgotten again how far behind he is on food--and she asked forgiveness for her lack of faith, sat there in prayer for him as she stirred the stew, for strength, wisdom and a successful hunt--he did say he was going hunting, and I guess he knew what he was talking about--so he could return to her. Thus leaving the matter in Hands far more competent than she could hope her own to be, Liz sat peacefully for a time, stirring the stew and adding the leaves of nettles, spring beauty, peppery shepherds purse and the wild white violets that she had found growing in exuberant clusters down below the rubbish heap when she went out that evening to check her snares, carefully, as Einar had instructed her, rabbitstick-war club ready in her hand. There had been no rabbits, either in the snares or out, but she had brought back the violets. The entire plant was edible, as she remembered Susan telling her, leaves and blossoms both, and they seemed to be stewing up nicely, making a good addition to the supper. Finally, darkness having been complete for hours and her eyes beginning to grow heavy, she ate, the venison tasting wonderful, even if, flesh of a spring-hungry doe, it was almost completely lean. She wished very much that Einar was there to share the meal with her, thought of him out there in the chill, breezy night and hoped that he was safe, and warm enough to get through to morning. Liz had, just as soon as she had lit the fire that evening, hung rack after rack of the thinly sliced venison that she had earlier prepared above the flames, far enough up to prevent

cooking, but low enough so that the heat could significantly speed up the drying process, and it was working, allowing her to set aside several jars full of dry-leathery meat strips before she grew too sleepy to keep at it, that night. It was the baby, she knew, who was demanding the rest. Before little one came along, she would have been able to go on working all night long, processing a good bit of the meat, but now that did not seem possible and was, she knew, probably not entirely wise, either, since she did have the chance to get some sleep. After that she spent the rest of the night doze-napping against the side of the bed, sleeping for fifteen minutes here, half an hour there and waking each time to check the meat and remove what had dried, adding fresh strips to the drying racks, pulling back the door to listen for any sign of danger or--especially--of Einars return and praying for him when there was none, keep him safe out there, bring him back, pleasereturning to the fire to warm chilled hands and eat another helping of that wonderful, rich stew. The baby liked the stew. Her body felt steadier, more settled, somehow, than it had in days, and she knew that the abundant protein and iron of the red meat had been needed, and would do both of them a great deal of good. Morning came, and still no sign of Einar. The fire was out, had been out since dawn first began showing itself through the lingering moonlight, and she moved the drying trays out into the sunlight as it crept up the hill to fall in golden patches through the gently swaying spruces. Again--she had hardly stopped, actually, all night--she found herself in prayer for Einar, but this time it seemed to bring her no peace, and, feeling as though she was somehow abandoning him by staying there in the relative safety of the camp, the thought kept running through her head, pray with your feet moving and she couldnt recall exactly where she had heard it, seemed to remember it being some sort of old Quaker saying, but she had always agreed with it, sometimes both prayer and action are required, and then she made her decision, hauled all of the drying racks back into the remains of the bunkhouse. Quickly packaging up all of the meat that seemed sufficiently dry, she stashed it in the array of intact glass jars that she and Einar had retrieved from the rubbish heap, using her spare shirt to bundle up what would not fit in the jars and piling a good number of heavy granite slabs over the entire cache, there in the corner of the shack. A bear could, she supposed, get at the food if very determined, but he would first have to fight his way through the walls of the bunkhouse, and though she had no doubt that it could be done, the solid wood would at least serve as a powerful deterrent. And she had thus far seen no sign of bears, anyway. The remainder of the deer she hoisted high up into the shady branches of the tree, out of reach of scavengers. Good. It was good, and she was ready to go, took a handful of jerky and a jar of water, her knife, rabbitstick and binoculars, ducked outside and rolled rocks up against the boards with which she had covered the door flap. Throat dry and threatening to cause him to cough--potentially disastrous, if his quarry was anywhere nearby--Einar searched for water, realizing suddenly that hed had nothing to drink, aside from a small handful of slushy snow, since sometime just after theyd got the deer back up to the shelter, and he scraped a depression into the swampy earth at the base of the boulder, waited for it to fill with muddy liquid, scooped the stuff up and drank. A little thick, kinda lumpy, but not bad, considering. He took some more, drained the depression of its murky water and took a big handful of the mud at its bottom

smeared it all over his face and hands and left it to dry. Needed to blend in, and figured it would help keep down the mosquitoes, too. Theyd started getting pretty thick that previous evening before it had become too cool for them to be active. Like it was at the moment. Way too cool to be active, especially for a cramped, crimped, soaking wet and sleepless human critter whose hands were too cold-stiff to close properly, when he tried. But it didnt matter. Was familiar, if nothing else, and he knew it would start to get better when he was able to get moving. Which youd better start doing, because its nearly light. Light enough to start seeing sigh, anyway. Slithering on his belly through the marshy ground around the spot where hed spent the night--real smart choice of camp there, Einar--and keeping very low until he reached the evergreens, he crouched there against a spruce trunk and took a few minutes to listen to the morning, scanning the nearby ridges and coming away with a distinct feeling of danger, of the nearness of his prey, but with no solid idea of just how close the man might be. Time to hit the trail, and find out. Several times as he traversed the long, timbered ridge Kilgore stopped to look back below him, studying his back trail and never seeing any sign of his pursuer, but knowing that he must be back there, unseen because of increased caution as he felt himself drawing closer to his quarry, saw that the signs he was following were fresher. Kilgore had been moving a bit more quickly than he had the day before, needing to make sure he had a good bit of lead time and less concerned about the sign he was leaving as he had seen that Asmundson appeared able to work out his trail, even at his most cautious, but still avoiding leaving obvious sign, so as not to arouse his pursuers suspicion. Kilgore was looking for a narrow valley and found it, a place where there was but one way through which did not require a significant amount of climbing, but which was at the same time wide and brushy enough that a wary tracker would not feel himself in too great a danger of ambush, and avoid it altogether. Perfect. Circling back on his own trail with meticulous care--he mustnt see this part, this is one part that he definitely must not see-he returned to the tree he had chosen, a largish cottonwood that stood to one side of the snowmelt-trickling creek bed that ran through the little valley, a spray of willows creeping along beside the same waterway and offering what would appear to the wary fugitive like adequate cover, and would have been so, from a snipers scope, but which was at the same time far too flimsy to shield the man from the thing Kilgore had in mind. Especially at such close range. Strapping the device securely to the tree, positioned to cover an area of thin but leafy vegetation that looked to him like something the fugitive would be likely to use, Kilgore concealed it--thing was already a good subdued olive green, but did not quite match the cottonwood bark, and he could not afford to have it seen, at least not too soon--with little willow shoots and bark pieces until it was all but invisible from a distance of a yard or two. Which was more than he needed. No reason to allow Asmundson to get quite that close before activating it. Returning to the device and making a few final connections and preparations, Kilgore sat briefly on a fallen aspen near a clump of mixed serviceberry and willow not far from the cottonwood, felt around beneath the tree trunk--it was suspended by several inches from the ground--and pressed something into place before rising. Ok, Done. He checked the batteries in his unit and slipped it into his pocket,

where it would remain secure until he was ready to activate the trap. Speaking of which, it was high time to be clearing out of the area and making his way up to the spot he had chosen, a small, spruce-concealed rocky outcropping which would put him at a safe distance while at the same time allowing him a clear line of sight down the valley, which he would be needing, for several reasons. Climbing up the ridge and taking his place among the rocks, Kilgore got himself seated, hidden but able to see, took a swallow of water and had a quick handful of trail mix and jerky as he settled in for the wait. Alright Asmundson, Im ready for ya, man. Come on down why dont you, and lets get this over with before I change my mind. Didnt really mean for it to go this way, but you gone and left me no choice. An hour passed, by Kilgores watch--worn face-down and covered with a cloth patch, for good measure--another, and he was beginning to think that Asmundson must have given up, abandoned his trail at last--for he could not have lost it--and gone back from whence he had come, but then he saw him, slipping warily from cover to cover down there in the valley, slow--painfully, obviously slow--but not despairing of the chase, body bent forward and down as if the trail were consuming all of his failing energy, demanding his complete concentration. But it was not, as Bud saw, the hunter-fugitive, hungry, gaunt, limping, pausing now and then like a wary deer to raise his head and look, listen, smell, even, it appeared, sniff the wind, checking for danger, scanning and searching for the little thing he had overlooked, the one that would kill him if he missed it, sensing it perhaps, but not seeing, not stopping. Kilgore smiled. Not far to go. His finger tightened on the button, watching, waiting for his target to step over that fallen aspen, into the shadow of the willows, into range Liz did not know exactly where he had gone, had been steadily improving her tracking skills over the months, but lacked the years of experience Einar had, and would not have been able to follow him at all, had he been making much of an effort to evade her. Which he had not. Had walked, it seemed, with a carelessness and speed rather unlike his typical way of moving through the woods, and she followed him with ease until his trail vanished in the soft duff beneath the spruces of a ridge some mile and a half from camp. Liz retraced her steps, tried to find the trail again, but could not, so she climbed to the top of the ridge and lay looking down at the valley that stretched out, narrow and confined, below it on the far side. No sign of Einar, but she had not expected there to be, not an obvious one, anyway, as she had seldom seen him depart from what seemed to be a rather deeply imbedded habit of avoiding open ground. Getting out the binoculars, she scanned the valley, slowly, studying the little clumps of chokecherry and willow, but still noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Shifting her attention to the opposite ridge, she thought she saw something, a brief flash of movement right on the edge of vision, and when she focused on the spot she saw that it was a man, and that he was definitely not Einar. Einar stepped over the aspen log, cautious, slow, not liking the openness of the little gap between willow clumps but seeing no good way around it; the valley was so very narrow right there. A sound off to the right, close, loud, and before he even knew what he was reacting to, he was on his belly in the soft, damp soil, rolling behind the downed aspen

and pressing himself into the earth as the radio--hidden, how did I miss that--crackled to life. Curiosity, it said, a disembodied voice in the willow thicket as Einar dug his fingers into the earth, crushed his face into the ground and rolled slightly to the side so he could get his knife into his hand, professional curiosity is all this is. Was in the area, had a report from friends about some mysterious smoke up by an abandoned mine a while back, and I had to satisfied my curiositybut Im content to leave it at that. Dont try and turn this into something more, wouldnt end well for either of us. I wouldnt have done this to you if youd just let me head out of here like I wanted, but you wouldnt quit following me and I couldnt have you hunting me down like this, now could I? You just dont quit But thats all Im trying to do right now--get you off my trail so I can leave. You are a Free Man, an endangered species that should be left in peace. Even as he listened--not believing, how could one believe? Lies, all of it, lies and traps and deceit and soon, deathfor one of them--Einars eyes had been darting around the nearby brush, the willows, the fallen trees, looking for a way out, knowing that he had likely ended up exactly where his opponent wanted him to be. Then he saw the cheetah head, carved into the log right in front of his face, knew then that he had ended up exactly where his opponent had intended him to drop. Precisely. No doubt about it. This man was good. Who are you? Not sure what to make of the strange encounter, but knowing that human contact--of any sort--was a dire threat to him just them, to them, all three of them, he glanced about somewhat frantically, still looking for a way out. But the man who went with the voice was watching him, had to be. Nothing within a hundred yards, I planned it that way. Just sit there and think about it a minute. And then he knew for sure. Being watched. Probably through a scope, crosshairs on my neck, but he didnt feel it, glanced up with the single eye that was above ground level and saw that the man would literally have to be seated up in a tree to have a scope on him where he was, and there was no one up in the trees. But the instant I move, raise my head, try to crawl awaythink, Einar. And he did, and his thoughts all smelled of death, imminent, certain, soon. His. And he was not afraid to meet it, except for the thought of leaving Liz. With the baby coming. Abandoning her. Think But his mind was blank, the landscape, while not blank, definitely hostile, well chosen by the enemy, and he saw no way out. Was one way out, at least, not a very good one, but there was always a way out, and he intended to take it, if he could not find another. Not just yet, though. Perhaps another option would present itself, before his time ran out. The sun had reached the valley floor, was falling in long, warm streaks and stripes through the willows and across Einars back, a slight breeze playing through the aspens and setting their leaves to trembling with the sound of gently flowing, bubbling water. A peaceful scene, and Einar might have almost gone to sleep, had he not been so certain that he was about to die. He never had been one to like the idea of sleeping through his own death. It was not his way. So he stayed awake, staring out of the corners of his eyes at the brush around him, the alarming lack of cover that surrounded his little hiding spot, trying to make his brain work, give him a brilliant move that would have some chance of

changing the likely outcome of the little standoff. But finding none. A mosquito, having waited for the wind to still, hummed lazily through the grass and landed on an exposed portion of Einars wrist, and he regarded it with casual unconcern as it snacked on his blood, left unmolested until his shivering--was chilly there in the damp shade of the aspen trunk, the willows--startled it back into the air. He was beginning to warm, but was not there yet. Not that it mattered. The man was moving--Stay where you are, I want to talk, thats all, he was shouting-was trying to work his way in closer, cautiously, Einar could see him, could smell him, garlic and fish again, carried on the breeze. Was surprised that, knowing his exact position, the man had not already sprayed the flimsy cover with a barrage of full-auto fire--its what I would have done--but he had not. So it was time. He tensed up, meaning to make a run for it and let come what may, whatever it would be--he had a pretty good guess, but had not entirely given up hope of surprising his assailant, gaining some advantage and turning things around, even at that late moment--rather than wait where he was as the man continued to creep closer, closer, until he would be close enough to rush him, get in a shot intended to wound but not kill, and take him. He could see the man, could see his boots through the swaying grass on the far side of the tree trunk, he was approaching, hurry, but then the man stopped, and when Einar raised his head, carefully, mere centimeters, he saw that his opponent was squinting up at the opposite ridge, having apparently seen something of interest. Ducking his head back behind the trunk and glancing behind him, Einar saw what had caught the intruders eye, and his blood ran cold. Lizzieno! But there she was, mostly hidden but unmistakable, nearby, just up the ridge, and his death was one thing, death to avoid capture, death while rushing an enemy and thus making the best accounting of himself that he could, in all likelihood taking the man with himbut leaving Liz at the mercy of this stranger the wake of such an end was another thing entirely. Stalling for time, mind scrambling for a plan of some sort--get yourself out of here, Liz!--Einar kept still as the man was demanding, allowed him to take another few careful steps nearer. Im not here to put your hide on a wall, Asmundson, the man was shouting, stepping closer, closer, close enough that he could speak in a normal voice and make himself heard without the use of the radio, which had apparently been his goal for the moment, because he stopped, and Einar heard him sit down. If you dont believe me, just look up at that aspen trunk above your head. Einar looked, saw the paper that had been stuck there and carefully removed it. One glance told him what he was looking at, the detailed sketch of the tumbled down bunkhouse and the terrain around it, distances, cover, wind speed and direction at various times of day all spelled out in tremendous detail, as were his comings and goings, and Lizs, and he recognized the day as the one before theyd got the deer. The day when hed first begun feeling the pressing anxiety of a creature that knows its being watched, but cannot yet prove it. Einar shook his head, a chill passing over him as he realized just how closely they had been watched, stalked, observed by this man. Who had, in apparent accord with what he was now saying, clearly not meant to kill them. At least not then and there. Or he would have. Now Im gonna, Einar heard the man stand, take another step closer, just gonna

come out here where you can see me, gonna keep my hands where you can see them, too, and Id sure appreciate it if you didnt put one of those darts through my gut, Ok? Which was not Ok with Einar, he didnt want the intruder to come any closer, but was at the same time reluctant to raise his head far enough to check and see if he was doing as he said, thinking it a possible ruse intended to end with his head vaporizing as soon as he showed it, but he was finally able to wriggle himself forward until he could see out a bit better beneath the log, saw that the man was, indeed, standing out in the open with his hands empty, raised slightly. Though not, Einar noticed, all that far. So. Safe enough, as long as he is here alone and not working with a sniper up on one of those ridgesbut Einar did not believe that he was. Id already be dead, if he was. So he sat up. Atlatl and dart in hand, poised, ready. The man nodded, breathed, relaxing a little--as if glad and a bit surprised to still be alive--despite the atlatl locked onto his neck, aimed, ready, the cold-steady, slightly wild eyes that watched him from behind it. Kilgore nodded, lowered his hands slightly. Been awhile, Asmundson. Mapai, Chimoio, Tembuethats all seeming like an awful long time ago these days, isnt it? Einar gave a non-committal little half nod, kept silent, but Liz--who had worked her way a good bit closer, and was watching through the binoculars--saw that his eyes had gone flat, lifeless, face a hard, expressionless mask, and shed seen that look before, noticed his hand, white-knuckled and tense on the atlatl, and wondered if the other man had seen, thought for a moment that he might be about to die. Or that Einar might. Surely Kilgore--that was his name; she recognized him from the papers--must be armed, must be watching his every move Einar did not move, though, kept his eye on the slightly older man, and kept the atlatl on him, too, for another good minute or so before finally relaxing a bit, sitting up further and motioning for the intruder to come closer and sit down. When he spoke his voice was low, cold, carefully measured. Never lost a battle over there, did we Kilgore? But that didnt keep us from losing the doggone war. Sold out. Again. The grizzled old tracker nodded, wiping the sweat from his eyes--couldnt have said it better myself, seems to happen every time, except maybe this time, this is one you get to fight on your own terms all the way, isnt it, Asmundson?--tried to use the moment of connection, however tenuous, with the wild man to move a bit closer still, but Einar wasnt missing a thing, raised the atlatl again, stopped him in his tracks. Whatre you doing out here, Kilgore? You here for me? Im here, and youre hereand I guess you could say Im here because you arebut no. Not like you mean.. Einar didnt believe him for a moment, but saw no reason to belabor the point. Kilgore would already know. Whatd you do to your leg? Never knew you used a cane.

The leg? What, you mean you really dont know? Einar shook his head. How would I know? Well, you were there. Hows that? For the air strike. What air strike? Dont believe I was there for the air strike, Kilgore. Not your air strike, anyway Sure you were. Air strike happened right after I got those tranquilizer darts in you. Saw you go over the cliff right before the world exploded around me. Huh. Figured that had to be somebody like you, Einar growled, face grim, eyes flashing, but keeping himself carefully in check, tracking me down the way you did and then using a dirty trick like those poison darts. I should kill you for that. Wouldnt much blame you if you didmust have had one heck of a time recovering from those darts, out here. But they werent exactly poison. Yes they were. Poison of the vilest sort. They were just bear tranquilizers. Like I said Yeah, they were meant to stop two full grown black bears, and my intention was to be there with you seconds after you went down, in case you needed help breathing or anything, and I would have been, but he shrugged, hard to argue with a Hellfire missile at close range, you know Hey, if its any consolation to you at all, I did testify against the feds in the Congressional hearings after that little incident, and then took the dirty rats to court, sued em, forced em to settle, which they did, just to keep it out of the media A grunt of acknowledgement from Einar. Was the rocket for me, or for you? Both, I do believe. And then they sent in a couple of agents with the mop up crew, I heard em talking before they saw me, and they were there to finish me off. Didnt want anybody to know about their little unauthorized use of hardwarebut I stopped em, got on the radio and started talking, and turns out a reporter was there with the AIC and overheard the whole thing, so after that they werent able to disappear me so easily. And the fella who called in the strike is dead now, too. Jimson. He had a personal thing

against you I guess, ever since you jumped him and broke his back during their op up there at your caches. Einar nodded. You take him out? No! Your mountains did. Jimson froze to death last fall after his horse threw him. Word is hed set out on his own at one point to bring you in, but like a lot of them, he had more experience in a suit than he did in the mountains, and Kilgore shrugged, showing Einar empty hands. Nothing left. Tree food. A fitting end. Except that he probably hadnt been left to feed the trees, his remains certainly recovered, studied, chemically preserved and hermetically sealed before being entrusted to the earth, as was the strange custom of the prevailing culture, down there. So. What are you doing up here, Asmundson? How does all of this end? Einar shrugged, nudged at a rock with the toe of his boot. The boot of his toeless foot. Same as it does for all of us, I figure. Nobody gets out of this thing alive. Or havent you figured that out, yet? You know, I been living on borrowed time forwell, a real long while now, and at least out here Im real sure of where I stand. Eat. Stay warm. Keep one step ahead of them. All of them. Real basic. Best that way, Im pretty sure. Yep. That it is. And Kilgore was quiet, looking reflective, weary, his eyes dark and perhaps a bit sad. Einar finally broke the silence. And you? Youre not here to try and talk me in, tell me how Ive put up a real good fight but its time to end it now, for everybodys sake, how youll make sure I get safe passage so some fed sniper doesnt slot me on the way into town, turn me over to the sheriff, good lawyers and such, itll all come out alright in the end, how its my only and final chance because I cant last forever out here, theyll catch up to me eventually, or the weather will, not likely to make it though another winter out here with the shape Im in, anyway, all of that? Kilgore laughed. Nope. Nothing I could tell you on the subject that you dont already know. Except that bit about me getting you safe passage, cause I can tell ya right now thats a bunch of garbage. No, Im not here to tell you things you already know. And besides, I know better. Try any of that nonsense on you, and youll have one of those darts through me for sure, just to get me to shut up. Got that right I also dont need to tell you if these rumors can be trustedthat you may have a little more at stake now. That its not just you out here anymore. If the rumors and--he nodded towards the brush at the base of the opposite ridge--my own eyes are to be believed. Liz had been seen. By both of them. And she knew it. Kilgore was staring right at her,

pretending to look at Einar but really looking at her, and Einars occasional furtive, overthe-shoulder glances were right on target, too. She didnt know whether to try and sneak away into the brush while they were engaged in conversation--felt that was probably what Einar would want her to do, especially seeing as he had not wished her to follow him, in the first place--or stand up noisily and hurry from her hiding place to create a distraction which might allow Einar time to do something about his situation. If anything needed doing. He was looking, as far as she could tell, a good bit more relaxed than he had at first, and the conversation, what she had been able to hear of it, sounded almost friendly. Which she supposed could be a ruse on Einars part, almost had to be--what is it they say? Diplomacy is the art of saying nice doggie, until you can find a rock? Or give the girl with the war club time to circle around behind the guy whos got you pinned down behind the aspen log Ive never known Einar to be particularly diplomatic, but maybe if he was desperate--as there could be little doubt that the man, Kilgore, was there to take him, and even less doubt that Einar would be aware of the fact. Pressing herself further back against the little fir whose shelter she had most recently sought, Liz furious with herself for allowing them to catch sight of her. She had thought herself quite well hidden, had moved incredibly slowly and with great deliberation as she stalked closer to the two men, intending to find a way to incapacitate the intruder or at least grab his attention so Einar could do it, but instead, she had been seen. Einar had known she was there before the other man had, hed not turned to look at her or done anything else to give her position away, but she had been able to tell that he knew, had seen that he was edging to the side in an attempt to protect her, to keep the mans eyes from straying in her direction, but shortly after that, Kilgore had noticed her, too. I must need more practice. And now she was stuck. Stuck without the ability to get away undetected, and stuck because she could not see what she might be able to do to help Einar, now that she had been seen, and was clearly being watched. Something, please! Theres got to be something Einar was standing, though, as was the other man, and at a brief, almost impatient-looking gesture from Einar, the two of them adjourned to the dark cover of the nearby spruces on the ridge below the spot where Kilgore had hidden to activate his radio trap. Puzzled, Liz followed, using the fact that Kilgores attention was firmly focused in a direction other than hers to hurry across the brief opening at the valleys floor, get into some better cover and begin working herself around to where she could have some hope of approaching the two of them unnoticed. Refusing to answer Buds unspoken question about Liz, still unwilling to acknowledge her presence and pull her into the conversation--directly, at least, as she was already, undeniably in it--Einar had kept his eyes steadily on Kilgore, still waiting for the man to reach for a weapon or a radio or otherwise act to further compromise his position, knowing all the while that the most likely scenario involved Kilgore gaining his trust, keeping him occupied with conversation--check, that parts working, he sure did get me caught up in the conversation there for a minute, and it seemed further evidence of the plot--and talking him into further lowering his guard while they waited for the choppers to come in. A little surprised theyre not here alreadyand though he tried to remind himself that despite numerous opportunities to call in their location over the past two days, Kilgore had apparently refrained from doing so, the skeptical part of his brain kept

reminding him that despite his apparent friendliness, Kilgore was, after all, the one who had tracked him down the first time and got those hateful darts into him in an apparent attempt to deliver him, helpless and drooling and worse than dead, into the hands of his enemies. It had almost happened. Probably would have, had that rogue agent--Jimson seemed to be his name--not taken his unauthorized action to try and end the manhunt the easy way, and all of a sudden there didnt seem to be enough air to breathe out there in the open, the gentle water-rustle of the wind-touched aspens seeming certain to be masking the deep, ominous rumble that Einar just knew he would begin hearing, any minute now. Einar scrambled to his feet, keeping the atlatl trained on Kilgore, drawing it back a bit when he perceived the other man to be a bit too slow in responding to his urgent command to get up! Believe we can finish this conversation in the trees over there. Way too open out here. You lead the way. Hey, go! Which Kilgore did, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of good faith and hustling for the trees as quickly as he could without the aid of his walking stick, realizing that he had apparently underestimated Asmundsons level of mistrust and paranoia, not to mention his somewhat legendary capacity for sheer bull-headed orneriness. Not that I blame him. No way he would have lasted this long out here without a good healthy dose of all threeno way at all. Resettled beneath the spruces, Einar, who could finally almost breathe again, crouched there with the atlatl and dart in one hand, palm of the other pressed to the ground, still listening intently for any approaching rumble that might give away the soon-to-be presence of unwanted company. But there was none. Not for a good while, but still he waited. When Kilgore, bad leg aching, attempted to take a step nearer so he could sit down on a chunk of orange-lichen speckled granite--a little spruce was growing out of a crack in the side of the thing, mere inches tall and very green with new spring growth at the tip, somehow having found purchase in the meager soil that had developed there after decades of rain and rotting spruce needles--Einar nearly had a dart through him before he realized that the mans intentions ended at taking a seat. Watching Einar out of the corner of his eye but doing nothing to change his own course of action, Bud Kilgore went right on with his sitting, moving slowly and deliberately but almost nonchalantly, not appearing particularly disturbed at Einars response, nor the least bit surprised at it, either. They sat there glaring at one another for a good minute or so--Liz approaching through the timber, softly, carefully, but Einar heard--before Kilgore spoke up. You done yet? What? Are you done yet? Done sorting things out with your spooks and listening to the wind in the trees. Cause I got something real serious to ask you, and theres no point asking it if I dont have your full attention.

Einar shrugged, blew a stray bit of hair out of his face and eyed the tracker suspiciously. Sure. Good. You ever considered Arizona? And from her hiding place, belly down in a little spruce needle-floored depression not ten yards from Einars back, Liz wondered, what about Arizona? Arizona. That where you settled, Kilgore? Lot of room down there, so I hear. In places. And a few mountains. Ha! Yeah, theres mountainsin my area, anyway. Aspen, pinyon, ponderosa, spiky, time-softened lava hills just chalk full of elk and mule deer Been there fifteen years now. Its great. Got a long, long driveway with a good stout gate at the bottom and my cabin at the top, and I almost never have any visitors up there... Three days ago I checked into a little motel down in Clear Springs under an alternate name--a clean one-and I can rent a car for the drive back the same way. Car, van, pickup with a hollow load of boxes in the backyou get the idea. Einar smiled a bit sadly at the ground, shook his head, the prospect of a good comfortable place for Liz and the baby, food, rest, blessed, blessed rest passing briefly through his mind before he sent it on its way as an imposter, and a dangerous one, at that. Nah, cant do it. Huh. Think I knew that. But had to offer. You gonna be in town for a few days yet, Kilgore? Sure. I set out to take a weeklong fishing trip, and intend to hang around for at least that long. Ive got time Time, yeahthats exactly what I need. Time, space, and a little peace. Not asking too much, is it? Think you could manage that? Kilgore chuckled softly. Sure, I can manage it. Youre gonna start showing up down around town sometime tomorrow, then on the other side of the valley, heading for the high countryup in herell be the last place theyll think to come poking around, after all is said and done. Would that do it? A brief grin from Einar, a nod, and he reached back and tore a good-sized plug of hair out of the back of his head, handed it to Kilgore, who stashed it in a zippered pocket on the vest he was wearing. Thanks, man. Leave some of this around if you want to, make it all a little more real. Oh, itll be real alright! Guess I better head out pretty soon so I can get started in the morning. Let me just run up the hill real quick here to where I stashed my pack before I

go, though. Got something for you. And Kilgore was gone, creaking slowly to his feet but then melting into the timber with a practiced ease that belied his still-healing injury. He had not been gone for two minutes before Liz crept out of the little ditch that had given her shelter and let Einar see her. Einar nodded, motioned to her that it was safe to come out. She sat beside him on the log. Youve been there all along, havent you? Yes. Then youre probably disappointed about Arizona Disappointed? Einar, you goofy guy! Its a good thing you did say no, because if you hadnt--I mean, I really dont want all of this to end at some little gas station out in the middle of the desert when a local cop gets suspicious and looks under the load of boxes in your friends rented truck--I wouldve had to sneak up and smack you upside the head with my war club and then go after your friend, there, and I really think your head could use a break. Dont you? Looking a little puzzled--underestimated her again I guessshouldnt do that--he nodded. Sure. Thanks. There are some things I dont understand though, and maybe you dont want me to, butI could hear you and Im wondering what you two were talking about. How is it you know him? And wheres ChiChimoio, was it? Einar was quiet for a long moment, eyes distant, sat there for so long that Liz became certain that she wasnt going to get an answer, might have made a serious mistake in even asking. Mozambique. Dusty little run down malaria pit--at least it was at the time--a few dozen miles from the border with Rhodesia. And a major staging ground for the terrorist raids that were coming over the Rhodesian border, too. Mugabe even had his headquarters set up there for awhile. Before we raided it, that is Didnt really know Kilgore, but we crossed paths a couple times. Thats how he knew to use the cheetah I guess, to get my attention back therewe were in the RLI--Rhodesian Light Infantry--and our mascot was the cheetah, though he and I were in different Commandos--sub-units, you might say, but we called them Commandos. Only a few hundred of us Americans over there during those years, less than that at any one time, so a lot of us were at least aware of each other. I wasseventeen. Volunteered. Silence. For nearly ten minutes. That was, apparently, all he had to say on the matter. Liz spoke quietly, not sure if she ought to push him anymore, but not quite wanting to let it go, either. Seemed important. You went to Rhodesia when you were seventeen? No.no, that came later, four years and a few odd months later when Uncle Sam was

all through with me. Rhodesia wasnt my first time to volunteer, nor my first trip through the jungle, either, nor the heatwow, the heat over there, it would come at you in these solid waves, so real and forceful that you could almost push them aside with your hands, took some getting used to for a mountain critter like me, and every time Im down in the valley now in the summer and a hot breeze rolls through, it takes me right back there but anyhow, that was where I ended up. Felt like I had some unfinished business I guess, andwell, I saw a cause over there that looked like it was worth fighting for--which it was, believe that to this day--and might really count for something. Came with a real clear objective attached. That was awful refreshing, let me tell you. And I didnt seem to be good for much else, anyway, not just then. So I went. Was there forit was nearly four years, too, I suppose. Until the end. We won that one, or would have, if it hadnt been for the bloody communists. And I dont mean the ones we were fighting on the ground, either--had them beat--or even the Soviets or the Chinese who were over there training and equipping them and filling their heads with that Marxist, Maoist garbage, inciting them. No... Its always the ones closest to home that you really got to watch. Backstabbers. Snakes. Filthy rotten backstabbing snakes. Silence then for another minute, Einar twisting a stalk of grass between his fingers and debating with himself whether or not to say more, feeling almost as though he would be losing something in the telling of it and wanting very badly to go away, far away and be quiet, but finally shaking his head and continuing. You know, it would have been alright I think if I could have just--slammed his fists together--I came home after that and I wanted to justI had some of the names, you know, the ones back here who helped engineer that whole betrayal, I had connections and I got ahold of some of the classified documents, had the evidence, had the skills, too, and I should have just His hands were clenched, tendons standing out in his emaciated arms and in his neck like they might break the skin, and he slammed his fists into the aspen trunk beneath him and then seemed somehow to shrink in on himself, shook his head, rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet, fingers opened as if allowing sand to pour out on the ground. But I didnt. For a number of reasons. Including a job offer that would have been rescinded just like this--snapped his fingers--if Id acted on any of that stuff Took the job. Was a good job. High level security clearance and all that, thought I could make some impact working from the inside that way, and maybe I did, just a little None of which seems like adequate justification, now. Not even close. Its the things you dont do that come back to bite you, you know, to gnaw at you, year after year. At least for me. What I have done and what I have failed to dobut the stuff you leave undone is what keeps you up at night, more often than not. Theres forgiveness for the things you do, but for the others, the ones you ought to have done but didnt for whatever reasonall of them, both in the field and after, and the guys who didnt get a chance to come home because of itwell, I believe Hes forgiven me, know He hasbut II cant He choked on his words, shrugged, hung his head, and when he looked up at her there was grief in his eyes, a raw, angry undiluted grief that Liz had known must be there somewhere beneath the carefully constructed shell that was all he ever let her see of himself even at his worst moments, and she could tell that he wanted to say more, but couldnt do it. She wanted to grab him, comfort him, but was almost afraid to try.

This is what you didnt want to talk about before, isnt it? All of this After you lost the toes and you were having those dreams where you seemed to think I was someone else, and you were trying to get away from me What? He seemed to recover his composure all in one swift, fluid motion, shell snapped neatly back into place, scrubbing his hands over his face as if to wipe away all of the untimely sorrow--lapse in discipline, shame on you, she never should have seen that, and you sure cant go where shes asking you to go, with that last question--and appearing almost to succeed, at least on the surface. Ohnah, not really. That was By the time I got there to Rhodesiathis isnt gonna sound right to you, but its the way it was well, everything I did there, the way I threw everything I had into that fightit was just a way to keep my mind off the other stuff, the stuff that had come before, and it didnt really work, buthey. What am I carrying on about? Never really wanted all this to be part of our lives, not now, we got plenty of our own troubles without going into ancient history But it is, Einar. Part of our lives. He was quiet, chewing on a stem of grass and staring at the sky Yeah, guess so. Cause you know, I promised myself after all thatdecided I wasnt gonna live that way anymore, leaving important things undone like that when I knew it was my duty to do them, Id take the action regardless of the consequences, and thats how come I ended up getting myself into this jam right here. But to tell you the truth I wouldnt go back and change it if I could. Not for anything. So yeah. Part of our lives. Which was not at all what Liz had meant, but she supposed it would have to do for the moment, because Einar was clearly done talking, had gone all distant and quiet again, was studying the nearby ridgeline, and then he was on his feet. Kilgore. Somethings happened. He should have been back by now. When Einar started up the slope Liz rose to come along and this time he had no objection, wanting to keep her close until he was able to figure out what--or who--had detained Kilgore up on the ridge. Before leaving, Kilgore had pointed out to him the mostlyconcealed rocky outcropping near the ridges crest where he had left his pack, said hed be right back, and as they climbed, Einars mind was full of a dozen different scenarios that could account for his failure to do so, the most dire of which revolved around the tracker calling in coordinates and getting himself clear of the area so hed be out of range when the rocket hit or the assault team quick roped down from a hovering chopper to take them. Which did not happen, at least not right away, but Einars ears stayed sharp for any approaching rumble (or whistle; if you hear that whistle, its probably already too late, but its always worth a try) even as he questioned his wisdom in having chosen to converse with Kilgore at anything short of a fast, direction-shifting walk. More likely, he tried to tell himself, was that the tracker had simply met with some innocuous delay or had perhaps even decided to head out from the ridge without further contact--thatd be the smart thing for him to do, he knows I shouldnt let him go, has to know that Im at

least entertaining the idea of it being a terribly ill-advised course of action--but he could hardly afford to entertain such possibilities in preference to the more sinister ones. Which are usually the correct ones. Liz, keeping close and very quiet, saw Einar fit a dart into the atlatl and hold it at the ready as he climbed higher, and when he paused briefly to rest beside a stand of low, bushy little spruces--air, he needed air, was starting to see black spots in front of his eyes with the effort of climbing, and only then remembered that hed had no sleep and very little to eat for the pastwell, a good while, anyway--she drew up beside him and spoke in his ear, recognizing a pattern in his movements and the look in his eye, and afraid for Kilgore, who had seemed to mean them no harm. Einar, what are you doing? Youre not going to hurt him Dont know yet. He found us. Hes the only one who can find us. But hes your friend. Dont have any friends. Im your friend. And so, Im pretty sure, is he, but Im not going to try and tell you that right now A grunt--yes, maybe, who knows--and he took off up the hill again but Liz grabbed his arm, stopped him. A dangerous move, but a successful one, because he stopped, looked back at her. After freeing his arm. Dont touch me. Dont do it. Let him go. Ok. But he kept climbing. Taking them on a wide, ascending arc up the side of the ridge, Einar circled around behind and above the outcropping and choosing a good brush-dense spot to sit awhile and observe. He could just make out the bulk of the rocks down there through the timber, but saw no sign of Kilgore. No sign, that was, aside from the toe of his boot, which was mostly concealed by a needle-bristling fir branch that the tracker had apparently wrapped around his leg for concealment. The boot was hanging down from a big spruce that overlooked the outcropping, and Einar surveyed the scene with a weird, wolfish grin, eyes going all flat and cold and leaving Liz a bit dubious about his intentions. And Kilgores fate. Wait here for a while, he whispered to her, creeping forward through the timber and soon losing himself in a patch of dense little trees whose trunks grew so closely as to allow a man to pass only with difficulty, and a horse, not at all. Perfect, thought Einar as he wormed this way in between trunks, silent on the soft damp needle-mat beneath his feet, nearing the trackers tree and carefully keeping his eyes and thoughts averted so the man would not feel him approaching. Einar had seen it many

times, both in animals and humans, that uncanny ability to sense the eyes of another on the back of your neck, to hear the intensity of the thoughts they were directing towards you, especially if their intentions were hostile. He had seen many deer and elk spooked this way, men, too, and had learned to keep his eyes low and his thoughts quiet while stalking. It helped. And then there he was, at the edge of the small clearing behind the trackers tree, glancing slant-eyed at Kilgore and wondering just what his purpose might be in laying such an ambush. While he could not be certain, the mans actions and attitude spoke more of curiosity than of hostile intent, and Einar decided to respond appropriately. He grinned, drew back the atlatl. Very appropriately. The dart impacted the trunk of Kilgores hide-tree tree mere inches from his ear, at which the tracker dropped like a stunned raccoon to the rough ground below, rolling quickly behind an old half decayed spruce trunk, where Einar saw nothing of him aside from the very top of his boonie hat--which, a fact not wasted on Einar, wasnt on his head anymore--and the business end of his .45 protruding up over the log some two feet from the hat. After a few moments of tense waiting on Kilgores part, Einar laughed and walked out into the clearing, at which Kilgore sat up, face slowly losing its strained paleness as the corners of his eyes wrinkled up with a hint of a smile, and before long he was laughing too, madly, uproariously, elbows leaned back against the punky spruce and tears tracing down the sides of his face. Einar clenched his jaw, glared at the man--too much noise--stalked over and stood with his back to a tree not far from him. Guess you got me, you crazy old coyote. Asked for that, didnt I? With that little radio trick, and all. Yeah, you did. Whats the idea here anyway? Whatre you sticking around for? Had something to give you, and kinda wanted to get a look at that bride of yours, too, figured this might be the only safe way to do it. Girls been stalking me ever since she showed up down there, giving me the creeps, I tell ya. Look. Look there, nodding towards the timber, where Lizs presence was obvious only in a faint swaying of the thin, flexible fir-tops. Shes pretty good. So I thought Id sit here for a minute and see if the two of you headed up here together, but instead I just about get a glass shard through my skullneat job knapping those things, by the way, some fine work therebut hey, was your aim a little off just now, or did you have a change of heart at the last minute? No answer from Einar--leaving Kilgore to forever harbor a bit of doubt as to that darts intended target--who had turned his back on Lizs position in the trees in the hopes that she would keep hidden, and was limping over to the rotten spruce log that had (rather poorly) shielded Kilgore from further dart attempts, finally taking a seat on the end of it. Man, youve ended up with a worse limp that I have, looks like. Been watching your sign and trying to figure what the trouble might be, but its got me stumped. Whatd you do to your leg? Got some old shrapnel in there bugging you? Ha! No. Not so much. Missing toes are bothering me more, and the fact that the leg

seems to have healed up a tad shorter or something since I broke it a while back, but Im getting on alright. Toes, huh? Whatd you do, get bored some evening sitting there by the fire and start playing around with your knife, go and chop em off just to keep yourself entertained? Could be youre a good bit crazier than I thought Einar squint-glared at the tracker for a moment, not feeling especially inclined to respond. Yeah, chopped them off. Frostbite. Had no choice. Rough. Figured it must have been something like that. And Kilgore, back to his usually-serious self, fished something out of his pack, tossed it on the grass at Einars feet. The packet, wrapped in a piece of woodland camouflage cloth that turned out to be a pair of pants, was quickly opened by Einar--no time for pretense or formalities, if he was going to let the thing stay near him, he had to know what was in it--to reveal a stash of food that he took to be Kilgores remaining rations for the trip, foil packets of tuna--ha! Well this partially explains the fish-and-garlic that I kept smelling as I tracked him--and little rounds of cheese in red wax, sugar and tea bags and four chocolate bars all wrapped up in foil. Very nearly having to sit on his hands to prevent himself from tearing right into the rations--stomach was suddenly twisting and growling at the reminder of the existence of food, making him feel all weak and shaky and something that might have approached desperate, if he had let it--Einar nodded his thanks to the tracker, who looked relieved at his acceptance of the gift. Hed half expected the fugitive to toss it back at him with the proclamation that he didnt have any use for poisoned food, couldnt be fooled by such an obvious attempt, and Kilgore wouldnt much have blamed him for such a reaction, but was glad to know he would be eating, for a day or two at least. Wasnt gonna leave you anything, didnt figure youd like it, but man, you sure look like you could use a good meal or two. Things been lean this winter, I can see. Hope it starts getting better for you soon. I got to keep hold of the rest of my gear for now, but he reached into a pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, held it out to Einar, if you ever need a place to crash, just need a break from all this and somebody to take the watch for a few nights while you get some sleepeverybody needs that now and then, and you been out here for an awful long time, Im telling yawell, thisll get you there. The paper, when Einar unfolded it, turned out to contain two maps, one a large scale topo of the American Southwest, and the other a photocopied section out of a Forest Service map, much more limited and focused in its scope. He folded the map and tucked it away in a pocket, rose to take his leave but Liz, having decided that there did not appear to be any more need for her to lurk in the trees ready to loose her war club at one man or the other-she hadnt been sure there for a while which would be needing it, first--had materialized and was standing just behind them at the edge off the clearing. Einar motioned for her to join them. Kilgore, my wife. Liz.

The tracker nodded his acknowledgment to Liz, Maam, eyed her war club warily for a moment before turning to grin at Einar. Wife, yeah? Well Id call you a lucky man, you mangy old coyote. Lucky man. I know it. And youmaamMrs. Asmundsonhows life treating you out here in the hills? Looks like you must be getting along alright Spring is here. Things are good. Very good. And thats why turning to Einar and pressing a strip of deer jerky into his hand, lowering her voice, why I came out here just now. I got most of the deer done before I left, and I know your mind has been on other things this morning, but you need to eat. Youve got to eat. She offered Kilgore a piece of the jerky and took one for herself, and for several minutes they all sat there together in silence, softening chunks of the crunchy-hard venison and washing them down with swallows of lukewarm water from Kilgores canteen. A fine meal, Einar had to admit, and badly needed, warm sun on his back and good company if gathered under rather strange circumstances, and as he ate a bit of the strain began to leave him, the sick, tight, cold-gut feeling of adrenalin for breakfast after a long sleepless night, and he found himself wishing the moment might last awhile, the unexpected little reprieve from running and chasing and hurting and starving all the time. But knew that it could not. Kilgore finished his snack, rose, addressing Liz. Bet that stuff makes a fine stew, all boiled up. And light to travel with too. Looks like you really know your way around out here, maam, and Ill admit that you come across as kinda fearsome when youre out there slinking around in the timber with that club of yours. Hairs been standing up on the back of my neck all morning on account of you. Youll make it just fine out here, and so will that little one of yours. I wouldnt be surprised to come back up here in a dozen years or so and encounter a whole tribe of five or six little Asmundsons, all dressed in buckskins and soft-silent moccasins and slipping from tree to tree with their atlatls and dartshunting choppers with improvised crossbows that their daddy taught em to make before they could even walk, keeping an eye on all the trails from the high places up near the ridge topsyep, this up here is gonna be Indian country for those feds for generations to come. Generations, man. Maybe theres some hope for this country, yet.ha! Yep, some hope, looks like! Anyhow, Id say youve done real well, Asmundson. Maybe you were right about it being better out here for folks like us, simpler, everything boiled down to the basics and all the noise and confusion stripped away. If ya can keep yourself alive long enough to enjoy it. Now. Ive got tracks to make. Lots of em. See you around, Im sure. Not likely. No. And he was gone, big strides off into the timber as if to avoid giving Einar time to reconsider the wisdom of letting him take his leave--it was a risk, turning his back to go, everything about the encounter had been a risk, but it appeared, a bit to the surprise of

each party, that everyone might actually be getting out of it alive and in one piece-probably feeling the tingle of a potential atlatl dart on his back until he was well out of range. Watching until all sign of the tracker had disappeared, Einar turned back to Liz, who was giving him a funny look, one that he couldnt quite interpret but which made him feel a bit uncomfortable, nonetheless, and he squinted, looked away. Better get back over to the bunkhouse. Got a lot of packing to do so we can clear out of there before dark tonight. Sounds like you got a lot done with the deer? Yes, I worked on it all night, drying jerky and cutting up fresh batches to hang, but its not done. Theres still meat hanging up in a spruce that well have to deal with, and I doubt the hides completely dry, either, as cold as it was all morning until just a little while ago. Cant we stay there for just one more night, get some more of that meat turned into jerky, let you get some sleep He looked at her as if shed suggested walking down to town and having a barbecue out in front of the Sheriffs office. No! Weve got to assume hes gonna go straight to the feds when he gets down there and give them coordinates on this spot and that bunkhouse, both. Or that he may already have done so, and theyre just waiting to come in for some reason, getting things organizedI know it doesnt sound likely, but we cant afford not to think like that. And even if he doesnt intend to tell them, theres always a chance hell get spotted coming down from here, taken in--I mean, what else would he be doing in the area? The fishing story isnt gonna fly with the feds--and made to talk. I thought you trusted him. Some. I think. But theres not a living soul I would trust with a thing like this. Too much at stake. Well pack up as well as we can, head out before dark and see how far we can get. Werent going to stay up there too much longer anyway, so its not great loss. And the meatIll be able to carry my share, this time. Foot hurts but its a little better I think. Slowly getting better. Ill be Ok as soon as I get some more to eat. Which, Liz thought to herself, had better be pretty soon, the way youre starting to sway and sag now that the threat is gone. But Einar did not want to spend any more time up there on the ridge, so she supposed all further eating would have to wait until they made it back to the bunkhouse. Sufficient motivation for her to set a good pace and help Einar maintain it, because she had seen the cheese Kilgore gave him, and she wanted some. The baby wanted some. Well, to be honest, both of them did. As Einar and Liz retraced their steps up the narrow little trap-valley--it still irked Einar a bit every time he thought about Kilgore baiting and leading him right into that snare, but only a little, considering who he was--and over the ridges that separated them from the area of the bunkhouse, Kilgore traveled in the opposite direction, down towards the valley and highway. He had well over ten miles to go, and wanted to cover them before night, camp down near the river and do some fishing in the morning before returning to town for some scouting and planning for the track-laying operations he intended to begin

carrying out within the next day or two.

Though in a hurry to get back up to the bunkhouse--no need to travel carefully and conceal their trail just then, as Kilgore had already visited the bunkhouse and knew its location--Einar found himself unable to move quite as quickly as he might have wished, the cumulative effects of two nearly sleepless nights, his hunger and the miles he had put on his still-healing and badly neglected foot dragging at his steps and leaving him at times with little choice but to spend a few moments resting, forehead against a tree, sagging at the knees, until he could trusts himself to go on once again. Between these forced breaks he pushed himself mercilessly--needed the movement, had badly needed some good hard exercise ever since that morning after the radio trap when he and Liz had spoken--leaving Liz at times hard pressed to keep pace with him. They reached the shelter in pretty good time then, even considering Einars occasional short rests, and he left Liz up on the opposite ridge and circled it warily, listening, studying the ground and watching for anything that might be out of place before motioning to her to join him. Not that he would have necessarily been able to detect the danger, if it had been placed there by Kilgore or someone working with him, but Einar was fairly confident that no such thing had happened, that there had been no recent human visitors to the place. Coyotes were a different matter. They had been after the hanging deer meat, Einar and Liz saw their tracks in the soil beneath the spruce in whose limbs Liz had secured it, and she was glad that shed taken the time to prop the boards up against the bunkhouse door and secure them with a number of rock slabs before leaving that morning. Even so, something--Einar guessed it to have been a fox--had found its way in through a gap in a wall or perhaps even through one of the broken windows, and managed to pretty thoroughly demolish the remains of one of the deers hind quarters which Liz had left hanging inside. Not a terrible disaster, as she had already cut and dried most of the meat from it, securing the jerky beneath piles of rocks where it had remained undisturbed, but both of them were glad that they had not been kept away from the place for another night, knowing that they might well have returned to far worse devastation. Liz wanted to start a small fire to heat up a quick batch of stew for Einar--she had saved what was left from her breakfast that morning, preserving it by surrounding the salvaged Mason jar which contained with clumps of crusty snow--but he wouldnt hear of it, not in the daylight, crouched there gobbling great bites of the cold stew and restraining himself with great difficulty from devouring the entire pots worth. He needed the energy for the coming walk, but must not, he knew, eat so much as to render himself useless for all but curling up to sleep in a corner. Which he had very nearly done; it doesnt take much, when one is as far behind as he found himself that day. Liz, watching him eat, had cut and peeled the red wax covering from one of the little cheese rounds that Kilgore had given them, and was crouched against the wall beside him, taking thin slices out of it with her knife. When Einar looked up--the smell of the stuff had grabbed his attention, pleasantly sharp and very different form the scents there in the shelter--she offered him some. More fat in this than in that venison. You sure were right about spring deer being very, very lean, and Hildegard was demanding some fat. Try some! Which Einar did, though

somewhat reluctantly, having to force himself to open up his hand and accept it as the memory of the awful days and weeks after he had been hit with the bear darts suddenly washed over him full force and reminded him what it had felt like to sincerely believe all of his food had been poisoned, must be avoided at all costwhich he had done, and it had very nearly cost him his life, before he got it all sorted out. But that, despite its seeming nearness after the recent encounter with Kilgore and their talk about the darts, was then, and thiswell, this was the present, and presently, Liz was offering him a slice of what was in all likelihood perfectly good cheddar cheese, and he took it, and ate. Good. So very, unbelievably good. And he had another slice, mentioned to Liz that theyd better save the wax, as it would come in very useful in waterproofing things, preserving bowstrings and boots and such, but of course she had already carefully cleaned and folded it up, having learned over the past months that such items could prove almost infinitely valuable and useful to people in their situation, far too valuable to consider treating with anything but the utmost care. Glancing around the interior of the shelter, he saw that she had been thinking ahead when it came to the deers sinew, too, the backstrap tendon carefully cleaned and smoothed down on a flat length of board to dry and the leg tendons laid out beside them to dry, also. Liz had done well, and it pleased Einar greatly to see that she could, after having helped with it a time or two before, be trusted to do such a job correctly and without the need for him to remind her of anything critical. Gulping water to wash down his hasty meal of stew, he hauled himself through the low tunnel of a back door hed dug for the bunkhouse, got to his feet and inspected the remaining sections of deer that hung from the spruce, most of the meat in the neck and rib areas. They had a lot to carry, between the hide, the mass of jerky Liz had made, the blood hed collected when cleaning the deer, and the fact that he wanted to take along as many of the larger bones as possible, a rich source of raw materials for spear, dart and arrowheads, as well as broth-making materials. Not to mention the metal and glass implements they had salvaged from the refuse heap down below the old mine site. Well. Cant take it all, but looks like Id better get busy rigging a pack out of that hide and seeing just how heavily I can load myself down and still put one foot in front of the other, because Im sure not asking her to carry all of this. Might as well real quick see if I can lash together a pack frame to hold the hide-pack and some of the bones, come to think of it, because thatll let me carry more and make it easier to lash things down, too. But first, if he wanted to get far at all, he could tell that the foot must be tended to. It had been too long neglected since the discovery, that past afternoon, of the carved cheetah head below the camp. Removing the usnea padding that protected his healing foot-slightly crusty, the delicate mix of new skin and scar tissue covering some of the wounds had rubbed and torn during the frantic activity of the past twenty four hours--and washing the torn, weeping areas with berberine solution, he packed it with new padding, changed socks and decided to call it good, for the moment. Though some willow bark--he lowered his head, tried to breathe away some of the pain of tampering with the foot-would have been nice. Hurrying down to the willow patch--hed told Liz that he would collect the snares while he was down there, if shed finish cutting the meat from the ribs and neck of the deer--

Einar selected and cut three stout willows that were approximately as thick as his thumb, holding them up to his back and measuring so that the ends of the two long ones would extend from his hips to a point just above the nape of his neck when he angled them to meet in the middle. The third, which was to be lashed at the bottom as a crosspiece, ended up somewhat shorter, just slightly wider than his hips. Einar knew that, had there been no other option, he could have lashed the willows together with their own peeled bark or with spruce roots that he could easily dig out of the soft, loamy soil of the evergreen slope that stood between him and the shelter, but he knew also that they had plenty of nettle cordage and processed but uncorded nettle stalk fibers, as well, and that the nettle would be stronger and longer lasting than either of the two readily available alternatives. Tucking the willow sticks under his arm--hed peeled the bark from the their long, thin top sections, which he did not need for the pack frame, rolling the bitter, slippery stuff up and stashing it in his pocket for later use as a pain reliever, if necessary-he got himself moving again along Lizs trapline, searching for and retrieving the snares she had put out, and the pieces of the three figure-four triggers, also. The snares and traps were all empty, leaving him even more thankful than he had previously been for the deer. Making the climb back up to the bunkhouse, he spent a few minutes sorting through the things he had salvaged and choosing the ones that seemed most useful--the steel bar, now broken but still valuable, some smaller pieces of tin, the length of bent rebar, enamel pot and plate and silverware, several intact glass bottles and jars--before settling down to assemble the pack frame. Laying everything out so that the two long willows formed a tall-sided triangle with the shorter crosspiece at the bottom, he notched them so as to fit together better and lashed them in place with nettle, bending and twisting the frame to test its stability, satisfied. It was time, then, to come up with straps, which he cut in a single long, wide strip from the partially dried deer hide, wrapping it beneath the cross at the top of the frame and bringing the two ends down around the joints at the bottom, leaving them free to tie around his waist to secure the pack. Almost done. Taking a few minutes to work on what might have been considered a bit of a luxury, he wrapped the bottom piece of the frame with hide that he removed from the deers lower legs for the purpose, covering it with two thicknesses, fur-side out, and lashing the hide in place with a few loops of additional cordage. A luxury, perhaps, but he knew from experience that he would have ended up with nasty sores on his hips and backbone in pretty short order had he left the stick unpadded, especially with the amount of weight he meant to carry. And avoiding raw, infected sores on ones backbone is really, when you think of it, more of a necessity than a luxury. All right. The frame was done, ready to lash a load to and put on, and he spread the hide on the ground and packed it as well as he could, rolling it up and tying in places to prevent things falling out. The larger metal pieces and deer leg bones he lashed to the bottom of the frame, while the glass jars that contained the salvaged deers blood were carefully padded with one of the burlap sacks and eased in on top of the load, inside the pack. These jars were lidded with pieces cut out of the deer stomach and washed clean, secured in place with nettle cordage wrapped around the jar threads and tied in place; rubber bands might have worked better--heh! Jar lids would work better, but theyre all rusted away--but the improvised solution would, it appeared, do the job. The load lashed

in place on the frame, Einar slipped his arms into the pack straps, rose, tied the thing around his waist. The damp rawhide of the straps stretched a bit, but he had known it would. Not a big deal, since he had made the straps of a single length of rawhide. He could simply stop and adjust it later if it ended up sagging too much, tie it tighter around his waist. He was ready to go, as, he saw, was Liz, who had filled the burlap sack-pack with the remainder of their possessions and donned it. Feeling a bit sorry for her--he hadnt had time to construct a second pack frame--Einar determined to make her a frame the next time they stopped. The thing really did help distribute the load and take some of the weight off of the shoulders. One final walk-through of the shelter, and they were on their way, well ahead of sunset.

Bob had a new hobby, more dangerous, less profitable but more productive, in the long run, than his old one. For the first time in well over a decade and a half, he no longer had a crop of thriving pot plants to conceal and nurture that spring, though he had started a small vegetable garden, digging up a small plot in the sunny clearing in front of his trailer and enriching the rocky mountain soil with the bags of manure and potting soil hed picked up at Susans shop when he dropped Einar off. The plants he had sold to an acquaintance in Clear Springs, hauling them up there in the tarp-covered bed of his pickup one day. It had been an exciting trip, as he hadnt taken the decrepit old truck that far from home in years, and ended up at one point stranded on the side of the interstate for an hour or so while he puzzled out a what ended up being a clogged fuel filter, during which time a State Trooper had stopped to ask him what the trouble might be. Nothing, its all under control, Ill be rolling again in minutes, he had told the trooper, standing beside the raised hood and realizing that if the man looked behind him just then, he would see a cluster of telltale leaves sticking stubbornly out from beneath the tarp, but the trooper never looked back, not on that side of the truck at least, and minutes later, Bob was under way again, having re-concealed the offending bit of plant life. Along with the live plants, he had taken along a large stash of the previous years dried product--stashed haphazardly behind the seat of the truck, good thing the trooper hadnt been in the mood to do much looking around--most of which Bob and his friend had ended up smoking before he finally headed back home the next day. His last time, he was determined, to indulge in such. It was incompatible with his new hobby. With the cash earned in selling off his growing operation he finally got his truck fixed up so that it would be a bit more reliable, which was a good thing, because he was finding himself making an increasing number of trips to the outskirts of town at night, concealing the truck and circling furtively around the Sheriffs office, the local hotel where some of the agents stayed at night, the FBI compound, leaving random scuff marks and less random, limping tracks, the occasional bit of bear fur and once a bone dart head, stuck into the slashed tire of a federal Suburban. The excitement and the very real danger of it nicely replaced the thrill that he had got from constantly having to work to stay one step ahead of the law while running his growing operation, though he did make significantly less money at his new hobby. Rhonda finally left for good one afternoon, having put up with Bobs getting out of the growing business and his increasing unwillingness to join her for

a smoke only reluctantly and with the loudest of complaints--when hed given up on the serious drinking, shed declared angrily that he was really no fun anymore--but deciding that his near-constant nighttime wanderings were the last straw. Bob, completely absorbed in his new occupation for the moment, hardly noticed her absence. He had a little excursion planned for that night and was busily preparing for it, having no idea that he was not the only one who intended to be operating in the area of the federal compound, that night.

With the days growing longer as summer approached, Einar and Liz were able to cover several miles that night before darkness began setting in, Einar taking them on a careful course intended to minimize the sign they would be leaving, to break their trail in case either Kilgore might decided to come after them again or someone ended up backtracking him form the point where he went down to the river, an unlikely occurrence, unless he was being deliberately careless, but still wise to plan for. Though summer was definitely on the way it was not quite there yet, as attested to by the remaining banks of snow in the higher areas and shade-sheltered splotches of the stuff down where Einar and Liz traveled, and by the fact that temperatures still dropped off rather quickly with the absence of the sun that evening. With the exception of a single small plane that made its way lazily across the evening-dimming arc of blue sometime just after sunset they were aware of no low-flying aircraft in the area during their journey, a fact which Einar found most encouraging, and by the time dusk began fading into dark, he was satisfied that they had probably come far enough for that night. Behind them lay a good four or five miles of heavily timbered mid-elevation alpine forest, dense, brooding, not a particularly promising environment for anyone who might take a notion to attempt to follow their trail, which Einar was reasonably convinced that they would have broken. Unless Kilgore had changed his mind and decided to follow right behind them. Or had stuck a transponder in one of those little wax-covered rounds of cheese. But he didnt believe either of those to be the case, not most of the time, at least, and when Liz suggested that a particularly well-shielded little boulder-backed grove of firs might make a fine spot to spend the night, he made no objection. The wind had picked up with the setting of the sun, brisk and cold as it swept in long, sighing gusts down from the still-snowy heights, and both of them welcomed the shelter of the trees, the enormous windbreak-boulder that stood at the back of the cluster. The rock was a faded yellow-orange in color, more like sandstone than granite, from what Einar could tell in the failing light, and looked like an excellent backdrop for the evenings camp. Einars improvised rawhide pack straps had sagged some as they traveled but had needed adjustment only once during the journey, and the frame had performed admirably at distributing the weight. Einar himself had not fared so well, sagging quite a bit despite his best efforts--which were enough to keep him on his feet and moving, but just barely-and with the cessation of movement, having lowered himself heavily to the ground and rolled free of the pack, he found it all he could do to keep his eyes open. An unacceptable state to be in, certainly, seeing as they had just decided on a camp-spot and there still remained much work to be done before sleep would be an option, and he

remedied it by standing, stretching stiff, travel-weary limbs and starting up the back of their camp-boulder, claw-clinging to the little flakes and protrusions that marked its nearly vertical assent and jamming the toes of his boots--left one was more effective, in this capacity--into a narrow, jagged crack that ran the entirety of the rock face. Reaching the top--a good twenty five or thirty feet up--after one or two good scares during which his leg had cramped up and begun shaking and he had been reasonably certain that he was about to fall to the rock-scattered surface below, but had found himself oddly unconcerned about the fact, he lay on his back staring up at the evening-washed sky, panting for breath and waiting for the nausea induced by his too-rapid heart rate to begin diminishing. Climbing, he thought to himself, breath rasping dryly in his throat and the coming blackness of the night sky merging and blending oddly with the blacker, illdefined patches that were drifting and dancing across his vision, is definitely more fun when a persons had a few days of adequate food supply and a little rest before attempting it. But, I made it. Here I am. Now what was thewhy was I wanting to get up here, anyway? Right. Just to keep myself awake. Well, seem to have done that, and now Ive got a pretty great view of the country, too. Or would, if I could sit up. Which he could, and did, if a bit dizzily at first, the rock threatening for a moment to turn itself upside-down and spill him right off of its rough, sandpaper-grit surface to sprawl on his face in the damp rock and earth debris below it. But he held his ground, kept still until he was more or less steady and hauled himself up to hands and knees and then a low, hunched-over crouch before standing, swaying dangerously near the edge of a drop which would haven sent him crashing rather unceremoniously down into the middle of Lizs dinner preparations below, but he did not fall, stood sniffing the evening breeze and squinting out at the dimming landscape beyond the camp--in which he could hear, if not see Liz breaking branches for a fire--retracing visually the route they had followed, until he lost it in the deepening gloom. Good. Come a long way. The camp-rock, it appeared, must have had a narrow crack all the way through it--though the two pieces came together at the top--the crack that he had jammed his toes into for the climb going through to meet a similar one on the front side, because when Liz lit the fire, small, surrounded by sandstone slabs and placed directly against the rock surface, its smoke was immediately drawn up a channel on the front of the boulder and spit out in front of where Einar stood. Chimney rock. Kitchen rock. This fire should draw very well. Which it did, soon bringing up far more heat than it was smoke, for Liz had apparently chosen very dry wood, a good sign, and he knew he ought to be down there helping her with the supper preparations and scraping together a good pile of dry duff for their bed, but as dizzy as he remained--it didnt seem to be going away--the prospect of reversing his climb, and in the dark, was seeming a bit daunting. Goofy guy. Just go for it. If you splat, you splat, itll probably come out alright Which sounded fine to him, but the possibility of leaving Liz with his broken, splattered remains to scrape up off the rocks prevented his acting on it. Would kinda spoil her dinner So he stayed where he was, watching a few lonely stars appear and then a virtual flood of them, icily still pinpricks of light as the darkness became complete, listening to the wind in the firs and scanning distant, night-filled ridgelines and valleys for any flicker of light, any sign that they were not alone, but seeing none. The dizziness seemed a bit better and finally he rose, determined to give the descent his best effort, as the smells wafting up through the

channel in the rock--venison and greens and something spicy, almost mustard-like--were beginning to drive him very nearly mad with hunger. Liz was there, though, before he could start down, her form appearing graceful and softly glowing in the barely-light thrown off by the little fire as she finished her ascent and pulled herself up onto the boulders flat top. She had brought the stew with her, secured in a deer-stomach-lidded mason jar and stuck in her burlap pack-sack for the climb, and they sat together with legs dangling down into the spacious, fire-flickering darkness below, bathed in a warm, smoke-scented haze of rising air as they enjoyed the hot meal. Liz had, on their journey that afternoon, taken full advantage of the vibrant spring explosion of new vegetation, harvesting and stashing dandelion greens, spring beauty leaves, nettles and--the source of the spicy scent Einar had noticed in the cooking stew-the leaves of shepherds purse and wild garlic. The meal was something that they would have enjoyed even if their hunger had not been so great after the long day of travel, a treat under any circumstances, and they cleaned out one jar and started on the second, still warm, that Einar had been cradling in his lap as they ate against the growing chill of the evening, which already seemed to have found its way into his bones. Ive got a bed fixed up down there, Liz was standing, trying to pull him to his feet, speaking softly as if reluctant to disturb the hushed quiet of the evening, and I think its starting to get pretty late. But he didnt want to go, remained sitting and felt around for the spot where hed left his atlatl, found it, pulled it closer. You better head on down and get settled in, then. Sure was some great stew. When you get down there he felt around in his pocket to make sure he had the accustomed length of paracord, found it, Ill drop this line down there and you can tie my pack to it, throw all the food in there and Ill haul it up here for the night so nothing tries to get into it. Nothing much bigger than a squirrelll be climbing up here at night, I dont believe. She went down, rounded up all of the food and waited as Einar--nearly finding himself pulled down off the rock with the effort--hauled it up to safety, calling to him when the task was finished. Come down now! Its time for bed. But he had already curled up there in a little depression on the boulder-top, was lying there with the wind sighing and whispering around him and a burlap sack wrapped rather inadequately around his shoulders against the cold, fast asleep.

Being rather sleepy, quite ready to crawl into bed, Liz found herself a bit irritated with Einar when he didnt follow her down to the fire or even take the trouble to respond when she called softly up to him--it seemed unwise to shout very loudly, seemed that it might carry too far--but she decided that he must have his own purposes for taking his time like that, might need to further secure the food or just stand for a quiet minute and listen to the night, and would climb down and join her when he was ready. Which will probably be

soon, as little sleep as hes had in these last few days. Less than I have, for sure. But, the little one demanding she get some rest, Liz added a few sticks to the fire so it would still be providing some light when Einar came down, and crept into the good thick pile of dry spruce and fir needles that she had prepared for their bed. Making sure she left a good thick pad of the stuff beneath her as a shield from the cold ground, she covered herself over with more of it, tucking a couple of warm granite slabs from around the fire into the sides of the bed with her. Considering the summery weather they had seen that day, it would have been easy to forget the six inches of sloppy wet spring snow that had fallen just two days prior, but there was no denying the increasing chill that was settling in the valley as evening turned to night. Liz supposed it would probably freeze that night, or close to it. For somewhere upwards of an hour she lay there, drifting around sleep as she waited for Einar to come to bed and finally, warm, relatively comfortable and boneweary, drifting off to sleep. Some time later, stirring, she reached out for Einar, wanting to make sure he was staying warm enough, but she could of course not find him, sat up with a start at the realization that he must still be up there on the boulder. She did not know how much time had passed. Perhaps not as much as it seemed, and she lay back down, huddling in the warm, insulating needles for a few more minutes and listening for the sound of approaching footsteps, the scrape and scrabble of boots on the sandstone, but not hearing them. Once when the wind died down it did seem that she could hear breathing, just a few whistling, catching, cold-distressed breaths from the rock above her, but then the wind returned to sing through the trees, and she decided the breathing could have been a creation of her half-asleep brain. The thought of Einar lying up there on that cold rock surface--if that was what he was doing, and how could he not be, by then, as weary as he had seemed?--eventually convinced Liz to go after him, to do her best to persuade him to come down, and if he wouldnt, to at least make sure he wasnt in imminent danger of freezing to death, overnight. Which he probably was, if hed gone to sleep. She could at least take him his sweater. Making the climb up the back of the boulder, Liz crouched silently for a few moments as she searched the dimness for Einar, seeing their packs, but not, at first, him. There. Down in that little dip near the center of the rock, and he did appear to be asleep. Wasnt moving, anyway. She hated to wake him, assuming he had actually managed to get to sleep, but knew the cold would eventually be doing it, anyway, and saw no sense in waiting until he had grown mildly hypothermic or worse and would have to go through the process of getting himself warmed back up before he could sleep again. She didnt really look forward to going over there and waking him, though--hand tightening around her war club, which was, at the moment, decidedly a war club and not a rabbit stick--and decided it would be best for both of them if the task was accomplished through getting his attention from a safe distance. Which would probably mean getting out of atlatl range, but I cant exactly do that, and hopefully Ill be able to say something to him before he can get a dart off But just to be safe, she flattened herself against the surface of the boulder before gathering a handful of the little quartz pebbles that were quite plentiful up there on the boulders surface, freed by years of slow erosion from their sandstone encasements, and beginning to lob them in his direction. Liz couldnt see Einar at all from her low position, flat on her stomach on the boulder, but

heard, after tossing the first pebble, the rustle and slide of a person suddenly turning over on the rough rock, a faint scrape of glass on stone as he grabbed a dart and fitted it into the atlatl, and then nothing. Not moving--she knew hed hear her, probably be able to aim the dart fairly well even without being able to see--Liz spoke to him. Einar. Hey. I just came to see what was taking you so long. A sigh of released breath, the sound of the atlatl being eased back to the ground, and he was there by her side at the back of the boulder, pressed flat as she was. What happened. Whats wrong down there? You hear something? No. Nothing. Nothings wrong. I was just He sat up. Whyd you sneak up on me, then? A few more words from Einar, soft, muttered and a bit shaky with cold but decidedly disgruntled-sounding though Liz could not pick up on their exact meaning, and then a strained little laugh. Nearly sent me off the other side of this rock. The steep side. Well I was trying to not sneak up on you, but apparently I dont know how Just wanted to bring you your sweater and see if youre ready to come down to bed. Its getting pretty cold up here Not so cold. I was in bed already. And asleep, too, and now Im not anymore Kinda thought Id sleep up here tonight if its all same to you. She found him, hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees in an urgent little heat-conserving ball, felt the side of his face where it had been pressed against the rock, his shoulder--he held himself rigid in an attempt to halt the shaking, but it didnt do any good--and draped the sweater over him, got its arms tied around his neck. No. Its not all the same to me. Youre freezing. You know better than to sleep out on an exposed rock like this with nothing under you to keep it from sucking all the heat out while you sleep, and no shelter from the wind! You know that. You taught me that, so surely you have to know it, yourself. What are you trying to do? Now are you climbing down, or am I pushing you? Feeling rather contrary--I just was trying to do you a favor by staying away tonight, fixing it so you could get a good nights sleep, thats all I was trying to do here I think-he was about to say that shed have to push him, but refrained, supposing shed probably do it and not especially looking forward to patching himself up after such a fall, shook his head and began crawling stiffly for the spot where the narrow crack offered the best descent route. Scrambling down a slightly off-vertical sandstone surface, even one which contains a conveniently-placed crack, is not an easy thing when you cant really feel your hands, but Einar made it almost all the way down before finally losing his hold on the rock and dropping three of four feet to the rough ground below. Liz very soon dropped

down beside him--he was already on his feet by then, rubbing a sore knee and scrambling to get out of her way--and they went together around to the front of the boulder, where the fire-coals still gave off occasional bright gleams and flashes. Liz added a few sticks of dry fir wood, brought the fire back to life and talked a rather sleepy and somewhat bruised Einar into sitting near it with her for a few minutes of warming, before heading to bed. She had brought the deer hide down with her when descending from the boulder top, having stuffed all of their food and gear into the two burlap sacks, thinking that they could really use the extra protection it would afford them against the cold and the night breeze. The thing was mostly dry, though, had dried in the shape of Einars pack-sack, and she stood by the fire struggling to flatten it out, Einar eventually helping her. They ended up standing on the hide, flattening it against the ground hair side down and stomping on it to relax it into a configuration that would prove somewhat useful as a quilt. After being carried rolled up in the sun all day, the hide did not smell especially fresh anymore, leaving Einar to wish they were in a situation where it could have been hung and dried properly, or that he might have begun the tanning process right away. They werent, though, and he supposed it would last alright until they got to such a place, especially if allowed to air out and dry further whenever the opportunity presented itself. It being spring and the bears, he knew from bits of sign hed seen in their travels, out of hibernation and stirring around, Einar was somewhat concerned that the hide might encourage a bear to show up and give them trouble in the night, but he was too tired to worry much about it, taking the atlatl and knife to bed and setting a sharpened, fire-hardened spruce staff within easy reach. Come on, bear, if youre so inclined. More food for us. And they crept into bed, Einar fighting an urge to sneak away as soon as Liz was asleep and climb back up his rock for the night, but he won the fight, slept, not waking until the sky began brightening with morning. That morning the sky was overcast, temperatures not having fallen as far in the night as they would have had the clear weather continued, and as Einar stared blinking into the morning-lit brightness beyond their little cluster of camp-trees, he thought he smelled a distant hint of rain. Or snow. But it smelled more like rain. Leaving carefully so as not to wake Liz, he checked the fire to make sure it was cold so that no puff of smoke might end up finding its way up into the brightening sky--it was, had been for hours--and walked up behind the boulder to a spot where the deep shade had preserved a good-sized bank of snow, knowing that their water bottles would need refilling before they headed out that morning. In addition to the two empty Nutella containers that they had been using to carry water, they now each had a Mason jar reserved for the same purpose, a great improvement in carrying capacity if not as sturdy as Einar would have liked. He had an idea--which there had not yet been time to act on--for protecting the jars by weaving them a loose mesh carrying pouch of nettle or other cordage, making it a bit large so that it could be stuffed with a layer or two of aspen inner bark or even dry leaves as a cushion for the glass jars. A shoulder strap would turn the jar and carrier combination into an easily-reached canteen whose ease of access would encourage them to stop and drink more often than they did currently, when accessing the water meant getting into their packs.

Adding snow to both jars until they were full--the stuff had gone all hard and crusty overnight; guess it froze after all, good thing I didnt go on trying to sleep up on that rock all night, because tired as I was, I probably would have succeeded--he set the jars against the base of the boulder, stretched chilled legs and rubbed his hands together before beginning the climb. Liz would be wanting breakfast, and he meant to have some ready when she woke. The food had remained unmolested up there on top of the boulder-crows, he knew, and rodents, would have got after it eventually, but apparently not in the space of a single night, and Einar carefully lowered Lizs pack down to the ground below, where it landed very nearly in the remains of the previous nights fire, but not quite. This left him with no length or cordage long enough to lower his own pack--had the paracord been long enough to allow for it, he would have simply run it through one of the straps of Lizs pack, pulled it through and doubled it over, holding onto both free ends as he lowered it, so that the cord could be pulled back up afterwards, but it had been far too short--and though he saw that he could probably get it within two or three feet by employing the nettle cord with which he had bound the deer hide to the pack frame, those few feet would almost certainly be enough to break the glass jars that held the remaining deer blood. Not good. Best, he supposed, would be to simply go down and retrieve the paracord so he could lower the second pack properly, or even call down and wake Liz so she could toss it up to him--no, not doing that--but his inclination was to don the pack and climb down with it. Right. And end up breaking not only the deer-blood jars, but your thick skull too, most likely, when the weight unsteadies you and you come off the side of the rock Cold, weary and a bit indecisive, Einar scuffed his boot across a bit of lichen, florescent green, denoting its proximity to a site used as an outhouse for a pika or marmot, studied the heavily textured surface of the rough granite, stepped over and sat down in the little depression that but for Liz might have served as his resting place for the previous night. Final resting place. He shuddered, tried to shake off the shadow that he felt pass over him at the thought. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but you have to stop taking foolish risks like this. Like it or not you got two human critters counting on you now, and one doesnt even know it yet. He shook his head, rose, stared down at the still-sleeping Liz for a moment. Now get down there and haul the rope back up so you can lower the pack the right way. Which he did, finally joining the second pack down by the coals of the previous nights fire just as Liz began to stir. Breakfast that morning was one of Kilgores tuna packets and more slices of cheese, neither of them wanting to risk the fire that would have been necessary if they wanted to make stew, and Liz needing something more than a strip of jerky, since more was available. The unaccustomed variety provided by the tuna was welcomed by both of them, Einar wishing that it was a bit safer for them to venture down to one of the larger creeks or rivers so fish--trout, not tuna--could become a more regular part of their diet. Not a good option at the moment, not at all, but he did know that a number of the remote alpine lakes that dotted the high country were routinely stocked with trout most years--from the air; hed seen it done--and might provide opportunities, later. Breakfast was done, the last bits of oil cleaned from the tuna packet and the remaining cheese stowed back in Lizs pack, and Einar rose, began preparing the packs for their departure. Neither of them had said a word to the other

during breakfast, Einar because he couldnt seem to come up with any words and Liz because she could sense his need for silence, for a bit of distance, and did not want to intrude before he was ready, but when he scattered the fire-ring rocks and buried the coals, dusting the whole area with a heavy coating of spruce needles to hasten its return to a less disturbed-looking state, sat down and shrugged into his pack all without saying a word, she began to worry a bit, took a seat beside him. Einar. Are you Ok? Are you mad at me? Maybe I shouldnt have bothered you up there on the rock last night He still couldnt seem to get the words out, wanted to shake his head and turn away from her, keep quiet, but figured that would not be the correct response. No. You did right. Mightveuhwould have been a pretty bad idea for me to finish out the night up there, I guess. You sleep alright? Oh, yes! Great, actually. Im all rested and ready to gowherever were going today. Where are we going, today? Up. Figure we need to put some more miles behind us, leave Kilgore and the old bunkhouse in the dust and then start taking a look at some of the basins thatre hanging up above these valleys, because of them is gonna make us a home for the summer. Unless I get the idea were being followed, or we start hearing evidence of an air search in this areawhich possibility we sure cant discount, but I dont expect it. Kilgores gonna be good for what he promised, I believe. Hell turn the feds around so bad that before hes done, they wont know which way is up, let alone where to start looking for us. This is what Kilgore does. He loves it. Heh! He laughed softly, Id kinda like to join him for some of the fun, myself, if circumstances would allownothing like taking the fight right to them, you know, right where they least expect it But you can be sure that he wont let it go until hes got them all tied in knots. This may just be our chance, Liz. Get ourselves out of here, out from under them, settle down and stop running for a while. Which Liz thought sounded great, told him so, silently adding that if he so much as thought about sneaking off to join Kilgore inwhatever it was he planned to dohed have her war club to contend with. Einar, though, laden down with his heavy pack, foot obviously bothering him a good bit as he stood staring wearily if resolutely out at the surrounding countryside, planning their route for the morning, did not look to Liz at all inclined to drop everything and scurry off on some ill-advised adventure which would mean miles of hard walking and would in all probability end with his death. Which meant that perhaps she did not yet know him quite as well as she thought, because he was inclined to do so, wanted very badly to head right on down to the Mountain Task Force compound and stir things up while Kilgore had the agents otherwise distracted--the two of them could get an awful lot done, working together like that, he had no doubt--being restrained only by a sense of duty to Liz and the baby. Time to get moving. Traveling under grey, sullen skies they crossed over the ridge that lay directly beyond

their sleeping spot and walked for a time up a long, narrow valley, stopping for water at its creek and remarking cheerfully to one another about the abundance of nettles and violets--tasty greens; even the blooms are edible--and the thick, flourishing raspberry patches that were just coming into flower, promising a fine crop later in the summer. If things didnt dry out too much in the meantime. As he walked, Einar had been watching a high, raw-edged red ridge that seemed to be following them, snaking along over to the left like a living, conscious thing, and as he watched, he got to thinking that somewhere just below its barren, cut-off, treeless crest must lie basins such as the one in which he was hoping to find a home for them, but in the dimming storm-light, the ridge looked dark, almost forbidding. And then it began to rain.

The storm swept down cold and driving and sudden from the cloud-hidden raggedness of the red ridge that loomed above them, announcing its arrival first to the aspens as it set their leaves to trembling and dancing with the force of the rain. Einar and Liz quickly took refuge beneath the nearest cluster of evergreens lest everything they carried end up soaked and sopping--their clothes were already well on their way, after less than a minute of exposure to the violent downpour--pressing themselves against the trunk of one especially large and sheltering spruce as the full fury of the storm broke over them, huddling together against the icy spray that found its way in beneath even the ample protection of their tree. Temperatures, which had warmed some as the morning went along, plummeted quickly with the coming of the rain. The precipitation would fall as snow only one or two thousand feet higher, Einar knew, and he almost wished they were up there, as it is far easier to stay dry, and keep ones gear dry in the snow than in the rain. Especially when you dont have rain gear of any sort. They were not up higher, though, and it was looking like they wouldnt be going much of anywhere, either, for the next while, not if they wished to remain dry, or something like it. Which, already starting to shake a little in the raw, damp chill of the wind, Einar knew would be the only wise course of action, particularly since they were not being closely pursued, with a need to shake off a search crew. It seemed that they could, for once, hunker down like all the other half-sensible forest creatures were doing and ride out the storm in the relative shelter of the trees. The decision, though he believed it was the right one under the circumstances, ran counter to the long-established habit of Einar the Fugitive, who was used to greeting the foulest of weather with a fierce joy which came of knowing that it offered him perhaps his only opportunity to get out from under an active search one more time, shake his pursuers and have some chance at a continuation of life. If he could manage to survive spending the day drenched and half frozen in the wind one more time. Which he always had, so far, though at times only narrowly. Because of this long and seldom-violated precedent, it felt terribly wrong to him to go on huddling there beneath the trees when they should be moving, but he struggled to shove the feeling aside, telling himself that it made the most sense to stay. Liz certainly seemed to think so, already had her pack off and was trying to help him out of his, having kicked a trench in the duff and wanting to use the packs as the foundation for a windbreak. Looked like they were staying. And, if they

were staying, he could see no reason why they shouldnt try and shelter themselves further from the wind, get comfortable and perhaps even have a small fire so they could boil up some stew and tea, so he finally stopped fighting Liz and allowed her to ease the pack from his back. Sinking to his knees--pack had been awful heavy, a fact that he had stopped paying attention to somewhere along the line that morning and did not really notice, in full, until the weight was removed--he dug down through the layers of duff until he reached and scraped the black earth beneath, preparing it for a fire. Here and there beneath the tree were some large, flattish chunks of rock--something blacker than the typical granite that he was used to seeing in the area, but apparently related to it, heavily flecked with tiny mica flecks which glinted dully in the subdued light--and Einar collected a number of them, lined the small firepit and set some of the larger ones up behind it for a reflector. Not a bad shelter, as it was to turn out. Liz had, while he build the firepit, been collecting dry twigs and branches, and before long they had a fire going and were drying raindampened clothing, sitting there together warm and fairly well sheltered as the rain--it now contained occasional sleet-like slush pellets--went on around them. Einar was quiet, sitting there with Liz and sharing a tea of nettles and the raspberry leaves that she had collected on their way though the large patch a distance back, seeming relatively content but keeping his distance from the fire, appearing to Liz cold and very much alone, unreachable there pressed against the tree trunk with his arms wrapped around his knees, staring blankly out into the rain, and he maintained his silence so long that she started becoming concerned again, crept closer and wrapped her arms around him. She felt him jump and shrink away from her, could tell that he wanted to get up and move, was keeping himself still only with a great effort, but he did it. Wouldnt look at her, though. Whats wrong, Einar? Youve been so quiet latelyis your foot hurting you? Nah, foots Ok. Guess I justdid all my talking yesterday morning. Too much talking. Dont know what else to say. Neither did she, kept quiet--its Ok, you dont have to say anything else, I dont need you to say anything, dont expect it--held him until finally he relaxed a bit and put a reluctant arm around her, rested his chin on her head, and after a while she felt his tears in her hair. Why do you do this, Lizzie? Its not worth your while, you know But Liz had her own ideas when it came to that--youre not nearly as lost as you seem to thinkI know where you are, after all--as she did about most things. For a long time they sat there like that, so long that the fire burned down to coals and started to smoke in the wind that was finding its way in between their backpacks, prompting Einar to scrub his arm across his face and gently free himself from Lizs grasp, rising. Ahguess I better go get some more wood, or this fires gonna be irretrievable pretty soon here. Dont want that. Irretrievable is not good. And he went, was gone for a very long time and returned with a big armload of wood to find that Liz--no,

irretrievable is not good, but its not going to come to that if I have anything to do with it. Not even close, you understand?--had gathered a good many brittle-dry little sticks from the undersides of the nearby evergreens in his absence, urging the little fire back to life. Einar grinned at her, dropped his load of firewood in the dry spot just beneath the trees trunk. Well, seems like it must be about dinner time, dont you think? We better try and cook up the rest of this venison tonight, the stuff you didnt get dried, because its probably started to go a little past fresh by now. Yes, I was noticing that. Do you think its still Ok? Ha! Sure it is! Boil it up and itll be just fine. Probably even taste alright, especially if we add in some of that wild garlic youve been picking, some nettles. Getting hungry just thinking about it! Though the remaining chunks and strips of fresh deer were, indeed, beginning to get a bit old, they still made a fine stew for two chilled and rather hungry travelers, and before a premature dusk began descending over the rainy timber slope, they had cooked up and consumed three pots of the stuff. Dry and secure in a thick bed of spruce needles they slept well and soundly that night, Einars weariness finally great enough to allow him several hours of what might almost have passed for uninterrupted sleep, and neither of them opened their eyes until the sun, breaking joyously out from beneath the receding clouds, found its way through the spruce boughs that had sheltered them through the night. Together they crept out from beneath the tree to bathe their faces in the heavily slanting morning sunlight which was turning the meadow grass and the aspens beyond it a radiant, sparkling green, and after a quick breakfast of leftover stew, they traveled for better than two of those stunningly brilliant morning hours, meandering through the narrow valley as Einar looked for the best way up out of it. Liz ready for a short break and Einar wanting to consult the map, they found a meadow full of good sized basaltic rocks, black, warm with the morning sun, and they paused, each choosing a rock and allowing the sun to seep into chilled bones as they studied the surrounding terrain, the evergreens from which they had emerged down below them at the gently sloping bottom of the meadow, a little silver flash and burble up against them as sun rays fell on the narrow ribbon of the creek, and as she looked through the evergreens, Liz was greeted with the sight of a stark grey peak that rose ragged and snow slashed up out of the trees. It was not a tame, orderly peak of the sort which can appear to have smooth, almost geometrically balanced sides from a distance, but appeared instead to be a haphazard conglomerate of shattered and stacked granite and basalt, fractured, twisted, the lingering remains of some ancient--or perhaps not so ancient, as the disarray looked almost painfully raw and fresh--upheaval of the earth. The sort of thing that would get slapped by some old miner with a name like devils rock pile, and deserve it. The valley seemed to narrow even further just beyond the meadow where they sat, to head in the direction of that desolate peak and to pinch off somewhere up there near it, dwindling to nothing. Liz looked away, letting her eyes

wander up along the edge of the meadow where it swept over to her left, dapple green of morning light in the spruces, and then, above them at the top of the meadow, aspens standing in perfect white-trunked ranks, leaves whispering and gurgling faintly in the breeze, black timber-hills rising beyond them and beyond those, the raw, broken spine of the red ridge that had held Einars attention for most of the past two days. Einar was looking, too, squinting up at the black-timbered heights just below the spot where the ridge broke away to treeless, windswept red, and he saw something. Searching Lizs pack until he came up with the binoculars, he scanned the ridge until he found the feature which he had caught his eye--appearing just as he had thought it would--coming into clear view. A snowmelt waterfall, white-gushing transience of the spring months, was for a short space visible where it cascaded down over a vertical expanse of red sandstone, stark and foaming between walls of green-black timber, before disappearing again behind an intervening, aspen-topped ridge. When Einar closed his eyes and tried to shut out the whispering of the aspens, he was almost convinced that he could hear that water as it rushed and gurgled through the timber, plummeted down the sheerness of the cliff and thundered off through the jumble of rocks and slender, snow-bent steep country spruces beneath it. Seasonal in nature, he expected, at least in its present fury, but he also believed that the channel which contained the torrent would probably continue to seep and flow throughout the entire summer, or most of it, as the snow seldom had time to entirely disappear up that high before a new layer began accumulating in September. There. Up there, thats where were headed. It was good to have a destination.

Bob was laying tracks. With his too-large feet crammed uncomfortably into Einars boots--the oversized bear hide one fit alright, but its interior crusty with what he took to be dried blood, hed worn two pairs of socks to separate himself from the filth, making it a bit small, also--he was pacing the meadow just the other side of a sparse line of scrub oak from the large meadow that held the FBI compound. It was his third such outing, the first having been quite a success but the second, as far as he knew, having gone entirely and rather disappointingly unnoticed. This one was going to be different. They would have no choice but to give it their full notice, and when they did, the tracks they found would be Einars. It was dark, very dark there outside the harsh circle of light that now-since the aftermath of Bobs last little project--illuminated the compound and its grounds, and he was moving cautiously, slowly, keeping his eyes on the whitish, somewhat reflective surface of a boulder that stood over near a small cluster of evergreens, which was his current destination. Nearing the rock, he froze at the sound of a snapping stick, swung his shotgun around to ready position and squinted into the darkness. The voice, when it came, was gravelly, disembodied, seeming to come from the direction of the boulder, yet not from behind it. Youll never fool em doing it that way. Thats not how he walks.

As they sat there on their resting-rocks, Einar scrutinizing the land contours that lay between their meadow and the waterfall above which he hoped to climb before the day was over and Liz close to dozing in the sun--the immense weariness that had been her constant companion several weeks ago had diminished some, as had the feelings of queasiness that had once sent her running into the bushes at Einars mention of swampmuch stew, but she still found herself needing a bit more rest than she had, before--they were startled by a nearby and very urgent chorus of yips and howls that seemed to be coming from a the nearest evergreen slope, just above the meadow and behind its fringed edge of aspens. Liz was on her feet in an instant, startled from her sun-warmed reverie and gripping the war club as if to wade into the middle of the canine clamor and start bashing in heads, but when she glanced over at Einar, she found him still lounging against his slab of warm basalt, spear and atlatl propped beside him untouched, apparently undisturbed, grinning at her. Well, what is that? She asked somewhat crossly, sitting back down beside him. It sounds like theyre coming to tear us up! Nah, just a couple coyotes out running down their breakfast, I expect. They may have a den up there in the rocks, wouldnt surprise me. And as suddenly as the clamor had commenced it ended, the last high-pitched, echoing howl ringing off of the desolate, tumbled-down peak beyond the lower edge of the meadow and disappearing. Liz shuddered, having found the whole thing more than a little spooky, the sudden closeness of the outburst and its hungry enthusiasm, but reassured at the same time by Einars casual reaction to it. Though maybe I shouldnt be. This is, after all, a man who jumps on wolverines and wrestles them to the ground if he finds them messing with his food supply--so said the newspaper story, Ive never actually got him to tell me the story in person, but have certainly seen the scars--so it may not mean much that he isnt concerned about a pack of yowling coyotes! Though I know theyre not supposed to be a threat to people, really. They prefer rabbits. But that sound Einar was watching her, still appearing somewhat amused, but when he saw her looking in his direction he quickly wiped the hilarity from his face, folded the map, stretched and stood. See that waterfall, he asked, indicating the narrow streak of foam barely visible to the naked eye where it tumbled over the red rock cliff. Liz nodded, took the binoculars when he held them out to her. Im thinking if we start making our way up towards that drainage, the one just under the f alls, follow it up as high as we can and then cut off onto the spruce slopes when it gets too steepwell, it seems to me we might start to run across some basins up in there, up between the red ridge and the slopes, might just find one that looks like home. What do you say? Yes! I think we might. It sure does look steep up in there, but if we take it slowyes, lets go! He nodded, glanced around to make certain they werent leaving anything behind, and started walking.

Through the aspens they traveled, up the gently sloping, heavily vegetated ground beneath them, a two foot high sea of lupine, clover, bracken ferns, wild geraniums and fireweed--not yet blooming--ensuring that they could not pass without leaving some sign of their presence, a trail of whitish-looking, slightly mashed vegetation trailing off behind them to alert any who might pass by within the next few days. Einar, though not liking it, was not too concerned, though he did keep to the network of fallen aspen trunks when he could, using them as bridges to allow him to avoid the delicate summer vegetation. Balance was a bit tricky for him on the aspen bridges, his injured and still somewhat painful right foot proving a challenge when it came to such delicate movements, but he managed alright, Liz following along behind and having balance problems of her own, beginning already to feel the changes as her ligaments loosened up for the coming of the baby. Walking on fallen trees like that would not, Einar knew, likely be enough to throw off an experienced tracker or do anything more than give him a good little laugh, as the scuff marks from their boots would, to the experienced eye, show quite well on the whitebarked aspens. Fallen evergreens were no better--neither were most hardwoods, though there werent any, in the area--because their rough bark would flake and chip and leave clearer sign, still. But it still seemed better than trampling the vegetation, and Einar knew that as soon as they hit the evergreens again, they could lose anyone who might have taken a notion to follow them through the aspen woods. Had he been seriously concerned about pursuit that morning, Einar would have seen to it that they avoided the more open ground of the aspens altogether, and the meadow as well, sticking to the evergreens, but he had no such concern at the moment, and thought it reasonable to take the shorter route allowed them by the aspens. Beyond the aspens, things really began getting steeper. Keeping them to a network of old deer and elk trails as they switch backed their way higher, Einar held his spear ready, bola within easy reach draped over the back of his pack frame, and before they had been climbing for half an hour, he had spotted, tried for and, much to his chagrin, missed two roosting grouse that called the deep, cool cover of the spruces their home. Liz got the third with her rabbit stick. A lucky shot she told him, in an effort to preserve his dignity, more chance involved than anything else, and besides, there were too many little branches in the way with those first two, but he knew better. That girl is sharp. And besides--hungry, dreadfully hungry as his body fought to continue repairing itself even as he demanded of it the significant effort of climbing with that pack--he was a lot more concerned just then with the fact that they would be roasting a fresh grouse for their dinner than he was with where, exactly, it had come from. Einars improvised pack frame, which had seemed quite solid the day before and had done its job admirably, with the exception off the rawhide straps, which seemed in constant need of tightening under the heavy load, began giving him increasing difficulty as he climbed that morning. The willow bark lashings had become somewhat brittle as they dried, it seemed, unable to support as much weight as he was asking of them, and when one of the bottom ones failed on a steep, rocky section of that first ascent, causing the load to shift suddenly downwards (though not, mercifully, to come loose and go tumbling down the hill) unsteadying Einar and leaving him to lunge for the nearest sapling to keep himself from flailing onto his back with his head downhill, he decided

that the time had definitely come to remedy the situation. Stopping right there beside the sapling that had saved him, he waited for Liz to catch up, showing her the problem and searching her pack until he came up with one of the candle stubs they had used in navigating the mine tunnels. Bending the end of one of the tin strips he had salvaged so that it formed a small dish, he pulled a few amber colored globs of pitch from the little fir beside him, adding them to the dish and asking Liz to hold it over the candles flame. As the pitch began softening, he unwound the offending willow lashing, brittle, he found, good thing it had lasted as long as it did, and replaced it with a length of nettle cordage, adding some to the still-intact lashings on the other side of the frame and at its top. By then the pitch lumps were thoroughly liquefied and, working quickly so as to avoid burning his fingers too badly, Einar plastered the stuff onto the lashings, hoping to prevent their coming loose again. Dusting the cooling pitch with dirt to cut down on its future stickiness and giving it another minute to dry, he took off his heavier fleece layer-the day was growing warm, and he did not want it getting soaked with sweat to chill him later when they stopped--got back into the pack and hoisted himself to his feet. While it was increasingly appearing that he might have been aiming too high with his intention to reach and climb above the waterfall that day, Einar was determined that they ought, at least, to make as much progress as they could.

Reaching the top of an evergreen-covered rise and looking down through the somewhat sparser timber on its far side, Einar saw what he believed must be the creek that descended from the waterfall, the rushing, roaring whiteness of water that has a good deal of force behind it, and he decided that they ought to follow that creek, though not directly, as that would have meant trekking up over rough, slippery, spray-dampened moss-dripping rocks and over the myriad of small trees that seemed to have fallen and become entangled in and beside and even above the water over the years, many of their crisscrossed trunks soft and green with the moss of near-constant moisture, too. Interesting to look at, for sure, but it would have made for lousy and--considering the angle of the slope, which was toe-and-finger scrambling steep in places--potentially dangerous traveling. Starting up at a respectful distance from the thundering water, the two of them climbed among the tumbled, crumbling remains of a series of boulders and wind-felled, partially burnt trees, remnants of some long-ago wildfire that had swept the slope, and as they walked, Einar broke off and pocketed bits of charcoal from their scarred frames, knowing that it might prove useful before they next had the opportunity to enjoy the benefit of a fire. Which would hopefully come that night, but one can never be certain about such things--mostly clear with a chance of helicoptersheh! Isnt that the way it usually goes?--and must always be ready to take advantage of resources as they present themselves, never pass up on opportunities to secure things for future use. This was one of the primary rules of living the sort of life he and Liz were living, to spend each and every traveling moment looking at the world through the eyes of a gatherer, a scavenger, thinking ahead and keeping ones self continually aware of the fact that while a certain plant or type of wood or source of good dry tinder might be available in great abundance where you were at the moment, it would in all likelihood be nowhere to be found when you really needed it, when you life might depend on having it, even.

Despite its importance, Einar seldom consciously thought about this need to be constantly on the lookout for resources; it had long ago become so much a part of him that he did it almost without thinking, constantly searching and scanning the terrain around him for anything that might help maintain life, and Liz was learning, also, beginning to practice it with an almost automatic ease. The tangle of downed, partially burnt trees grew denser as they climbed, Einar realizing that the entire mountainside must have been swept by a major wildfire at some point in the distant past, twenty and thirty foot spruces having grown up since its passing and others whose bark had been scorched but had managed to go on living having reached an even greater height. Travel was terribly slow between the steepness of the slope and its jumble of tree trunks, some of them smooth, barkless and slippery, stacked three and four deep in an endless, leg-trapping jumble, and though Einar continued pushing doggedly forward for a time, balancing precariously from one sharp-branched spruce trunk to the next, he could see that Liz was having a difficult time keeping up. Wanting to get them out of the worst of the deadfall and onto some easier terrain, he searched for the best way out, only to discover that they were bound on the left by a series of high red cliffs, and hemmed in by the white-rushing steepness of the creek on the right, leaving the trees best option, unless they could manage to get across that creek with its bordering rock, watersmoothed, moss-slick, and fine better climbing on the other side. Resting briefly against a spruce as he shielded his eyes from the sun and stared up the slope, Einar shook his head, turned off to the right. Somebodys gonna end up breaking a leg or an ankle or something if we keep this up for too long. Creeks worth a try, at least

Bob crouched low against the white-topped boulder there in the treeline, shotgun ready, trying to identify the origin of the disembodied voice and to make sense of its words--youll never fool them this way--thinking that he would have expected to hear something quite different if discovered by an agent working perimeter security for the compound, but the did not come again, nor did any other sound that might have allowed him some hint of the other mans position or identity. He had figured out by then that the snapping stick over on the other side of the rock must have been some sort of ruse--either that, or the man was not alone--and was about to begin low crawling for a more heavily timbered area from which he might have been able to get a look at his assailant before slipping away, when he felt the insistent press of cold metal at the base of his neck. Hed never even heard the man move from...wherever he had been.

Navigating by the sound of the rushing, pounding water, Einar worked his way over to the creek and stood feet from it, balancing on one of the slick-polished rocks that bordered it as spray billowed up an dampened his face. The thing was a monster, white and foaming and more choppy, rock-spiked waterfall than creek, due to the angle of the slope, having swelled with snowmelt as the day warmed to preclude all reasonable thought of crossing. Not that Einar was necessarily accustomed to placing such limits on

his thinking; there was a log, he saw a log, a narrow, angled, barkless thing that stretched clear across the roiling, tumbling torrent, clearer ground on the far side, less deadfall if no less steep, and had he been by himself he would have loosened his pack straps and started shimmying across without hesitation. He wasnt alone, though, and when he looked back at Liz and saw the look of silent but resigned dismay with which she was regarding his intense interest in the log, he knew that he would not ask her to cross. Not when they had other options, which they did. Much as that slope of downed, tangled trees had slowed their progress--he was coming to hate it, to resent, almost, the repeated bruisings of trapped shins and wrenchings of his right leg which had not, it seemed, entirely regained its strength and resiliency after that past winters break--it had not altogether stopped them, nor would it, as long as they kept alert to where and how they were placing their feet. Back to it, then. And though he pretended not to notice, there was no missing Lizs relieved smile when she saw him turn away from the water. As the sun slowly climbed higher--high enough, finally, to begin peeking over the blacklooming height of the ridge above them and spilling down onto their slope, where they would have been finding the day quite chilly had it not been for the exertion of climbing-Einar and Liz struggled their way up fifteen hundred feet of deadfall-riddled steepness. There in the dim recesses of the small, snowmelt-oozing drainages that cut the slope from time to time, the lower branched of the spruces were draped in grey-green sprays and curtains of usnea, the lichen very nearly as plentiful there as anywhere Einar had ever seen it, and he grabbed and grazed at it as he passed, stuffing it behind him into a loose flap of the deerskin pack, and before long Liz was doing the same, stopping occasionally to harvest from an especially bountiful patch. When Einar tasted the tough, stringy stuff he found it to be incredibly bitter, not something he would have wanted to eat if he had any choice at all, but they did have other food at the moment, and he knew that the extreme bitterness represented a greater than usual concentration of the antiseptic and antibiotic usnic acid that made the lichen so useful for bandaging wounds and making a medicine that could be used as a wash or, if necessary, even taken internally to help reverse a number of potentially serious bacterial infections. And it would insulate and cushion sore feet every bit as well as its less bitter counterpart, also. Though he doubted they would have any of the current batch left when the time came, Einar knew also that pads of the soft, clean lichen had also been regularly employed by the Utes and other local tribes as diapers for their little ones--held in place with garments of buckskin or sometimes even rabbitskin--something that he supposed they had better begin thinking about and preparing for. Im sure Liz already has been thinking about it, but Id better be doing my share too, when it comes to these things. Would probably do her good to know that I havent forgotten whats coming up for us in a few more months. Six more months, or something like that. Well. Dont have the breath to bring it up right now, but Ill be sure and do so when we stop for the night. Which thought reminded him of the grouse that they would be preparing for that nights supper, causing him to press a fist into his painfully growling stomach in an attempt to get his mind on something else. Wasnt working, not at all, and he stuffed a recently collected wad of usnea in his mouth, its nauseatingly insipid bitterness quickly putting him out of the mood for eating. Even as he struggled with an increasing weariness and with a right leg that barely wanted

to function after the repeated assault of twisting and bruising that the terrain had subjected it to that day, Einar found himself almost enjoying the climb after a time, glancing up eagerly at the heights above and pushing forward with an eagerness and a lightness in his step that surprised Liz, after the way he had been dragging, earlier. For all of its often-aggravating obstacles and difficulties, Einar liked the place. Perhaps because of them, for the higher they got and the more of that hideous deadfall-slope lay between them and the easier ground of the valley, the more he was able to relax, knowing that their chances of meeting anyone up there, whether causal hiker--ha! Not much chance--or searcher would be very slight, indeed. The place was feeling more and more like home. Like a place that could potentially be home, at least. Now if only we can make it up to the top here without running into too many cliffs, and come across a little basin where the grounds not so steep that wed have to sleep jammed in behind tree trunks just to keep from taking off rolling for the valley in the nightwell really be getting somewhere! Tumbling down over a series of rocky, timbered steps, the roar of the creek was continually in their ears as they ascended, though softened at times by as much as five or six hundred yards of intervening trees. Climbing up out of yet another of the small, deeply shaded drainage-gullies that had crisscrossed the slope, though, the roar seemed to have taken on a different quality, deeper, more urgent, echoing and thundering and close. Leaning heavily on a nearby boulder as he looked up through the timber and caught a glimpse of red rock, vertical, or nearly so, through the wind-swayed tangle of boughs, Einar realized that they must be nearing the bottom of the waterfall. He took a thirsty gulp from his nearly empty water jar, rested for another moment, breathing, trying to slow the pounding of his heart, which had at times been disturbingly rapid during the ascent, leaving him to wonder whether it was more sleep he needed, more food, or both. Probably both. Taking a couple of deep breaths and swiping the sweat from his forehead he stashed the water jar back in his pack, hauled himself back to his feet. Knowing that they wouldnt likely be able to make their climb in the immediate vicinity of the falls--even from below, hed been able to see that it thundered down over a sheer wall of red rock--he wanted to avoid further delay by turning away from the creek right then and continuing the zigzagging ascent that he hoped would eventually lead them to the top of the slope, but Liz stopped him. Were so close. Lets go have a look at the falls before we climb any more! Maybe sit for a while and have a snack of jerky, or something Cant get up that way, its gonna be too steep. Yes, I know. I just want to see it, though. It won take long. Einar nodded, reluctant to waste the steps--sit for a while and have a snack, huh? What do you think this is, some kinda nature hike?--but knowing that, had he not been so travel weary and tired of slipping on those treacherous, ankle-turning tree trunks, he would have insisted on taking a look, himself. Glad she has the energy to want to go and make a side trip like that to see it. Might as well go along with her. And he was to be very glad, in the end, that he did.

The waterfall, they saw as they neared, was actually composed of two sections, the long drop that had been visible from the meadow far below, and a much shorter but still nearly vertical portion that descended beneath the rocky little platform which had at first looked to be the waterfalls bottom. There where they stood, having approached it and standing in awe at the force of the thundering torrent, faces wet with its spray, the water splashed off a jutting ledge of sandstone before spilling another good fifteen or twenty feet to the dark, rocky forest floor below. In the darkness behind the first drop--which was illuminated a bright, flashing white by the recently emerged sun--Einar saw a cause for investigation, being a critter with a natural affinity for the dark, hidden places of the world. Inching along the narrow rim of dry rock that ran behind the tumbling water, Liz following, he soon reached a spot where the ground widened, opening up into a sandy little alcove of dryness beneath a low, jutting ledge of sandstone, moss and the beginnings of the seasons watercress and a number of other moisture-loving plants making their home on the damp rock and soil where the constant spray of the falls kept the humidity high, at least in that season. As Einar explored the alcove, Liz began gathering the tiny, newly emerged leaves off the watercress, meaning it to go with their supper of grouse. Tucked far up beneath the rocks, out of reach of most of the spray, Einar found what he took to be a long-abandoned den of some sort, cat, it seemed, probably mountain lion judging from the teeth marks on the myriad of split, chewed bones that were still scattered about, though any tracks left by the big cat had long ago been obliterated by the smaller ones of the rodents who had since nested in the place. Gathering a few of the more useful-looking bone fragments, he stuck them in his pack, which he, like Liz, had removed and stowed carefully near the back of the dry area. Then, as he poked around in the dimly-lit recesses of the den, he found something else, too, a ragged bit of dusty, dingy tan canvas sticking up from behind a pile of rocks, and he crept closer, wary but curious. The sight of anything man-made out there in his territory would normally put Einar in mind of his pursuers, leave him convinced that they had been there and had left a trap for him, but the canvas looked so old, the area around the den so obviously undisturbed for months, at the least, and so far outside the search area, that he had little reason to suspect the hand of his enemy behind the discovery. Motioning for Liz to wait where she was, he crept in and got hold of the canvas, which was held fast by several large rock slabs that had been leaned up against it. Moving them, the first thing he found was a shovel, leaned up against the outside of the bag and so rusted with age and moisture that it was nearly unrecognizable, point and one side entirely gone. He set it aside, pulled again at the bag and managed to free it, long and narrow and smelling quite musty, rodent-shredded in places, dragging it out where there was more light. The thing was heavy, and clanked promisingly as he hauled it over the rocky ground. An axe and an adze, their surfaces pitted with rust from the humid air around the falls and their hardwood handles all but rotted away, but, Einar thought to himself, picking up and inspecting the tools, entirely replaceable. They had been wrapped in what appeared to be the remnants of a piece of oiled canvas, which, unlike the

shovel, had apparently saved them from serious water damage. That was it, all the bag contained, and judging from the apparent age of the tools, Einar supposed that they might well have been left by some long-ago miner or prospector who had intended to return for them, and had never made it, for one reason or another. Liz was beside him, then, and he handed her the axe head. Looks like I got no excuse now. Better get busy on that cabin of yours She held up the axe head, pictured it cleaned of its light coating of surface rust and fitted with a new handle--hope Einar knows how to do that, but I bet he does--her eyes glowing. What a great find! I sure would like to know his story, the man who left these here. What happened to him, why he didnt come backbut I sure am glad they were here for us to find! Now how about if we stay here a few minutes, and Ill get us out a bite of food. Einar nodded, stared out at the roaring water. When Liz turned around several minutes later to give Einar his portion of the jerky and sliced cheddar it was to discover, to her dismay, that he had got out of his boots and quickly shed his clothing, left it in a small heap there in the dry shelter of the overhang, and was already picking his way across the slick rocks to stand precariously beneath the pounding spray of the falls, face upturned and arms outspread like the wings of some crazy, emaciated bird ready to take flight, inches from the edge of the second dropoff. She was afraid for him, thought for a moment that he might be about to jump--or slip-and be lost, but he didnt, and hearing his exhilarated laughs and hollers as the water washed over him, his calls for her to join him there, she did, muttering under her breath that youre crazy, you know, totally insane to do a thing like this, even if youre not way out in the middle where the force of that water would surely just mash you flatbut here I come. As she got closer, having reluctantly parted with her clothing and footwear only because she wanted all of her clothes to be dry so she could put on several layers after being in that icy water, Liz saw that Einar had not been in quite as much danger as it appeared-when it came to falling, at least, the cold water was another matter, as far as she was concerned--a large log having jammed itself between two rocks in front of him, water spilling under it as well as over, the long-dead, mineral encrusted tree acting as something of a barrier between him and the drop beneath. Einar had, she saw, stopped laughing and was standing perfectly still but for the buffeting action of the falling water, hands together and eyes closed, and Liz watched him remain thus unmoving for what seemed to her somewhere upwards of ten minutes, as she stood with her reluctant toes submerged in the icy wetness where a bit of it was washing back and lapping at the mineral-encrusted rock just below the little dry spot where they had relieved themselves of their packs. Finally, beginning to worry about his safety there beneath the icy pounding of the falls and getting the feeling that he might never come out on his own, she worked up the courage to go in and join him.

The shock of the snowmelt water on her head, shoulders, the back of her neck was terrible, overwhelming, like millions of tiny, hot needles knifing into her, piercing her to the bone, and she felt like screaming, but it caught in her throat, she couldnt breathe, was about to rush blindly--and most likely disastrously--forward in her panic to get out from beneath the icy downpour but Einar caught her hand, held it firmly, and as she stood there gasping for air, the fierce, burning pain slowly began giving way to a deep, throbbing ache that brought tears to her eyes, and she didnt like it at all, couldnt catch her breath and wanted to get out, but Einar still had her by the hand and she made a great effort to stay where she was, a creeping, tingling numbness finally edging out the terrible bonedeep ache and her ragged, gasping breaths settling down, the feeling of raw panic subsiding just a bit. Finally she looked up at Einar, smiling at him through chattering teeth, her terror having largely given way to an exhilaration that left her feeling more alive, more present than she could ever remember feeling. Einar nodded, returned her smile--his was more of a grin, actually; she was beautiful, and for once, he was really noticing it--and she embraced him, led him out from beneath the water. By that time, after a good fifteen minutes beneath the pummeling of the icy water, Einars hands and feet had gone white, the rest of him varying shades of red and grey-purple, and though Liz had only been in for a fraction of the time, she, having less experience with such things, was not a whole lot better off. They helped each other, jelly-legged and shivering, back over to the dry spot beneath the ledge, shaking off as much water as they could and taking way too long to struggle clumsily back into dry clothes whose warmth they could not even begin to feel, at first. Knowing that they really ought to have some food Einar tried to get at the snacks that Liz had prepared and stashed back in her pack, but beginning to shake harder now that he was out of the water and starting to warm, was having trouble getting it open. Liz saw, helped him, and before long they were sitting huddled together there in the dry alcove beneath the waterfall, Einar holding Liz as they stared out at its roaring whiteness and shared a small but tremendously welcome meal of jerky and cheese. Pure contentment, as far as Einar was concerned, and he would have been happy to go on like that for a good while, but it was not long before Liz stood, stooped over there beneath the low ledge, to stomp her feet and beat her arms against her sides in an effort to generate some heat. Hey Imf-freezing and I guess we canthave a fire because itsdaytime. Now what? What did youhave in mind? She asked, sounding a bit frantic as she began feeling the after-drop effect that is common after immersion in water that cold, a further drop in core temperature that takes place when the cold blood from ones extremities begins circulating again once you start warming. It always felt to Einar like ice water running down beneath his skin, all over his body, and he rather enjoyed it, at least at those times when he was fairly certain he was not in any serious danger, but he could see that it was scaring Liz a bit. Which it need not have, as she hadnt been in there nearly long enough to be in any danger. What do you mean, now what? Now, we climb! Best way to warm up is to climb! Which they did, Einar going at it with a zest and energy that he had not possessed for some time, and Liz doing a good job of keeping up with him, the need to get warm

serving as a powerful motivator. It was looking like they just might make it to the top of the ridge in time to have a brief look around for those hoped-for basins--potential cabin sites, the high, hidden places that might offer them a chance, some chance at least, at finally being able to settle down for a while, the possibility of home--before dusk settled over the valley, the top, or at least pretty close to it.

Dusk came slowly that evening, creeping up the slopes and extending dark fingers into the recesses of the valleys that lay arrayed beneath the pair of weary climbers, overtook them, finally, the days last light spending itself in a golden-red display of soft alpenglow brilliance that highlighted the broken contours of the treeless ridgetop above. Though they were only five or six hundred feet from what Einar believed to be the top, he saw no reason to push things further that night, as it would be, just as soon as the last hint of alpenglow faded, very nearly dark. No sense in continuing to travel as the light faded, and in so doing perhaps walk right past one of the basins--if indeed there really were any basins--unbeknownst to them. And he was exhausted, legs leaden and dragging after the hard climb and the long visit with the icy waterfall, whole body feeling as if it wanted to go limp and spill him on the damp, wildflower and leaf-dotted soil, but it was a good sort of exhaustion, a blessed weariness which promised a good chance, at least, at a long night of restful sleep. A rarity for him. Time to be looking for tonights camp. Liz seemed already to have found it, though, was exploring a nearby area where several spruces had been blown down near an oversized, gentle-sided, green-lichen dappled boulder, creating the beginnings of a natural lean-to. He liked it, went to join her, easing the pack from his back when he saw that the spot left little to be desired. The combination of the well-placed rock and the windfall trees would serve, with just a little work and a few additional branches leaned in critical spots, as a successful windbreak, and the rock would give the additional benefit of reflecting some of the fires heat back at them. And the view! Standing just above the base of the rock, Einar realized that he was seeing quite a distance back down the drainage that held the waterfall, over low ridges of aspen and spruce, all the way down to the meadow where they had sat together that morning and listened to the coyotes chase down their breakfast. Beyond the meadow, enclosing it and making it appear tremendously small, isolated, rose ridge after ridge of black timber, climbing and finally terminating in the rose-lit starkness of countless sharp-edged peaks, wild and beautiful and appearing very nearly close enough to touch in that strange, revealing light. Wouldnt do, Einar thought to himself, to have a fire there where half the known world would be able to see its glow, but glancing down at the base of the boulder, where Liz was already industriously scraping the beginnings of a fire pit into the sparse covering of fir needles, he saw that the blaze, if they kept it small, would be well-enough shielded down there so as not to cast its light an undue distance. Nodding to the fading light on the peaks--an almost indescribable hue of mellow crimson, by that point--Einar gave a wordless prayer of immense gratitude for the nights shelter, the food that awaited their cooking, for the day and for its ending. The light was fading, and he was cold, hurried down to join Liz and help gather firewood for

their supper. The climbing had warmed Liz completely, but Einar was still thoroughly chilled by the time they stopped, rapidly growing more so as his level of activity slacked off, heels of his hands a shade of purple that he tried to conceal from Liz, but she could see the amount of effort it was taking him to suppress his shaking, the way he eyed his heavy wool sweater a bit longingly as the coolness of the evening began tightening its grip on their high camp. She teased him about it, mentioned something about how he just might have been better off with a few less minutes under that waterfall, and ended by offering him the sweater, a gesture to which he responded by playfully threatening her with a handful of crusty, slushy late season snow from a lingering bank near their chosen camp, saying that she looked a bit too hot, herself, after all that climbing, looked like she needed to be cooled off some. Liz dodged him, catching the thrown snow and tossing it back in his direction, feeling a bit remorseful when a good portion of it hit him squarely in the back of the head as he reached down to scoop up a second handful, falling in icy little chunks down the back of his neck to melt, adding to his shivering. He didnt seem to mind, though, just laughed and shook himself and went back to gathering firewood, muttering something about how shed pay, later Watching Einar wander off in search of firewood Liz could not help but notice the change in him, a definite lifting of the withdrawn, almost sullen silence, the distance and the deep sorrow which he seemed to have been carrying with him since their meeting with Kilgore, or perhaps since her discussion with him regarding how their paths had come to cross, so long ago. She had never been quite sure which incident had played the larger role in his distancing himself so from her, and had not wanted to press the matter. But it seemed that the happenings of the day--the only really different one having been his stint in the waterfall--almost seemed to have reset something in him, and she wanted to ask about it, but did not want to risk messing things up by delving into the particulars of it like that. For the time, at least, she decided simply to enjoy the change, hope that it would last. She had to wonder, though--a bemused smile creeping across her face as she began arranging sticks for the fire and swatted at the half dozen mosquitoes that seemed suddenly to have found her--if a similar effect could be achieved by her shoving him into an icy creek or dunking him head first in an alpine lake whenever he began seeming a bit glum, laughed under her breath and shook her head, thinking that sounded like a very risky tactic to try. Perhaps if things ever get particularly bad again, thoughand knowing him, hed probably like it, wouldnt be too mad at me, after. Einar was returning, she could hear the soft approach off his footsteps through the little sticks that lay scattered all around their camp, and she shook her head, got back to work, feeling a bit guilty for her half-serious planning and plotting in his regard. Found a big old blown down spruce over there and Ive got us a real heap of good brittle-dry branches, here! That, and some aspen. Should be plenty to cook up that bird, and keep the mosquitoes away for a while, too. Theyre starting to get pretty thick out there. Yes, I was noticing. Here too. And I havent seen any yarrow, but Ive been looking.

Einar was silent, not responding, and finally Liz looked up to see him standing there with his arms full of firewood, a silly grin on his face and the long, fernlike leaves of a half dozen good sized yarrow plants bristling out from beneath his hat, covering his eyes and most of his nose and leaving him to look like some sort of strange walking, moving treecreature, shaking slightly in the evening chill. Or perhaps simply in the wind, she mused, if he happened to be an aspen. She burst out laughing. Oh! Well I guess you found the yarrow! Mind if I have a few of those leaves? It seems Im being eaten alive, here. Einar dropped his load of firewood with a crash, began tucking yarrow leaves, crushed and oozing a strong-smelling juice whose odor was reminiscent of the leaves of domestic chrysanthemums, under the edges of Lizs hat and behind her ears, letting some of them trail down the back of her neck. The mosquitoes responded by backing off to a respectable distance, refusing to land on her face or neck as they had been doing before. The leaves would begin drying out and losing their effectiveness, Einar knew, after ten or fifteen minutes, but there were many more where they had come from, and the way temperatures had begun plummeting with the disappearance of the sun, it seemed that they would not have to contend with the mosquitoes for much longer that night, anyway. Having stopped swatting at her face, Liz was breaking the sticks Einar had retrieved, splitting some of the larger ones with her knife and preparing a good dense fire-cone, ready for lighting. Thanks! The yarrows helping already. Now how about I get this fire going, and if you want, you can sit by it and help me pluck the grouse and maybe warm up some, unless, of course, youre trying to impersonate an aspen tree in a good stiff breeze In which case, youre doing a fine job. Ha! Einar shivered, sat down, pressed his hands together to suppress their shaking. Howd you guess? Yes, its all part of my disguise. Good disguise, huh? Must be pretty effective, cause they havent got their hands on me yet! So you see, Im a bit reluctant to break my cover, but I suppose sitting by your fire and helping get this grouse ready for dinner would be a about as good a reason as any I could think of! Hungry, they made quick work of the grouse-plucking process--who cares about a downy little feather or ten when youre really hungry, anyway?--and got the bird to roasting, sharing a pot of hot nettle tea as they waited, saving the greens to eat with the bird. Which was, by that time, sizzling and spitting and crackling in the rising heat of the coals, sending off an odor that made the waiting a very difficult thing, at least for Liz. Would have been difficult for Einar too, had he been awake, which he was not, having slumped over fast asleep as soon as the fires warmth and his belly full of hot nettle tea had become sufficient to end his shivering. Leaning lightly on Liz, he woke with a start when she rose to check the grouse for doneness, scrambling to his feet and standing there a bit sheepishly, not liking that he had left her to do all the work of cooking their supper. Which she had not minded, in the least.

Supper eaten and their food tied up in the burlap pack and suspended at a bear-safe height in a nearby tree, they put out the fire and crept sleepily to the fir bough bed Einar had prepared for them beneath the deadfall, the boulder that held up the leaning trees having warmed nicely from the fire, radiating heat into the night. Though quite weary, they were not too sleepy to enjoy one anothers company for a while, staring up past the black forms of the gently swaying spruce boughs at a sky full of stars that gleamed brilliant and unblinking through the thin atmosphere of that high place, the wind whispering soft and joyful and jubilant above them as they finally drifted off to sleep. In the night the coyotes returned, distant, just on the edge of hearing, melding their hunting chorus with the soft speech of the wind. Sharp and chill was the wind that night, largely blocked from reaching Einar and Lizs bed by the boulder and the fir branches that Einar had piled against the deadfall spruces that made up their improvised lean-to, but occasional tendrils of it found their way into the shelter, whispering over the sleeping pair and prying at them with icy fingers, but never so hard as to jar them from their exhausted sleep, Liz, in response to the bitter incursions of the wind, just shivering and pressing herself closer to Einar, who, trembling also in the growing cold of the night, dreamt of the waterfall every time the breeze washed over him, and doing so, smiled in his sleep, arms around Liz. He dreamt of other things that night, too, mind already busy with the newly discovered axe and adze as he prepared new handles for them, felled a number of beetle-killed pines up at the edge of a small basin-meadow, the meadow, the one that he had seen in all such dreams, and they had been many, notched the logs for cabin walls, took off the bark and squared them a bit, preparing them, ready to begin building, and it was a good thing, too, because already the leaves of the aspens sang with a sharper, harsher sound, more reminiscent of rustling paper than flowing water, drying, edging towards yellow, the breeze carrying a bitter bite that spoke to him of the coming frost, and when he looked over at Liz, busily harvesting chokecherries on the far side of the meadow, he could see by the unmistakable bulge in her dress of fringed buckskin that she was, as they say, great with child. Yes, youd better get back to work, because shes gonna have a roof over her head before her time comes, and besides, it seems youre really starting to freeze just standing here like this, need the movement to warm you up. Which he did, limping over to the stack of logs that had been drying for the last month--foot hurt, felt almost like it was freezing, which made no sense, seeing that the sun was up and it was clearly not all that cold, despite a bonetrembling wind that seemed to be gaining strength as it swept down from the nearby heights--and looking them over. But by the time morning came they had both grown quite thoroughly chilled, pressed close together on the bed of fir boughs which, while tremendously soft and comfortable and having served well to prevent sore spots from developing on raw-boned hips and shoulders and to insulate them from the ground, had done little more than that in the way of helping keep them warm. The deer hide, neither quite dry nor quite large enough to really cover them thoroughly, had provided enough protection, just barely, to allow them a good full nights sleep, but had not prevented the cold from seeping deep into their bones, and Liz woke first, staring for a few sleepy moments out at the grey light of not-

quite-dawn, trembling, and she would have worried about waking Einar, but he was shaking, too, and seemed to be doing a fine job of sleeping through it. Perhaps too fine, she could not help but think, peered worriedly at his face for any sign that he was in danger, but saw there only the thoroughly relaxed peace of deep sleep. After a time, not growing any warmer and knowing that she needed to be up and moving if she wanted any hope of doing so, she carefully disentangled herself from Einars grasp. He had, she discovered, been sleeping with the knife in his hand once again--eternal vigilance is the price of libertyyeah, I would say so, and he certainly doesnt like to get behind on his payments, thats for sure. A good thing I guess, but kind of scary sometimes, I must admit--and she moved carefully, wishing very much to avoid startling him awake, gently pulled his hat down so that it would do a better job of keeping in the heat, eased herself out of the bed and tucked the deer hide in around him. He had not wakened or even stirred in response to her movements, quite unlike him, and it surprised her, left her at first concerned that something might be wrong, but he seemed to be breathing peacefully, wasnt feverish and did not seem to be much colder than she was, so she decided that he must simply be catching up on his sleep, finally, nothing wrong, just a lot of things going right, for a change. Not used to it, and he must not be, either. Creeping softly away over the slightly dew-damp groundcover of fir needles, she climbed up above the boulder that had served as their windbreak for the night, stepping out onto its lichen-dotted top, swinging her arms and rubbing cold-stiffened fingers together, hopping lightly back and forth from one foot to the other until she began feeling a bit warmer. Watching Einar in his sleep she wanted to go down there and get the fire going for him, but supposed that was a kind of help he would not necessarily appreciate, not knowing if they were far enough out yet to risk a daytime fire, but doubting that he would think so. She could, though, at least get their food down out of the bear-tree, slice up some of the leftover grouse--there had not been much, as a day of climbing and cold water dousing beneath snowmelt falls apparently leaves a person tremendously hungry, two people doubly so, and they were, after all, three now, when it really came down to it--and have it ready for when he woke, and she climbed down from the rock, went to do so. Only to find, upon returning to the lean-to with the food bag, that Einar still had not moved other than to tuck his nose beneath the deer hide and curl up into a tight, heatconserving ball, but she feared that he might not have too much heat left to conserve, at that point, decided that, much as she hated to do it, she had better wake him. The sun was nearly up by then, already falling in golden patches on the timbered ridges opposite them, and she could see that it would soon spill over the red rocks of the ridge that marked their destination, lending its warmth to their camp. Speaking softly, she called to Einar, who made no response, tried again a bit louder and finally ended up tossing a pinecone in his direction, hitting him on the shoulder and causing him to flip over so quickly to face the direction of the apparent threat that she found herself quite glad she had carried out the waking procedure from a safe distance. Reasonably safe, anyway, she thought to herself, warily eyeing the spear that had somehow found its way into his other hand. He appeared rather too chilled and befuddled to make much use of either weapon, but Liz knew that such appearances can be deceptive, called to him again and was glad when he put away the knife, grinned somewhat sheepishly at her and hauled himself to his feet with the help of the spear, shaking wildly.

Well, yougot me. What was that for? For waking you up, thats what. You were freezing. Yeah D-dreaming about thatwaterfall, too. Ha! Pretty good dream. Best night Ive had inyears. Or months. Days, anyway. Lot of days. But youre right. Time to get up. Cant feel mytoes anymore. What toes? All of them. Any of them. Which ishalf a good thing, half bad, I guess. Glad not to feel the ones on the right, cause they hurt something awful whenever I do feel them, but Id k-kinda like to keep the others, you know. So I need to he began stomping around there beside the shelter, trying to restore some feeling in his numbed feet but succeeding only in sending himself tumbling in a clumsy heap to the ground beside the extinct fire, picking himself up and leaning both elbows against the boulder for stability, kicking it in turn with one foot and then the other, over and over, need to get some blood moving here, I guess. Yes, let me help you. Which she did, attempting to rub some warmth back into him-the night had, she realized, been pretty rough on him; he felt like ice and didnt look much better--but that did not last long, as Einar, giving up on his foot-stomping, led her back to the bed, and before long they were both quite warm despite being rather less thoroughly dressed than before, and they lay together watching the ridge as the sun crept up over it and cascaded down the slope, brushing first the twisted forms of the little sub alpine firs way up near treeline, then spilling down across the spruces and the gently trembling leaves of the cluster of aspens just above the camp, turning them to a mass of translucent, shimmering green-gold, its light brilliant and warming and incredibly, unbelievably good after the chill of the night. Good times, for sure, better ones, perhaps, than he had known could exist, but they cannot last. And besides, it was past time for some breakfast. And then, the remainder of the climb.

Climbing in the morning sunlight up through the narrow band of aspens that lay above their camp, something caught Lizs eye, a little flash of color there in the varied green of the forest groundcover, and she stopped, lowered herself somewhat laboriously to the ground to discover its source and found a single ripe wild strawberry, beside it seven or eight that had barely begun turning color. She picked it, offered it to Einar, who had stopped to see what the might be the cause off the delay, but he could see that she really wanted it for herself, handed it back to her. Thanks. The grouse and venison has been doing the job and Im so glad to have it, but I sure have been wanting something sweet, lately. This will be just the thing! You know that box elder tree sap you mentioned before, that youve used in place of maple sap to

make syrup? Well, we really ought to try and put some up next spring, you know, use the jars from the bunkhouse or something, cook it down and set it aside to use later. Einar nodded, agreeing. Here. He picked a little umbel of long, narrow, widely-spread seeds from a nearby plant, the nearby flowers of another plant which hadnt yet reached the seed stage almost resembling Queen Anns Lace, only sparser and more widely spread, each under-ripe about the size and shape of a fennel seed but quite fresh and bright green, and handed it to her. Have some licorice, if youre after something sweet. Licorice? Really? No, not really, but tastes kinda like it. Mountain sweet cicely, its called, and youll also sometimes hear it referred to as anise root, though its not related to anise, nor to the plant that is called sweet cicely in Europe. But anyhow, the sweetness is so concentrated in its seeds that they were being looked at once upon a time as a possible source for a sugar substitute that could be extracted on a commercial basis. They apparently thought it would be a good sugar substitute for some people because whatever it is that makes the seeds taste so sweet actually lowers a persons blood sugar, so it would have been good for diabetics. I dont know if those experiments ever really went anywhere or not, but the seeds are always real refreshing to nibble on when youre up in the hills, I know that for sure. And if your eyes were still giving you trouble like they were after the snow blindness, we could make a tea from the leaves to wash them with. Its real soothing, mildly antiseptic, and that tea works pretty well to settle your stomach, too, if its upset for whatever reason. Roots are good and sweet too, you can just boil them up and eat them. But you probably shouldnt have the roots or leaves right now, or more than a nibble or two of the seeds, because I seem to remember something about the Utes and others using the leaf tea to help labor along, when the time comes. So seems like something for you to avoid right now. But the seeds are real mild, so Im sure a few every day wont hurt anything. Liz was already chewing one of the seeds, amazed at the intensity of its anise-like sweetness, tucking the remaining seeds up under her hat for future use. Mountain sweet cicely, yes, of course! Its one of the things Susan talked about in that note she left in my pocket, but I didnt know what it was. I had been meaning to ask you sometime, but forgot. Ah. Thats what her note was about, then. Plants and such. Part of it. Plants that she thought I should know about for later, for when the baby gets closer to showing up, and I ought to read you that section sometime soon, because Im sure you know all of them and could help me find them. But she mentioned the sweet cicely, using the tea during labor. Ill be real careful about the seeds, just nibble on one or two every now and then, because theyre so good, I could see myself munching on them all day long as we climb, and that probably wouldnt be good.

Oh, Ive done it sometimes, little things are pretty refreshing, but in your case, no, probably not so good. But we ought to think about drying some of the leaves and setting them aside now while theyre so plentiful, in case we cant come up with them later when you need them. Its a real common plant up here, but later in the summer sometimes the leaves start yellowing and dying back some, especially if it turns out to be a dry year. And yeah, Id like to see those notes Susan left for you, sometime. The plant ones, at least. Id like to see the note she left you, too Wellyes. Perhaps sometime. And he took off climbing again. Close as they had been to the top of the ridge when they stopped that past night, it did not take Einar long to realize that finishing the climb would be no simple task. The slopes above their little camp quickly grew steeper, rockier, soon becoming devoid of all but the smallest, most wind-twisted little ground-hugging evergreen shrubs, the taller firs and spruces left far behind. It made Einar nervous being out in the open like that, climbing up so far from cover should a low-flying aircraft choose that morning to pass overhead, but he knew that they would, at least, have a good bit of lead time on any such approaching menace, would be able to hear it coming some distance off from their position up there among the rocky ribs of the world. Unless it chose to pop up over the ridge on them, from the other side. Which is probably exactly what would happen, if something did end up coming. He shuddered, glanced over and caught Liz watching him, and he wanted to remind her once again what she was to do if they began hearing an approaching rumble--get in close to one of these bigger boulders, under it, if you can, or at least partially under, and pull the deer hide over you. Got it rigged on your pack so all youll have to do is pull that cord thats hanging down, and itll come loose, and then dont move, you just dont move until you cant hear it anymore, and whatever you do, dont look up, because theyd be able to see your face plain as anything here in all this dark colored rock--but he kept quiet, was sure that she had not forgotten the instructions from the first five or six times he had repeated them. It was enough. And neither of them had much spare attention to focus on anything but climbing, anyway, as the terrain had grown sufficiently steep to require, at times, the use of both hands as well as the feet in order to stay connected with the rock and avoid a nasty tumble. Einar had chosen a narrow, rock-choked drainage as their ascent route. There had been other options, but they had all looked either more exposed or steeper, all except one, which would have sent them across a large snowfield that remained un-melted there on the high flank of the ridge, a sure way to leave two sets of deep tracks that would have been visible to anyone passing over that place for days, possible even weeks or longer if further snow did not fall soon to wipe them away, and that had not seemed to Einar like a reasonable chance to take. So they struggled up the rocky little couloir, keeping very close together at Einars insistence, as he knew how easy it would be for one or the other of them to dislodge a rock with a foot or hand placement and send it tumbling down the steep chute below. Best that it not be given the opportunity to pick up much speed before reaching the second person. Rocks came loose, but not many, and none that either caused anyone to fall due to sudden lack of a hand or foot hold, or tumbled down to crack one of

the climbers in the head, and finally they reached the top, a place where the narrow cut in the earth began opening up and its steepness grew gradually less, allowing them to stand and breathe without first wedging a knee or an open hand into a crack and hanging on for dear life as they rested. A welcome change, especially considering the difficulty added by the overloaded and poorly balanced packs that burdened their climbing efforts, and they stood for a minute catching their breath and enjoying the wide stability of the ground before continuing up and to the right, where an apparent notch in the ramparts of red sandstone that otherwise loomed high and forbidding above them offered some hope at a low spot, a pass, a way through to the other side. The ground was very rocky there, composed largely of the splinters and shards of a thousand tumbled and broken sandstone chunks, sharp edges tamed somewhat by weather and the passage of time, but still bearing unmistakably the marks of their violent arrival in their current resting places. Scattered among the prevalence of sandstone were a sprinkling of granite flakes, mismatched remnants of some long-ago visit by a tumbling bit of the outcropping of that rock which showed white-grey and stark against the sky, incongruous among its neighbors of red, an intrusion, an anomaly. Fairly common in those mountains, which, in places, appeared to have been created when the spine of the world was grabbed and wrenched and sharply broken by some great force, the remaining ruins jammed together until they broke again and were finally fused under the pressure into a rough but enduring landscape--which, for all he knew, was precisely how it had happened--whose rock strata, hardly resembling its original form, was jumbled, twisted, habitually anomalous. Einar liked the place, felt right at home. But still wanted to get where there was more cover before they stopped for long, which both of them were feeling a need to do, after the long and strenuous climb. To the gap, then, and see if it provided them a way through, something worth seeing and hopefully descending to on the other side, and they climbed up between jagged, jutting, walls of red rock, up past tiny enclaves of stunted alpine bistort--Einar stopped and showed Liz how to dig a few of the roots, stashed them in his pack for later--tart-tasting, stubby-leaved oxalis and, wonder amongst the rubble, here and there the bright blue of a few alpine forget-me-not blossoms peeking out from beneath the shelter of a sandstone piece, where they had found purchase in the precious cupful of soil that had managed to come into existence over the years and collect there as it washed down from above. Finding, to their great joy, that the notch was indeed a notch and was passable--reachable, at least, for these can be two entirely different matters--they climbed up into it, up a great slab of leaning, roughtextured sandstone and stood there together between its soaring fins of red, staring in startled silence at the scene that spread out below them.

There was no way down. Not without a rope, not for two heavily-burdened and, in Einars case, still half-crippled travelers, at least. Below the rock-gap where they stood, the land fell away sharply in a series of narrow, broken ledges and nearly-sheer cliffs, descending thus for some two or three hundred feet before mellowing a bit, the drops giving way to a steep talus slope which, if they could reach it, would give them access to the forested bounty, a land green and rich with spruces and aspens, dotted small beaver

ponds and at least one larger alpine lake whose shape Einar could just make out through the trees. Well. A place I would like to explore, sometime, but were sure not getting there from here it looks like. Would have to go clear around the red rock ridge to access it, that, or find another way over with less steep access on the far side. Looks like I misjudged this place pretty badly, just looking up from below. Thought climbing up here would get us up onto the main ridge, but instead we seem to have ended up on some sort of a long, narrow spur, with that valley still separating us from the main ridge and the basins I had hoped to find just below its top. He saw the answer, though, saw what they must do, and it would involve some backtracking--they would have to descend back down the long, steep chute they had just climbed, with all of its sandstone and grey-white granite shards, down between the red fins and back out onto the main slope--but not too much. It could be done. Would have to be. Couldnt stay where they were. He glanced over at Liz, saw that she was looking rather dismayed at having worked so hard on the climb only to reach an impasse, but he just grinned at her, lowered himself to a sitting position there on the edge, legs hanging down over the drop. Looking a bit scared--the pack was making her feel as though she could easily be pulled over backwards and start tumbling back down the steepness they had just climbed, not to mention the prickling sensation she got in her feet just watching Einar edge so close to the abyss in front of them--she eased herself down beside him, sat staring out at the valley that spread itself green and lush and looking almost out of place below them, walled on both sides by steep walls of broken red rock and out-of-place granite. Looks an awful lot like paradise down there, doesnt it? Einar asked softly, still struggling to catch his breath after the climb. But just beyond our reach, as usual, at least for the moment She nodded. Were stuck, arent we? Stuck? Nono were not stuck. Stuck is when you been laying in the muck for five days in some stinking-hot swamp with the mosquitoes eating you alive and the skin starting to rot off your feet and your elbows and knees cause youve got no way to get dry, and you havent had anything to eat or a drink of fresh water since you got there, aside from a few drips of rain youve been able to catch in a big leaf now and then, and you havent slept in four nights, either, because you keep hearing these little noises out there in the sticks and its probably just the rain, cause the rain hasnt quit in a week, may never quit, and you cant be real certain of anything youre hearing with that constant dripping, but youre sure its them coming for youagainjust dead sure, closing in on you in that sneaky, soft-footed way theyve got and theyll probably have you this time, you can smell them out there, and you know theyre getting close and you know they know it, but you cant get up to do anything about any of it because youd probably get your head blown off if you tried, or worse, and there is worse, Im telling youtheres worseyouve just come from worseso you wait. And wait. Just lie there in the muck and wait, hope theyll go on by So. Were not stuck. We he took a long, quavering breath, held it for a minute and scrubbed the sweat from his face with a quick swipe of his sleeve, smiled at her a bit strangely, we are merely at a slight impasse. And Ive got a plan.

He had a need to move, too, a sudden, urgent need to be up and doing something, and he was on his feet, turning around and balancing precariously for a moment there beside Liz in the notch, looking as though he might topple over and be lost into the abyss behind him, but he got his balance somehow--nope, cant have me, not yet--started down the long, angled ramp of red sandstone that had been their access to the notch, Liz following. Wait! Einar, whats your plan? Come on, Ill tell you. But he was already gone, scooting and sliding his way back down the steep talus between the red fins, Liz hurrying to catch up so the rocks she was unavoidably knocking loose wouldnt have time to build up too much speed before hitting him, a nearly futile task, as quickly as he was moving. No matter, as he seemed to hear the rocks coming--heard her shouted warnings, too, apparently--was doing an amazing job of dodging them. She caught him, finally, where he stood doubled over and gasping for breath against a chunk of freshly fractured sandstone down near the spot where they had first climbed up into the notch-chute, the long couloir they had previously climbed opening up in its yawning blackness below him, and Liz hoped greatly that Einar did not intend to take them back down that. The climb had been difficult enough, their holds on the rock tenuous at best, and any attempt at descending the same could, she thought, end only in disaster. But Einar, fortunately, had no such intention, looked up at her and grinned, his breath still coming hard. Looks to me like we canwhew! Quite a ride coming down that stuff, especially once you really get movingwe can climb up around the top of the couloir here and up onto the main ridge without losing too much more elevation, hopefully get up there and follow it for a little while, look for those basins. And if it turns out there arent any basinswell, there may be a way down off the ridge and into that little hidden valley back there, and that place doesnt look half bad, to me. Not quite as secure as a higher, smaller basin maybe, but it could do. Possibly Sound alright? Yes, that sounds great. Lets give it a try. I really liked the looks of that valley Oh, if we do find a basin like Im thinking, well be close enough to pay the valley pretty frequent visits if we want to. Which we probably will, because Im thinking there might be a pretty good population of beaver and muskrat down there, lots of deer and maybe elk later in the summer too. But first, we need to go see whats up at the top of this ridge, if we can ever manage to get there! And he was on his feet again, swinging down over the three foot high rim of sandstone that they had climbed as they started up towards the notch, eyes set on the ridges summit, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was still struggling to get his breath, swaying slightly with dizziness and looking like he might well fall over and start toppling down the couloir, if he wasnt careful. Which he wasnt being. She caught up with him, grabbed his arm. Wait! Cant you just sit down for a minute, maybe have some water?

Nah, Im fine. Lets go. Well Im not fine. I need some water, and so does little Hildegard. And something to eat. So how about you join us. Just for a minute. Einar sat down, relieving Liz of her pack and fishing out her mostly-empty jar of water, retrieving his own, fuller, and handing it to her instead, along with some leftover fragments of grouse from the previous nights supper. He wouldnt remain sitting, though, danced back and forth from one foot to the other there beside the boulder that served as support for the reclining Liz, studying the ridge, the couloir below, a skiff of cloud that had just begun to show white and wind-torn on the western horizon, distant, and Liz rose, pressed some food into his hand, but he gave it back to her. Did I offend you back there Einar, by asking if we were stuck? Are you angry? I didnt mean to try and compareI didnt know What? What are you talking about? Here. Eat. I can see that Hildegard is hungry. And then we got a ridge to climb. I should have kept quiet back there, thats what. Sorry. Liz ate, wishing she knew what to say to him and finally deciding that quiet might be best, quiet, and then some good hard climbing, which appeared to be what he was anxious for just then, more than anything. And climb they did, up around the mouth of the couloir, up a steep, somewhat unstable slope of red talus within which appeared to live numerous pikas, the little rabbit-like creatures shrieking their disapproval of the intruding pair and darting into their strongholds of rock where they remained safe until the strange two-legged creatures passed, traversing the large, treeless cirque that opened up steep and covered with sparse tundra-grasses and the stunted but brilliant red of alpine paintbrush and kings crown there at the top of the couloir. Climbing, always climbing they finally reached a place where, near the top of the cirque, the grasses gave way once more to rock, the wild, broken rock of the ridges summit-edge, struggled and pulled themselves up over it and stood, breathless but triumphant, atop the red ridge itself, the one that they had studied two days prior from the calm repose of the meadow far down below, so far that it appeared no larger than a speck of green, brilliant, spring-vibrant green down there in the midst of the spruce-hills. Then, they turned around, found themselves staring out across the vastness of the ridge, wide, almost flat, high, angled mesa-land of struggling grasses, sandstone and quartz gravel, windswept, long, its soft, undulating red-brown contours marching off into the distance for what appeared to Einar to be at least twenty miles, swooping down and terminating, finally, in a chaos of snow covered peaks, and the sense of freedom, of space, of limitless country to be explored and known and lost amongst, mercifully, safely, joyfully lost, was very nearly overwhelming, even to a mountain creature such as Einar. And there, some two or three miles to the east along the ridge, in the direction of the peaks, the basins began, suspended high and green and hidden between a series of ragged offshoot ridges that descended at intervals down from the south side of the main ridge, and there amongst them, Einar knew, they would be finding at last their home. Or hoping

to.

Keeping, at Einars insistence, close to the jagged red escarpment that ran along the ridges sharply fractured edge--he wanted to have those red boulders to hide amongst should there be a flyover of any sort, felt terribly exposed out there on the wide expanse of the ridge itself--the two of them traveled to the east, climbing one slight rise after another and marveling at the slabs and pillars of red rock, some of them almost obelisklike, that stood at intervals on the high points, almost as though placed by human hands, monuments, markers, altars, perhaps, though they knew that no such was the case. Still, the rocky little outposts gave the ridge a special feel. Cairns, Einar commented, leaning against one of them and squinting into the distance as he scooped up a bit of crusty, pink-tinged snow that remained in the upright slabs shadow, melting it in his mouth--awful thirsty!--and staring at the ongoing march of rock piles as they lay strung out across the expanse of the ridge, signal-towers, waypoints, yep, cairns, placed here by the Almighty I guess, because nobody else has been up here to do it. Leading us home. And he smiled, following the series of slabs and towers with his eyes until they grew faint and indeterminate with distance, vanished, and he stayed there for a good minute, eyes half closed, contentedly studying the ridges contours, the faint green promise of the basin-lands that lay several miles distant. The next moment he found himself wondering if he might have been better off keeping the entire idea to himself, feeling Lizs eyes on him seeing the strange look she was giving him, being unsure how to interpret it. He did not realizing that she, far from disagreeing with the sentiment he had expressed regarding the cairn-rocks, was merely concerned at the slow, dreamy cadence of his voice, the odd dry hollowness she heard in it, and the fact that he couldnt seem to stand up straight for more than a second or two without seeking the support of either his spear or one of the rocks to keep himself steady. Facts which Einar had, himself, failed to notice. Or set aside as unimportant, facts of life which were to be compensated for as well as possible, while being largely ignored. He knew the cause, anyway, or would have had he been devoting any thought to the matter just then, was aware that he needed to be eating more, far more than the few bites of grouse and dried venison that had been sustaining him through his long days of climbing, supposed at some point, hed have to settle down and get serious about building up some reserves as his body was trying so desperately to do, but not while they were traveling. Not until he could be sure that they had, and would continue to have, plenty for both himself and for Liz. And the child she was carrying. Going without, picking his way along the ragged edge between subsistence and starvation, was a familiar mode of existence for Einar, something he could live with, more or less, but he knew that the risks of such a life to Liz and the baby--though she had willingly lived it with him and would again, if necessary--were quite real, was determined that she would get enough over the remaining months of her pregnancy. Which meant stretching and preserving their (at the moment) rather substantial supply of jerky to ensure that she would have a ready protein source, and being constantly on the

lookout for other sources of sustenance for himself. Not that he wasnt, already. Which reminded him. Time to get moving again, because he wanted, if possible, to get them down into one of those basins before night came, set up camp with enough daylight left over to get a few snares set out, in the hopes that they might be staying there for a while. Retrieving the little stem of saved sweet cicely seeds from his hat, he stuck a couple in his mouth--helped get his mind off of food, which suddenly seemed to be dominating his thoughts to the detriment of his ability to concentrate on anything else--continued along the ridge. Reaching the first of the series of basins just as the sun finished its climb to the top of the sky--when the wind slacked off, it was warm up there in the barely-filtered alpine sunlight, hot, almost, and Einar had long ago stowed away his outer layers of clothing-they inspected it with the binoculars, seeing that, while green and partially timbered, it appeared just a bit too accessible, too open and exposed, its far end losing elevation quickly and dropping down into what Einar believed, from the lay of the land, to be the large valley they had seen from the notch early that morning, and they agreed to forgo further exploration of it, at least for the time. Growing all around the rock they had stopped beside and down the steep slope towards the first basin were mats of smallleaved, ground hugging plants that looked to Liz as though they were probably evergreen. They almost reminded her of thyme plants, squat and springy and not harmed by being trodden upon, only their leaves were much larger than those of thyme, and not at all aromatic when she crushed one to smell it. What are these? She pulled Einars attention away from the basin beyond the one above which they had paused, pointing at the little plants. Those? Well, theyre kinnikinnick, of course! Bearberry. Indian tobacco. Never did smoke it myself--or anything else, for that matter--but I sure do like the berries. And so do the grouse and ptarmigans. You can often scare up a couple in a good sized patch of this stuff in the late summer and fall when the berries start ripening. The leaves are pretty rich in tannin, and some folks have used them to tan hides. Theyre good medicine, too, real astringent. The local tribes used leaf tea for bladder infections and such, kidney troubles--the leaves have a compound called arbutin in them, just like cranberry leaves-so it might be a good idea to take some of these along and dry them, in case thats a problem you run into while carrying the little one. I know that sort of thing can come along with pregnancy, for some people, and it should be safe to use this stuff for a few days at a time if you need to, but you shouldnt drink it for more than that, and most likely wouldnt need to, either--that arbutin stuff turns to hydroquinone when it contacts water, and it isnt great for you, in large quantities--because its pretty effective. And because of the tannin in the leaves, the tea works to help stop diarrhea, too. Wish Id had some last summer when I got Giardia But because theres so much tannin, you want to use cool water to make the tea if its for any purpose other than controlling diarrhea, or itll end up with too much tannin in it, and bother your stomach. Its the berries that Ive most often used, though. See how the blooms look like tiny little inverted cups, a lot like blueberry blossoms? Well, the berries taste a good bit like

blueberries, too, at least to me. Different though, somehow, and maybe even better! Theyll start turning red towards the end of August, and thats when they get sweet and good to eat, but if you leave them, the first frost will make them go purple. Thats when theyre best. Bears think so, too. Its known as bear berry for a reason! Youll see them just parked out in a big hillside of these sometimes, grazing away at the berries. They can be real plentiful, if you know where to look. Nice open slopes like these, facing the sun, and even under the evergreens if theyre kinda sparse and let in lots of sun. They seem to love Ponderosa pine forests, though of course you wont find many of those up this high. You can sometimes end up with several buckets full in just a few hours if you choose the right spots to pick in. Except that we dont have buckets, of coursebut Ill make us some baskets or something, and we can come back up here in a few months when these start ripening, maybe get enough to dry for this winter! If we find a place and get to stay, that is Liz was smiling at him, marveling at how he could go on and on about a subject when he really got going, while hardly saying a word for days on end at other times, glad to see him in his talkative mood once again. She had missed that, wanted him to go on, spotted a couple of small green berries and pointed it out to him. Theyre setting berries already? Hey, look at that! Yep, starting to get berries. Give em a couple months, and theyll be ready. But we better be moving on, because its not getting any earlier. Another mile or so, and we ought to be looking down into that second basin. Here, Ill help you get some of these leaves--might as well just cut a few stems of them rather than bothering to pick individual leaves--in case you end up needing that tea later, and well get going. Crouched there harvesting kinnikinnick leaves and enjoying the feel of the warm sun on his back, the brief respite from the weight of his pack, which had, though hed tried very hard to conceal the fact from Liz, been increasingly weighing him down over the last few miles, it was Einar who first heard the plane, distant but low and approaching quickly. Scrambling to his feet and heading for the broken rocks of the ridge-rim with a single hoarse word to Liz--quickly! Einar dived into the dark shadow beneath the overhanging edge of one of the great sandstone slabs, struggling hastily out of his pack and pulling it into the shadows, also, jamming a calved-off chunk of sandstone in front of it to prevent its tumbling down the steep slope below and hoping Liz would think would think to do the same, but she didnt, and her pack, balanced precariously for a moment there on the brink of the steep dropoff, tilted, rolled, began a sickening bump and tumble down the rocky slope as gravity took it, Einar seeing too late and Liz, grabbing for it, missing. Her pack, which still lacked a frame and was nothing more than a burlap sack loaded down with their possessions, after all, rolled quite well, gaining speed, and Liz wanted to go after it, would have, but Einar grabbed her, held on, no, leave it, theyre too close, and finally she pressed herself in beside him as the insistent buzzing of the small plane drew nearer, seemed to pause directly over their heads as the aircraft banked, turned, took off along one of the side ridges that ran down towards the beaver-pond valley far below.

Watching, they saw the plane--a little high-wing of some sort, mostly black and with a strange looking tail; Einar thought he ought to be able to recognize it, but the angle was wrong--turn again when it reached the valley, heading up along it, keeping low between the two ridges and climbing quickly as it neared the abrupt boxy cirque-end in which the valley terminated some miles up from its beginning. Up and over, then, and the plane was gone, having faded from sight in the direction of the peaks, leaving Einar and Liz once more in silence. It was cool there in the deep shadow of the rocks, cold, almost, the warmth of the ridge having been far more a function of the high altitude sun that the air temperature, and Einar shivered, realizing for the first time the extent to which the creeping chill had found its way up through the damp sand and down through the rock that pressed close against him from above, and into his bones. Not that it mattered. They could warm up later, once they were able to creep back out into the sunlight again. The important thing was that they hadnt been seen. Didnt seem to have been, anyway. He was reasonably sure, between the rocks solid shelter and the planes behavior, that they had not been spotted. Wasnt even certain, for that matter, that they were the planes reason for being in the area--it had not seemed to be moving in any sort of regular search pattern--though he had to assume that they were. Which changed everything. Settling down in a basin that close to a recent search area seemed a very bad idea indeed, and Einar prayed that the plane might not come back, that they might find it merely to have been passing through, so the area could still be considered reasonably safe. He was so tired, had been for days, barely even felt it until and unless he allowed himself--or was forced, as under present circumstances--to keep still for a minute, but it was out there, his weariness, stalking him like some huge, patient predator, waiting for him to weaken so it could sink its teeth into what was left of his flesh, his bones, his mind, even, knowing that eventually, it would do so. He knew it, too, knew from experience that it would eventually have its way with him, that persistent beast, had badly wanted to be somewhere safe, a refuge, a staying-place, if only a temporary one, before that happened. The thought of needing to abandon the ridge and its basins and completely clear the area before finding such a spot was a prospect he hardly wanted to face just then, but he knew that he must. If the plane came back. Which it did, traveling slowly along the ridge itself, having made a wide, lazy turn just before reaching the rise of the peaks, and Einar pressed his face into the moist, earthy-smelling sand beneath him, knowing that they would have to be moving on, trying but failing to find the strength within him that he knew hed need for the trek, pleading that it might be given him, if only for Lizs sake. He had to get her to a safe spot, a place where she could hole up and rest for a while, eat, prepare for the coming of the child, and he would, he knew as he lay there barely breathing with his face mashed into the sand as if desiring to become a part of it, keep going until that had been accomplished for her. Must do it, and would. Be gone, you buzzard. Looks like weve got distance to cover Liz had moved closer to him, seeing that he was getting cold and wanting to help, to share her own warmth if possible, as there was hardly room there beneath the rock to get into another layer of clothing or even spread out the deer hide above or beneath them for

protection. What do you think? Whats the plane doing here? They dont seem to have seen us No. And Im not even sure theyre looking. Not yet. Got to wait and see what else they do, how long they stick around and where they focus their attention. But either way, were gonna be here for a while. Too far from any sort of good timber-cover to go wandering around on the open ridge with the possibility that this thing may be coming back. We need to let it get done with whatever its doing, head out and then give it a good healthy chunk of time to either come back or not, before we head out. So you might as well have a snack or something, get settled in for a while. Ok. Are you alright? Are you warm enough? Ill make it. You? Fine. Just fine. Im sorry about the pack They wont see it. Good neutral color to start with, and pretty dirty, on top of that. Itll blend right in, especially where it ended up down there in the shadows beside all that broken rock. And aside from your water jar, I dont believe you even had any glass in there, so no great loss. Jerky may be pounded up some, cooking pot dented, but nothing irretrievably harmed. Here. I got some jerky up near the top of my pack. Take some. Eat. And she did, being hungry, as usual, offered a piece to Einar but he didnt respond, had let his forehead rest on the sand once again, looking cold, exhausted and very near sleep. Which was probably just what he needed, and Liz knew it, almost left him alone to get what rest he could and probably ought to have, too, but as they listened to the distant drone of the little plane and waited to start moving again, she began growing worried for him, decided that it would be wise to attempt to engage him in conversation. Einar? He grunted, opened an eye and looked over at her, slant-wise, before closing it again when he saw that her question did not appear terribly urgent, not, apparently, a matter of immediate life or death. Ive been meaning to ask youwhat you mentioned while we were sitting up in the notch earlierthat time when you were stuckwant to tell me about it? She felt him stiffen, turn away from her slightly, was almost surprised when he replied. Already did. Yes. I just thought since you brought it upthought maybe you did that because you wanted to talk about it Like I said, I already did. Thats about all there was to it. They eventually went away

ha! Found themselves otherwise occupied, to be exactI got out of there, andwell, here I am. End of story. It was no big deal. Ok. Though the way you were talking about it up there, it sounded like anything but no big deal to you. And of course I still havent heard how you got into that situation in the first place, with them trying to get ahold of you again, though I think I can probably guess. Why are you so afraid to talk to me, Einar? Why cant you just talk to me? She wasnt to find out, though, not just then anyway, because Einar, having rather suddenly decided that the threat there under the rocks was a good deal worse than the one posed by the theoretically possible return of the plane, had scrambled out onto the short grass of the ridge and was busy struggling back into his pack, anxiously eyeing the nearest cluster of evergreens, some fifty yards away, just downhill of where Lizs wayward pack had come to rest. His attention seemed to have been caught by something else, though, something off towards the far end of the ridge, and Liz scrambled out, joined him. Standing, it suddenly became clear to her just what had brought the plane to the area.

Even without the aid of binoculars the sheep were clearly visible, a large herd of bighorns spread out across the gently angled ridge top a good mile from their current location, grazing happily on the sparse spring grass. Squinting, wishing the binoculars had not gone down the hill with Lizs pack, Einar thought he could just make out the much smaller forms of a good half dozen young sheep, with, he expected, even more lying scattered about in the grass as they tended to do, dozing in the sunlight. That explained the presence of the plane, then, its odd behavior in following the ridge before dipping down of investigate the nearby valleys and basins, and Einar breathed a huge sigh of relief, thankful beyond words at the realization that the aircraft did not, after all, signal a need for them to keep moving, to abandon the possibility of taking long-term shelter in one of those high basins, as he had feared it did. The Division of Wildlife, he knew, often kept careful watch on certain bighorn herds in the spring when the little ones came, counting them, keeping track of how many survived their first few weeks of life to help them gage the future strength of the herd. There had been some variety of lung infection affecting the young sheep in recent years, something, if he understood correctly, that they had picked up from domestic wildlife, and the DOW had gone to extra lengths to monitor the herd strength, after it became a problem. Though the aircraft, its purpose now discovered, posed them no immediate threat, there was still the possibility for a chance sighting, which would put them back on the run again as sure as anything, and Einar, grabbing Lizs hand, began sprinting down the steep sandstone scree below their hiding spot, heading for the clump of evergreens just below her pack, meaning to be safely concealed amongst them before the plane could circle back, if such was its intent. The fifty yard descent was steep and fast, Liz barely keeping to her feet and finally resorting to taking the big, sliding leaps that seemed to be working well for Einar, wondering all the time how they were going to avoid leaving marks that could be clearly seen from the air.

Throwing themselves beneath the little cluster of trees and panting for breath after their quick descent, Einar tried to slow his breathing, listen, and it was a good thing, too, because the plane had banked once again, was returning, and he motioned to Liz to press herself in closer between the trunks of two of the firs, scant, skimpy things whose boughs hardly gave him the level of confidence he would have liked when it came to being sure of concealment. Here. Get in here, be real still and hopefully they wont see anything interesting. Wish these trees were a little thicker, but they were the closest cover I could find, and besides, we had to come down here anyway to get your pack back. It should be fine. Theyre not gonna be looking for sheep down in here, anyway. I hope. No, I guess not. Liz was breathless, having scrunched herself down as small as possible against the trunk of one of the slender firs, trying to be invisible. Why did we have to leave the rocks like that? Why the hurry? Plane was coming back, thats why! Werent we pretty well hidden under there, though? From the plane? Better than here, even? Einar shot her a half irritated, why-must-you-ask-so-many-questions look that she had not often seen from him, shook his head--yeah, you got me, oknow do you have to go and rub it in like that?--growled his response, since she seemed to expect one, through clenched teeth. It was starting to get dangerous up there. Downright dangerous, Im telling you. Had to move. Liz, whose question had been entirely innocent and sincere, devoid of the sarcastic intent ascribed to it by Einar, just nodded, supposed the source of the imminent danger must have been obvious to him, if not to her. Making one more slow pass over the ridge, circling, turning back and buzzing low over the backs of the feeding sheep, the little plane dropped down below the ridge and began following the large, descending sweep of the valley, its speed and course telling Einar that it was very likely through, for the time, with its mission in the area. For another several minutes they remained beneath the cover of the trees, wanting to make sure the threat had, indeed passed, Einar finally getting to his feet and making the short climb up to Lizs pack--you wait here, Ill be right back-whose tumble had been arrested by a cluster of red rocks. Inevitably a bit beat up from its fall, the pack had fared reasonably well, a small hole having been ripped into one side and the clink of broken glass when Einar moved it indicating that Lizs water jar had, indeed, broken--good thing it had been nearly empty, by that point--but the remaining contents appearing still in usable condition, when Einar hauled the bag back to the trees and checked. Rather than return to the ridge top just then with the possibility of the plane coming back,

Einar opted instead to take them up and over the steep-sided offshoot-ridge that separated one basin from another, likely to be a difficult climb, he could see, but at least the route offered some cover in the form of the occasional patch of stunted, wind-twisted, rockclinging high altitude firs and spruces, the chance to avoid open ground well worth the potential challenges of the climb. Or so he hoped. The second basin, when they finally stood staring down at it through the broken rock and scraggly, ground-hugging fir mats of the little side ridge that had separated it from their hiding place, appeared far more promising than had the first, its far edge well defined as if the entire thing had been scooped out from the earth with a giant spoon, the resulting bowl having, it appeared, served to trap some water in the form of a small, clear, grassedged alpine tarn on the edge of a meadow on the far side of the basin, just before the drop of its rocky and well-timbered rim, where the spruces fell away dark and dense and unbroken to the valley far, far below. The basin itself was more timber than meadow, which suited Einar just fine, jutting outcroppings of a grey-white granite-like rock showing their gnarly tops through the trees both on their side and on the far one, a series of small, green-clad meadows dotting the lower ground of the basins center, separated from one another by small bands and clusters of aspens, still clad in their vibrantly bright spring green up at that high elevation. Banks of snow, stratified with red-brown, windblown ridge dust, still a good four or five feet deep on their edges despite the recent warmth of the weather, lingered in the deep shadows of the rock outcroppings on the far side of the basin, feeding a series of small snowmelt rivulets and, ultimately, the tarn and the larger creek which descended from it, dropping down through the steep timber beyond the rim. Water, and plenty of it, both for their use and to make the place more attractive to the deer and elk--and sheep! Dont forget them, and even if they dont wander down into the basin, well, I sure know where to go look for them--whose meat would help sustain them through the summer and give them a head start on preparing for the winter to come. Aside from its greater prevalence of timbered ground, the basin was reminding him a good bit of the one--far on the other side of the river and highway--that he and Liz had studied together from the high cliffs just over a month prior, and which, having reached by the perilous nighttime descent of the avalanche-prone spine-ridge and found it to be good, they had imagined might serve as their home for years to come. It had not happened, of course, not that time, the loss of Einars last two toes and his subsequent weakness and inability to be of much help on the trapline for a while--though not for lack of trying--combined with what seemed to have been a constant need on Lizs part for good quantities of food--they hadnt known the reason, then, but certainly did now!-ultimately driving them to abandon the place and seek food in the lower valleys. A mistake, perhaps, and one they had been paying for ever since, with Lizs capture and their subsequent escape through the tunnels above Susans house, the days and weeks of peril and hardship and running necessitated by the escape. Einar glanced over at Liz, caught her eye and grinned, taking in a great breath of the gentle, fir-scented air that rose on the breeze from the basin. Looking an awful lot like home down there, isnt it? And they started down the slope together. Never hurts to hope, anyway. Got to hope

 Crouched there in the meadow just beyond the floodlit glow of the FBI compound grounds, Bob and his assailant remained where they were for what seemed to Bob like a full minute but was more likely mere seconds, and then suddenly the other man was gone, breaking contact and disappearing like a shadow into the nearby meadow grass, Bobs shotgun, small daypack and backup knife going with him. He had, apparently, cut the pack straps just where they joined the pack to the sides of Bobs neck, freeing it, and Bob sat there for a moment, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the nearby aspen leaves and trying to figure which direction the man had gone. He was mad, didnt like being stolen from, and meant to have that pack back. Needed it back. Not only did it contain the essential tools of the trade for his new hobby--fed baiting, he liked to call it-but held items which, in the wrong hands, could be used to easily and irrefutably tie him to the fugitive, Asmundson, and land him a minimum of ten years hard federal time. Only Id never get off that easy, because theyd bring my past occupation into itor try, anyway, dig up local witnesses and call on them, try to prove prior bad acts and all of that, and theyd probably end up nailing me for providing material support to a terrorist, or heck, why not accessory to murder, terrorism and use of weapons of mass destruction? Yep, thats how it would go. So, he had to secure the return of that pack. One way or another. But the thief wasnt talking, and Bob couldnt see a thing, staring as he was in the direction of the federal floodlights over on the far side of the trees, their glow nearly blinding him. It was in that direction--calculated action, Im pretty sure--that his assailant had seemed to disappear, though the gently waving forms of the meadow grass and about-to-bloom fireweed and the still, stolid skeletons of the few long-dead, grass fire-scorched sages that still lingered in the meadow were telling no tales, and he could not be sure. Then the man cleared his throat, right there behind Bob, and very close by. Who are you? Bob growled, dropping to the ground and attempting to creep stealthily off to one side by a foot or so in the hopes that his exact position had not been seen, but knowing there was little hope of it, as his substantial form would have been silhouetted quite clearly in the floodlight-glow from the compound. Never mind who I am. Doesnt matter who I am. I by whats in your pack that youre just the guy I was looking for, and thats what matters, here. Now. You see those trees over there? The spruces, with the compound lights just showing on their tops? Bob did see, had been eyeing the treeline with great interest, actually, knowing that if he could somehow cross the meadow and reach it, he would have a far greater chance of slipping away from the man than he had out there in the meadow, but not wanting to do it without his pack, said nothing. Which the man took to be assent. Ok then, you get up real slow, hands on your head, and start walking for those trees. You may not be able to see me but I can see you, and Im not in the mood for any funny business. Way too close to that hive of feds for any funny business. So youd be wise to walk real straight and real slow, and stop beside the big black boulder youll find just this side of the trees.

Bob knew the rock, had several times observed the compound from atop it, and, still unable to see his assailant and knowing the man possessed all of the firepower at the moment, he began walking.

Hurrying down into the basin and the protection of its dense timber against the potential return of the small plane, Einar and Liz made their way through a thick tangle of spruces, riddled with fallen trees, both recent and long dead, which suggested the occasional sweep of incredibly strong, sudden winds through the place. The tangle of downed timber also acted to slow their progress as they clambered over occasional, leg-trapping stacks and piles of the trees, Liz seeing obstacles to be met and conquered--and carefully, too, for her balance seemed a bit less sure every day--but Einar seeing a ready source of firewood, cabin-logs, lodge-poles, materials to construct bear-sized deadfall, if need be, a great bounty of resources that would help provide for their shelter and sustenance. Reaching at last the first of the series of small meadows down near the basins low point, they were pleased to see the newly-opened yellow of hundreds of avalanche lilies dotting the short grass where a snow bank had only within the past week or so finished receding, its recent presence belied by the fine, web-like network of snow-mold that still lay spread across the ground. Yet another easily-obtained food source. The place was looking more attractive all the time. Einar wanted to stop right then and there and dig as many of the lilies as they could within a reasonable amount of time, take the bulbs and steam them at that nights camp and dry them in the sun the following day, but Liz took him by the hand, urged him to leave the task for later. Lets explore first! We just got here, and I want to see the lake, the other meadows, who knows what else well find? Were home, you said it. We can come back here and dig the lilies later. Tomorrow. The day after. And Einar went, but he did not share Lizs confidence, had been sure he was home too many times--only to have circumstances force a hasty move--to be certain of their staying in the basin, but he hoped. Liked the place, saw a lot of potential in it, and was, like Liz, anxious to explore its possibilities, to search for a shelter-spot that could serve them for the night and one which might perhaps later provide the site for a more permanent shelter. Down through the descending series of meadows they went, following a little creek which ran silent and calm-surfaced and black-bottomed through its neatly-cut channel in the soft, dew-jeweled green of the short alpine grass, winding and meandering and looking like a great river in miniature, its calm surface going to a singing, foaming white when it dropped suddenly over a low rocky precipice, clattering away into the renewed silence of the lower meadow beneath. Picking their way down through the rocks, slick and slightly treacherous with a lively covering of moss that spoke of a constant supply of wetness, Einar and Liz surprised a marmot that had been sunning itself on the dry top of one of the higher rocks, its shrill warning shriek echoing off of the low granite cliffs on the basins far side. Down there in the lowest of the small meadows they came upon the tarn that had been visible from above. Set down in a rocky little bowl, its water a deep grey-blue, well over half of the little lakes surface remained covered with lingering ice from the recently

ended winter, leading Einar to want very much to shed his pack and wade in at the sight of it. Which he did not do, the need to complete their preliminary explorations taking first priority. The ice, clear evidence that the tarn froze over and likely even froze solid during the winter, eliminated all hopes Einar might have had of finding fish in the tarn; it seemed unlikely that the Forest Service would go to the trouble of stocking so small and remote a pond. Unfortunate, but no great loss, as they would, if they stayed, have reasonably easy access to the large creek and series of ponds down in the large valley below. After a brief walk along the perimeter of the tarn, they started up along the far side of the basin, Einar anxious to have a look at the granite outcroppings they had seen from above. It was to be a while before they made it up to the rocks, however.

Down there along the edge of the meadow just above the tarn, Lizs eye was caught by a tiny flash of red beneath the short meadow grass and she stooped, parted the leaves, found a small cluster of wild strawberries, most of them quite ripe. Down on her hands and knees she picked them, saw more from that vantage point and crept around the edge of the meadow, filling her hand and dumping it into her hat so that she could start again. Einar, seeing that she had found a good thing and wanting to let her take advantage of it-the berries, unlike the avalanche lily roots, would not wait; the currently ripe ones likely either being on their way to rotting or in the stomach of a mouse or chipmunk by the following morning--suggested that he go finish a quick reconnaissance of the basin while she gathered the berries. A fine idea as far as Liz was concerned, for she had been feeling rather keenly of late the complete lack of fruit in her diet. She knew quite well that in their situation, access to such foods was entirely season-dependant, had avoided mentioning her cravings to Einar, who, being himself just a few meals of venison and grouse away from near-starvation, even if he refused to acknowledge the fact, she supposed might have thought them frivolous. But she had, despite her best efforts, been spending a good bit of time daydreaming about cantaloupe and blueberries and watermelon, knowing that if she was staying down at Susans, such foods would have been as easily accessible as a trip to the grocery store, even if they werent in season. Amazing what I--and everyone else down there--took for granted. No more! Im going to get ahold of as many of these little strawberries as I can, because I think itll be a while still until anything like raspberries or thimbleberries start coming ripe. Always the first berry to come available there up high, the tiny wild strawberries, Liz knew, seldom appeared in sufficient quantity as to add much to ones diet, but they certainly made a nice treat and, quickly filling the bottom of her hat with the small, brilliantly red fruits, she began to grow hopeful that she might be able to harvest enough so that some could be set aside on a sunny rock and dried for later use. If she could keep herself from eating them all up as she picked, that was. Einar, meanwhile, had climbed up along the basins edge, keeping just within the trees as he scouted the place, taking inventory of its resources and potential dangers, searching for the sheltered little alcove that might provide a suitable starting point for the den he intended to have ready for Liz and the little one before cold weather once again made its arrival. Investigating several possible sites, he found himself not liking any of them too

well, one so tucked away in the trees that theyd have no view of the meadows and would have to walk a good distance to get one, and another exposed enough that any structure he might erect would be clearly visible from the air, as well as the open ground of the meadows and the ridge from which they had descended, and he kept looking, climbing, knowing he had an entire basin from which to choose, somewhere between two and three hundred acres in total, by his estimate. Some distance further up above the meadow, well out of Lizs sight and able to look down through the timber and see her there at the edge of the small clearing picking berries, her pack set aside, Einar did the same, untying the cords that held his own pack in place and allowing it to slide to the ground, collapsing in an exhausted heap beside it. For several minutes he didnt move, would hardly have appeared to be breathing, even, had anyone been watching. Which they werent, and that was the only reason he was allowing himself such a luxury in the first place. Didnt want Liz to see just how much that climb had taken out of him, didnt really want to admit it to himself, perhaps, but the growing dimness before his eyes, the black shadows that billowed unannounced and disorienting and with increasing frequency to obscure his vision were becoming more difficult to ignore, and he hoped perhaps a brief rest would help dispel them. Would have to. It was the wind that finally stirred him to movement once again, its prying fingers chilly and insistent in the deep shade of the timber, even on that sunny afternoon, and he got himself back to hands and knees, stood, leaning heavily on the nearest tree as he checked on Liz--still picking berries out there in the sun--and put a hand on the top of his back frame, preparing himself to once more accept its weight and go on with his explorations. It was seeming to him, though, that his survey of the basin would be far more productive if he could find a place to leave the pack--scouting is a lot more effective when you can actually see what youre looking at--suspend it from the high safety of a spruce branch and return for it on his way back down to meet Liz in the meadow, and as he thought he acted, tying a rock to the end of a length of cordage and tossing it up over a high branch. Before raising the pack, he tucked three pieces of jerky into his pocket, taking the atlatl and all of the darts and setting them with the things he intended to keep on his person, which included, of course, his knife and spear, as well as the little pouch around his neck that held his fire steel and striker, and another with tinder and some bits of dried yarrow. The necklace of wolverine claws was there too, it being his only possession, along with the neck pouches, that had not been taken from him when he was rescued by Bob down by the river. Shaking his head at the memory of it--took my boots, he did--he securely tied the pack to the other end of the cordage that lay draped over the high branch, leaning into it with all of his weight to haul the pack up beyond the reach of any curious scavenger, coyote, bear or otherwise, that might come along in his absence. Though they had so far seen no sign of bears in the basin or up on the ridge, he knew that it was a likely place to meet one, and they had, of course, already heard coyotes in the general vicinity. No matter. The pack was safe now, and he took his spear and atlatl and continued on up through the trees, noticing as he went a definite increase in the wind gusts that were sweeping down from the ridge, a few grey-bottomed clouds beginning to gather and bulk on the horizon, wondering if they might be expecting a bit of weather

that night. It can be very easy to lose ones self in a repetitive task such as berry picking, to let the passage of time go unnoticed and focus exclusively and delightedly on the task at hand, particularly when that task involves the procurement of food, and one knows or has known what it is to be hungry. It was in this way that Liz, creeping around the edge of the meadow from one cluster of vibrant green, red-runner-sprouting plants to the next, brushing back leaves that in some cases approached two thirds the size of those displayed by domesticated strawberry varieties--an unusually robust patch of the plants, for that altitude--to reveal little clusters of fingernail-sized berries that varied from brilliant, ripe red to a pale green, managed to wholly lose track of time that afternoon. The sun was warm and good on her back, a jar of water and a ready supply of strawberries for snacking close at hand as she worked, and by the time she glanced up at the sun--sinking, she saw, nearing the sharp, rocky rim of the side ridge they had descended, and beginning to be swallowed up, dull and orange and wallowing, in a heavy bank of clouds that had crept in unnoticed while she worked--and at the lengthening shadows of the aspens out in the meadow, it was to realize with some alarm that Einar had been gone for hours, and her with no clue where he might be, other than around the other side of the basin, where he had told her he meant to go explore. Which, evening rapidly approaching, left her with a dilemma.

The sun gone, darkness was coming quickly to the basin, and Liz, though she knew she ought to stay where she was, having told Einar she would do so, wanted to go out and search for him. It seemed unlikely--though not impossible--that he would have deliberately chosen not to return for her there at the meadow as he had said he would, leaving her to contemplate a good half dozen different scenarios as she tried to puzzle out what might have detained him, and where. Hopefully, he had simply found something that caught his interest and had kept him occupied for a while--tracks of some sort? A winterkill bighorn sheep carcass? Cabin site?--as the strawberries had with her. If so, he would surely recognize the coming of evening, use the last of the light to make his way back down to the meadow, as he had always emphasized to her the wisdom of finding and setting up ones camp well in advance of dark, when possible. With this in mind, and needing something to occupy herself lest she start worrying too much, Liz set out to gather firewood and find a good campsite. It was going to be a chilly night up there in the high basin. She could tell already. By the time she had chosen a sleeping spot beneath the evergreens that bordered the meadow it was almost fully dark, and the moon had just begun peeking over the trees. Liz was getting hungry for something more than the strawberries and the occasional bite of jerky shed had throughout the afternoon, beginning to think about a fire. Near her chosen sleeping spot--Einar, where are you? Its getting late, and Im about to fix some supper--Liz scraped away the grounds spruce needle covering, arranging a few rock slabs to create a rough reflector and, working by the light of the wide patches of

moonlight that fell silver and slanting between the trees, arranged the wood and lit her little fire. Cold. She shivered, hovered gratefully over the flames for a moment as they grew and climbed and crackled happily in their nest of split aspen slivers, ignited the larger lengths of spruce and began roaring. Setting the pot on a flat rock near the flames to begin heating, she broke up and tossed in a handful of jerky strips, meaning to add later some of the spring beauty and nettle greens she had collected out in the meadow. One of the glass jars, filled with water from the trickling little creek that meandered its way through the meadow, she set to heat also, intending to add a handful of freshly gathered strawberry leaves when it began boiling. The leaves, she knew, were high in vitamin C, calcium and iron, not as ideal for her perhaps as raspberry leaves would have been just then, but certainly beneficial. She knew strawberry leaf tea was a fairly effective remedy for diarrhea, too, and had been used, dried and powdered, for brushing teeth. Apparently the leaves tannins and flavonoids helped keep the teeth and gums healthy. Have to ask Einar if hes ever used them for either of those purposes. Whenever he shows back up Well. Might as well add some nettle leaves at the last minute, too, for extra iron. And then I can throw the leaves into the soup. Might as well add the strawberry leaves too, after theyve done their job in the tea. Her tasks done for the moment, Liz stared into the fire, wanted to move it out into the open where it might serve as a beacon for Einar if he had lost his way--and was actually attempting to find it again--but knew that a fire visible enough to serve as a sign to him might well be visible to others as well, bringing them both no end of trouble. Not a good idea. Not worth the risk. She left the camp, stepped back out into the clearing and stared up at the red ridge-rim in the distance, its rough contours standing out stark and clear in the cold moonlight, sharply highlighted and appearing at the moment a good bit more blue than red. Scanning the irregular, treeless horizon up on the ridge, she studied it almost as if expecting to see a human form silhouetted there, and indeed it would not have greatly surprised her had she seen exactly that. Which she didnt, stood there for a minute silently calling for Einar and debating for herself whether or not she ought to go out looking for him, beginning to believe that something must have gone terribly wrong, that he could be out there injured or incapacitated somehow as the cold settled over the basin, and more than once she very nearly convinced herself to go. But she stayed. Knew that she had to give him time, that wandering around out there hunting for him would be a sure way for the two of them to become further separated as they had the time she had become concerned about his absence the day before theyd found the old bunkhouse, causing them to go around in circles looking for one another. No sense in doing that again. He has his pack. Hell be all right, even if something did happen, and if hes not back by morningshe shook her head, swallowed the fear that rose in her at the thought of him not coming back on his own, of all that could have happened or might even then be happening, and she turned, headed back to the fire. Be with him. Bring him back to me, and let me knowif I need to go after him. Please. Liz ate a lonely supper of venison and nettle stew that evening, followed it with several pots of strawberry leaf tea--tasted surprisingly sweet and good and there were more leaves for the harvesting just outside the little glowing circle of firelight--choosing a small handful of the ripe little wild strawberries for her dessert. The meal finished and, when she

looked up, clouds quickly moving in to obscure the stars and soon, it appeared, the moon as well, she headed out into the aspens and used the last of the dying moonlight to gather more firewood. The breeze, sharp and damp and icy, was smelling like rain. Einar woke to darkness, deep black darkness there beneath the trees, sharp stabs of silver moonlight finding their way here and there through the wind-bent boughs to lie like shattered ice on the ground, and he was cold. Freezing. Body stiff and aching where he had lain unmoving for what he supposed by the lack of light and the position of the moon must have been hours, stretched out there on the damp ground beneath the spruces with a rather inconsiderate rock pressed up against his ribs so that they felt bruised, battered, and he tried but failed to rise, groaned, drew his knees up to his chest and huddled for warmth. Throat was dry, felt cracked and sandy and he wanted his water, reached for it, feeling for it in the darkness only to remember, slowly, as one piecing together fragmented slivers of a dream, securing it in his pack and hoisting the thing up into a tree. But which tree? The one he was lying beneath, or some other? He had no light, no way to conduct a good thorough search, but he did, he told himself, have the moonlight, flopped over onto his back and stared up at the silhouetted forms of the spruces, inky black against the silver sky, waving weirdly and almost rhythmically in the wind, beautiful. But not particularly helpful, because he saw among them no sign of his pack, no odd shape bulking against the sky to tell him where to begin feeling for the tied-up bit of cordage that would allow him to lower it and get at that jar of water, and food, oh, foodhe needed it, felt all pinched and twisted and hollow inside and was sure he wouldnt be having such an awful time with the night chill if only he had something to eat, some way for his body to produce a little warmth, energy, and come to think of it, hed be a lot better off if he had his sweater, too, rather than simply lying there on the icy and, as far as it concerned him, nearly infinite heat sink of the earth, inadequately covered as it was with a sparse sprinkling of spruce needles, in nothing but his thin fleece shirt and his pants. Foolish thing to do, stopping, sleeping, and he rolled back over onto his side, tucked his head down against his knees and shivered for a while, listening to the wind in the trees and trying to get his sluggish brain to tell him how hed come to be where he was, and why hed chosen to sleep there. Which, when he thought on it, gave him his answer. Hadnt chosen it, at all. Seemed he must have passed out, or something, because he could not even remember lying down, couldnt remember anything at all, after finding the rocks. Hed found the little outcropping far above where hed left Liz in the lower meadowoh, doggone itLiz! And he rolled to his stomach, shoved himself up on unwilling hands and knees and crouched there for a minute with his head down, dizzy, before getting to his knees, hand wound up in the pliable branch-end of a nearby fir for support and balance. Hed left Liz down there, remembered now, had told her he was coming back and had left her in the meadow to pick strawberries while he scouted the remainder of the basin. Which hed done, remembered doing, remembered finding what had looked to him a likely spot for a more permanent shelter, had liked it, spent a few minutes there before walking to an area just in front of it where the trees parted and he had a good view down into the meadows, had been watching the sky, watching a bank of

clouds roll in, and thenwell, then he hadnt been awake anymore, apparently, had somehow ended up all sprawled out under the trees to freeze for a few hours--had worked, too, that part of it--and now here he was, and it wouldnt have bothered him nearly so much, had it not been for the fact that he had told Liz he would come back, and hadnt done it. At least not in what she would likely consider a reasonable amount of time. Well. No way to fix that. All I can do now is togot his feet under him, tried to riseget myself back down to that meadow in time to help her get some firewood together for the night, hopefully make up for being gone so long. But getting to his feet was not as easy as it ought to have been, and he fought the dizziness, the blackness that rapidly began filling in the little patches of moon-silver on the ground at his effort, but found himself unwillingly and rather abruptly deposited back on the rocky ground. No matter. Liz would be fine down there, he knew, had her pack, all of her warm clothes and most of the food, too, would be just fine on her own for a night, but she would have been worried when he didnt return in a timely manner, it was her way, and he had certainly not intended to alarm her like that. So, get up andahdizzy, this isnt helping matters any, find the spear, hang onto it before you go toppling over againget up and do something about it. Go back to her. To where you left her. Just hope shes still there, and head down there. Wherever there was. He did not know, felt terribly disoriented after his involuntary nap, limped slowly out into the moonlight, out to the edge of the outcropping from which he remembered earlier surveying the meadows and stood squinting down at the bowl of the basin where it spread out below him, silver-splashed, shadowed, a starkly illuminated world of rock and tree and small, open spaces through which he knew he would easily have been able to retrace his earlier route, if only he had been able to see it clearly. As it was, though, the sight blurred and fuzzed and shifted before his eyes, ephemeral, ungraspable, perhaps not even quite real, and he sat down abruptly, no longer able to keep his balance there on the fractured rim of the outcropping. Ok. Its Ok, you dont have to see, just follow the edge of the basin, over here along the rocks, and youll come back to where you left her. Close to it, anyway, close enough to to He slept again, then, sleep, or something close to it, head drooping and resting on his knees and the moonlight splashed across his sharp form, shadowing his bones where they pressed through his single layer of fleece, spine, shoulder blades, but failing to provide any warmth, a cold, merciless light, and in his dreams, he smelled food. Venison, the faintest hint of wood smoke, and in the distance, the soft damp scent of approaching rain.

The rain reached Einar before it did Liz, sweeping down from the red ridge in great sheets and curtains, its sweeping tendrils eerily highlighted by a few stray beams of moonlight that were managing to escape from beneath the glowering wall of cloud that had slowly, inexorably ground its way in above the ridge, parking there, captured by the terrain. None of which Einar was awake to see, having, in his sleeplike state, melted into the rocky ground and then frozen again, a frozen puddle, its surface cracked and crazed, slowly and seemingly irreversibly evaporating into the hungry wind. A process which, fortunately for him, was not to be allowed to reach completion just then.

Announcing its arrival with a brilliant white flash of lightning and a resounding clap of thunder that reverberated from and seemed to be magnified by the surrounding ridges, the rain pounded down on Einar where he lay curled up there in the open, its cold, winddriven shock and the thunders uproar jarring him quite suddenly to wakefulness. Startled, reflexively flattening himself into the ground, he scurried clumsily for the shelter of the trees as soon as he realized what had wakened him, huddling there at the base of a spruce--reasonable shelter from the rain but not doing much to keep out the damp wind--telling himself that he must go back out in that downpour and retrieve his pack before its contents became soaked, and he was about to do it, when he remembered that the pack wasnt with him. Which was too bad. He really could have used that sweater, the waterproof pants, something to eatbut he had something, the dream-smell of venison having jarred his memory in that regard, and he fumbled in his pocket, found a strip of jerky and broke off a piece, began softening it in his mouth. Should have done this a long time ago. Need some water to go with it, though. Needed it pretty badly, as a matter of fact, his mouth so dry that the jerky was just sticking to the top of it instead of softening, and he crept back out into the rain, half-filling his cupped hands with water as it dripped insistently from the branches of the spruce beneath which he had sheltered. His arms got rather wet in the process, stray little rivulets of icy water finding their way up his sleeves to trickle down coldly along his ribs, but it didnt much matter. Clothes had already been pretty well soaked by the time hed got himself hauled up under the tree. Consuming the water thirstily, he lay there on his stomach and waiting for another handful to accumulate before dragging himself back beneath the tree, wringing the water from his sleeves and huddling for a minute, chilled and not feeling much like moving, there on its least-windy side. Alright. Fine mess youre in, now. Sure cant stay here like this. Gonna have to either make a fire and hunker down for the night, or find your way back down to that pack, get ahold of your dry things and then hope Liz has a fire going-and hope you can find it--because by then, I kinda doubt youll have the coordination to get a fire going. May not right now, for that matter. He didnt know exactly what had happened to him that afternoon--had run out of energy, he supposed, to put it in the simplest terms, and had unintentionally gone to sleep--but it did not really feel as though it was done with him yet, probably wouldnt be, he guessed, until he got a few good meals in him, got things back in balance a bit, assuming that had been the source of his difficulties. Seemed he could and probably would go right back to sleep if he stopped trying so very hard to stay awake. Which you must not do. Gonna sit here and freeze if you do that. So. Get moving. Find that pack. That little strip of jerky seemed to have helped some, left him feeling, after consuming one entire strip of it, slightly less inclined to keel over, but he was still awfully dizzy, began his descent down to the area where he hoped to find the pack with less-than-steady steps, relying a good deal on his spear to keep him on his feet. Not twenty yards below his starting point, he decided hed better have the other piece of jerky, stopped beneath a cluster of aspens--poor shelter, but it was too dark to see what he was doing, and the aspens, at least, rustled and shivered furiously in the downpour, expressing their

sympathy for the wet and bedraggled human who sought futile refuge pressed up against their cold, rain-slick trunks--and tried to get it out of his pocket, but couldnt feel his fingers. Come on, come on, youre not that cold He beat his hands repetitively against his legs, his sides, the fallen aspen on which hed taken a seat, but couldnt seem to shake off the tingling numbness that was preventing their being especially useful, aggravated, he was sure, by the cold, but not caused by it. A fact which somehow he found doubly concerning. Didnt help that his feet and face were feeling the same way, and had been since sometime that past morning. Finally abandoning his efforts to retrieve the jerky, partly for fear of dropping and losing it irretrievably in the blackness if he did manage to get it up out of his pocket, he struggled back to his feet, kept walking. The rocks. Jutting irregular and black against the slightly less black sky of that stormy night, they were Einars only visible guide as he slowly worked his way down towards what he hoped would be Lizs meadow, and he kept close to them, following their course along the basin wall and hesitating to leave them, though he knew doing so would have provided him better protection from the rain. Wasnt at all sure he would be able to find them again if he strayed, might well go on wandering around the timbered portion of the basin all night long. Until he went back to sleep. Not a very encouraging prospect, so he kept close to the rocks, hoping he might recognize the outcropping near which he had suspended his pack from the tree, needing very badly to recover it, get into that dry sweater and have something more to eat. And he sure couldnt go back to Liz--assuming she had even waited for him--only to tell her hed lost his pack and everything in it which he seemed to have done, at least temporarily, and, searching, scouring the stormdimmed, night-blackened trees with equally fading vision, he went back and forth between near despair--fight it, crush it, drive it out, or it will destroy you, and he did--and a fierce, burning rage whose fires warmed and sustained him for a time, gave purpose to his movements and kept him searching, staring up through the waving branches for the telltale shape of his pack, suspended, waiting, taking advantage of the increasingly frequent starbursts of lightning to illuminate the forest and give him a few seconds light. He found nothing, though, finally abandoned the rage, or, more likely, simply ran out of the energy to maintain it, sank to his knees beneath the two hundred and thirty-fifth tree he had searched--not trusting his vision to cover a wider area, he had taken to going methodically from one tree to the next, keeping count because it seemed a tangible way of maintaining some connection to reality, which was seeming terribly slippery and indefinite, just then--and shook his head, leaning unsteadily on his spear, which he had driven into the ground in order to prevent his toppling over. No use, any of it. Chances were looking very slim that he would be finding that pack, at least as long as the darkness and the wind-driven rain continued working together to turn the place so dim and confusing, unfamiliar, and by continuing to search, he knew that he was reducing his chances of making it back to Liz. If she was there. Had ever been there. Let it go, the pack. Itll still be there in the morning, but if you dont stop this pretty soon, you probably wont be. Pride. Thats the only thing telling you that you cant go back to her without the pack, and you just got to let it go. Which he did, as well as he was able, asked, as he knelt there leaning on the spear, for forgiveness, for strength, for some idea of where he was to go, for he had grown terribly confused in wandering

around in search of the pack-tree, and as he waited, head down, for some sort of answer, he supposed, or perhaps just for the dizziness to fade sufficiently so that he could rise, there was a lull in the wind, and when it picked up again he smelled smoke, the faintest hint only, but it was enough, and he was on his feet, shuffling towards it, face upturned to meet the rain, seeking, seekingand finding. There it was, the glow, faint, just on the edge of vision down in the timber a good distance below him, and he headed for it, several times losing it to the changing contours of the ground but always finding it again. Which was a good thing, because he had reached a point some time ago at which he knew that if he didnt find her, if the fire-glow turned out to have been an illusionwell, hed be in some serious trouble. Which was putting it mildly, and he knew it, but to think of it in other terms--more realistic ones--was to invite despair, to excuse himself from the effort that he knew hed have to make if that ended up being the way of things. Always got to make the effort. But the fire was real, Liz was real, and a very long ten minutes later he walked into her camp, gait stilted and stumbling, sat down on a log beside the fire, eyes blank, elbows braced on his knees lest he collapse, and it was a very long time before he would respond to her attempts to get him out of his wet clothes, or take the pot of tea she was trying to press into his hands. He would, in fact, have probably curled right up on the ground beside the fire and slept, had it not been for her insistence that he stay awake, have something to eat. And for his wish to try and explain to her, to tell her that it had not been intentional, his extended absence. Unable to get Einar to understand about eating the stew she was offering and seeing the confusion in his eyes, Liz mashed up a small handful of the strawberries shed earlier collected, stirred the resulting pulp into a jar of water and held it up to his lips until he got the idea, and drank. Within minutes of draining the jar he was doing better, brain starting to work again and allowing him to realize for the first time in quite a long while that he was soaking wet and awfully cold, had better try and do something about it. And about the fact that Liz seemed to have a lot of questions for him--not the least of which pertained to the location of his pack and of the deer hide that held its contents and which, it seemed, she had been counting on using as a sleep-covering that night--and he sitting there like a bump on a log, rather than trying to answer any of them. A sure way to get himself into trouble, if he wasnt already

Echoing through the basin and off of the high ridges beyond, the thunderstorm continued in full fury, Einar watching the flashes of lightning and gratefully beginning to dry his clothes over the little fire there beneath the almost drip-free shelter of the wide-boughed spruce--one amongst a sea of many similar trees, and so no particular target for the lightning--Liz had chosen for the night, having realized as the fog lifted some from his brain that all of his dry ones were securely stashed away in his pack. Wherever it might be. Which left him to spend the night in the clothes he was wearing, making it rather important to dry them as well as possible. He rubbed his hands together in the warmth of the flames, wrung a bit of water from the end of one sleeve--sizzling and hissing away on the hot rocks--where it was gently steaming in the heat and realized, somewhat to his dismay, that Liz was staring at him as if waiting for him to speak. Which he did not

entirely trust himself to do. Was still pretty cold, a little unsteady. But he tried. Found us a place, I think. Nice little hidden spotway up in the trees with a real good view of the basinthink youll like it. Water nearby. Can justsee a little cabin or a lodge of some sort nestled into the trees there. Good spot. Liz smiled, sat down beside him and helped wring the water from his other sleeve--silly guy had refused her previous offer to help him out of his wet clothes and into her spare dry set, mumbling something about how it was his fault they were wet, and so his job to get them dry again, and she hadnt even been sure he understood what shed been asking him, but he had objected rather strenuously when shed tried to act on the offer, so she had dropped the matter--pressed a pot of strawberry leaf tea, sweetened with the juice of a few berries, into his cold-stiffened hands. Sounds great. I want to see it! It must be pretty far from here? Not really. Fifteen, twenty minute climb, I think. If a persons climbing at a good speed. Which I wasnt. Did my scouting this afternoon, got up there and thenguess I kindawell, I lost track of time and then it was dark. Rainwoke me. Then got a little turned around on the way down. Sorry. You shouldnt have had to do all the camp chores Lost track of time? You never lose track of time Einar, and I know it, unless youre unconscious, and you dont get turned around, either. And what do you mean the rain woke you? What if it hadnt? What if you were still passed out up there right now, soaking wet, and me with no idea of where to start lookingyou would have stayed like that all night, wouldnt you? And frozen. Dont you want to live? Sometimes Im really not so sure. And she wanted to ask him about it, all of it, wanted to shout at him and shake some answers out of him, but she didnt, kept her voice carefully under control. And your pack Up a tree, itssafe. Should even be staying pretty dry. Couldnt see it in this storm, couldnt find it, tried for a long time, but Find it in the morning. After a few minutes of warming, and not wanting to allow his clothes to get much drier nor he much more drowsy and comfortable before tackling the task, Einar rose, headed out into the storm with a mumbled insistence on gathering more firewood. Liz stopped him, pulled him back down beside the fire and pointed to the large pile of grey-dried, broken aspen limbs that she had collected and leaned up against the tree trunk earlier that evening.. We have plenty of wood. You need to eat, Einar. I kept some soup warm, jerky and nettles, it turned out pretty well. Here, have it. He nodded, but stood, handing the pot back to her. I will, just as soon as I

Sit down! The order--for it was definitely an order, delivered with as much authority as he had ever heard her use and emphasized by an ominous shake of her rabbit stick--took Einar by surprise, left him standing there for a few seconds with an odd mixture of startlement and poorly masked hilarity on his face before sinking back down beside the fire, chuckling softly. Sit down orwhat? Youre gonna take my head off with that war club? Maybe. Believe me, you do not want to find out! Which he rather did, come to think of it--though the look of cold anger in her eyes told him that he really might come out on the bad end of things if he pushed it; she, strangely, did not seem to be finding any humor at all in the situation--grinned wearily at her, probably would have stood back up out of sheer orneriness and a good measure of curiosity and taken whatever was coming, had he not been so very dizzy still. But he was dizzy, the world spinning around him and threatening to go black every time he rose, and on the theory that it would have been most unseemly to go toppling over to land face-first in the fire before the war club even had a chance to make contact, he remained sitting. Liz seemed somewhat pleased, but not yet satisfied. Thats better. Now. Im going to sit here and watch you until youve finished this soup, so you really might as well get started, dont you think? Hey, no more daydreaming. Eat. He took the pot, stared into it, breathing the steam and restraining himself with difficulty, terribly hungry all of a sudden, from digging in with his hands. I dontdid you get some already? Little Hildegard needs Yes, of course I did. We did. She lets me know when shes hungry, which is about every hour or two lately, it seems, if not more often, and if theres food around, I eat it. Youd be a lot better off right now if youd been doing the same thing, I think. Which Einar wanted to dispute--doing just fine, what are you talking about? Could live like this the rest of my life and get along just fine, and besides, most of that foods for you and the little one--but he was too busy devouring his soup. By the time he was halfway through that pot of soup he was feeling so wide awake and full of energy that he wanted to go out after his pack, certain then that he could find, lower and return with it in under an hour, for sure, and not only have dry clothes to change into but the deer hide for them to use as a blanket that night, but Liz would not hear of it, slamming her war club into their log-seat for emphasis--sending him leaping to his feet with his spear for a moment in the process--and showing him a second pot of soup which was simmering quite happily on the flat stone beside the fire. Under Lizs watchful eye--shed meant it when she said she intended to sit there and watch him eat, and he wished shed stop staring at him, find something to do--Einar finished the first pot and started on the next, and by the

time he had consumed a good portion of the second batch--sharing with Liz as much of it as she would take--his clothes were nearly dry, he could barely keep his eyes open. Which was a great relief to Liz, who led him unobjecting over to the bed she had prepared, tucked in close to the spruces trunk where the interlocking network of boughs had so far prevented so much as a drop of rain from finding its way in. The place was dry, insulated and as cozy as could be expected, considering the fact that they had no blanket and, Einar at least, only a single layer of mostly-dry clothing. Hoping to make up the difference with a half dozen hot rocks from the fire, Liz rounded them up and tucked them into her spare socks, working with Einar to pull great armloads of dry spruce needles into the bed to serve as their quilt for the night. Not an ideal arrangement, perhaps, but, thunder grumbling among the ridges and rolling noisily down through in the basin, the surrounding trees illuminated frequently with the stark, sudden light of the first major thunderstorm of the summer and rain sweeping down in cold sheets which passed with audible rushes over the timber, the two of them felt quite fortunate for the shelter it afforded. Bringing with it temperatures that dropped down to just a few degrees above freezing and turned the rain at times to sleet, the night was not terribly conducive to sleep for Einar and Liz, lightly protected as they were beneath their light covering of spruce needles. Partway through the night Einar got up, having wakened when the warmth of the hot rocks began fading, and cut spruce boughs to lay over their bed, hoping to keep the duff insulation in place. It had been continually dislodged by their movements, leaving a shoulder or hip or leg constantly exposed to the night chill, and he knew that if he could get enough branches over them, the insulation might be sufficiently pinned in place to allow them to finish out the night in relative comfort. Even if he did not sleep any more, Einar knew that he would be quite satisfied, having already enjoyed several hours uninterrupted rest, a rarity for him in recent days. But--eyes heavy and body feeling as if it weighed a ton as he moved sluggishly about the camp--more would definitely be good, if possible. Carefully positioning the network of green branches over their sleeping area, trying not to wake Liz as he laid them so that they met in the middle and formed a rough, low-set triangular structure over the bed, he inspected his work by the illumination of several lightning flashes, rearranged a couple of the branches, and decided that it would have to do. Retreating then to a spot beyond the firepit where he was still shielded from the bulk of the blowing rain but was a distance from Liz, far enough, he hoped, to avoid waking her, Einar took a few minutes to stomp and dance and swing his arms, beating them against his body in an attempt to generate some heat, feeling--because of the increased humidity of the night, he supposed--as though he might never get warm again. Was getting tired, though, and starting to cough--quit that, too loud--limbs increasingly leaden and unwilling, and he finally stopped his seemingly futile warming exercises, felt his way back over to the bed. Hed be alright. Was dry, had eaten, needed sleep more than anything, he supposed. After that, still cold but knowing that he was not in any great danger and that Liz wasnt, either--she less than him, actually, as she was wearing her spare clothes and had also, he

noticed, begun putting on just a bit of weight in the past week or so, ribs less sharp, face looking a bit fuller, a very good sign for her and the little one--Einar flopped down and pulled the coverings over himself as well as he could, positioned the branches on his side of the bed to hold the insulation in place, burying his face in the spruce needles and quickly dropping off into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Hunger woke him some hours later to lie drowsily listening to the distant rumble of yet another wave of storm, approaching slowly from the west, far-away lightning, when he raised his head far enough to see, playing along the summits of some of the far ridges, and he crawled carefully from the bed, limped over to the edge of the shelter-trees sweeping boughs to stand watching the storm as it made its approach. There near the dead remains of the fire--still slightly warm when he passed the back of his hand near its coals--he had smelled food, returned to the spot and sought the source of the aroma, finding it in the soup pot, which Liz had lidded and hung a few feet up a nearby tree. Not, he noted, far enough to deter a hungry bear, but high enough to prevent all but the most enterprising coyote or marten from disturbing the leftovers. And he certainly didnt expect any self-respecting bear to be out on a night like that. For a few minutes he stood listening to the thunder, a sound, though one he generally enjoyed, which always made him a bit restless, vaguely, indefinably anxious, put him in the mood for some prowling, trying to talk himself out of wandering out into the night and finding a high spot to sit and overlook the camp, watch it, and though the pull was strong, he resisted it, telling himself that the last thing Liz needed was to be wakened by his absence only to have to go out into that storm to search for him. Which he expected she might do. For a good while he stood there listening to the storm and smelling that leftover soup before finally, starting to get pretty cold--hadnt been able to quit shaking since leaving the bed, actually, seemed to feel a bit feverish, too, didnt like it but hoped it might be gone by morning--and knowing he had better either eat, or head back to bed, he lowered the pot. Sitting on the log where they had shared their supper he dug into the remaining soup, thinking to himself that soaked and boiled venison jerky, enhanced with nettles and the peppery little shepherds purse pods that Liz had so thoughtfully added, made an awfully fine meal, but thinking also that it was terribly greedy of him to sneak off in the night and devour what otherwise would have served as their breakfast. No matter. The storm looked very likely to continue into the morning, would allow them to have a fire, safely, even after daylight--which I think we could probably start doing even on clear days up here, but I want to give it a few days first, make sure that DOW plane doesnt put in regular appearances--and he would get up early, make another batch of the soup, or something like it, for their breakfast. Irritated as he had been at Liz earlier for her insistence that he sit there and eat before doing anything else, he knew shed been right, knew, his mind clearer with sleep and the energy given him by that ample meal, that hed once again allowed himself to wander far too close to the edge of the abyss, when it came to his food consumption and energy levels. Hed done it so many times, lived with and to a large extent adapted to that level of deprivation so efficiently that it had become, at times, difficult for him to recognize the signs that he was entering the danger zone. Until, that was, he began experiencing the

troubling symptoms that had, in their most recent occurrence, started for him on his climb up from the coyote-meadow, down below the waterfall, and worsened to the point of temporarily knocking him out cold--yeah, real cold, as I remember, and he shivered--that past afternoon. The blurring of his vision, dizziness that came out of nowhere and that sensation that his heart was, at times, failing to beat normally, that irregular fluttering and pounding, he had become so adept at setting them aside and pushing himself to continue--a habit adopted out of need and not out of choice, for the most part--that he barely even noticed them anymore. Which isnt necessarily good I guess. Not when Ive got options, like I do now. Access to the food. Got to build up a reserve if I get the chance, something thatll let me go a few days without eating when I need to do it, without leaving me all but useless like I was yesterday. Bodys gotten real good at living off itself when need be, which is great--becomes more efficient at the process the more you require that kind of living from yourself, which is why everyone would be doing well to train that way a few times every year at least, fast, let your body settle into that rhythm, build memory and capacity and learn to produce the needed energy on less fuel; everyone can do it, and can improve their abilities--but that can only go so far, which I ought to realize by now. Just a tiny bit of margin, thats all I need right now. Andhe wiped the soup pot clean with a finger, making sure hed got every drop of the broth this seems like a fine time to start. Warmer for having eaten, he crept as quietly as he could back over to the bed and crawled in, noticing that Liz had changed position in his absence and hoping that he hadnt wakened her. Which he had, his careful but still clumsy exit from the bed having alerted her that something might be amiss, left her straining her eyes into the darkness in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him leaving the camp, if that was what he intended to do, so she could follow him, bring him back and give him some more to eat--she was determined that he must, this time, continue getting adequate meals until he was in a bit less danger-but seeing by the occasional flashes of lightning that hed apparently had the same idea himself, and was over there by the fire acting on it, shed listened to the soft clanking of the soup pot for a minute, smiling, going back to sleep. When Einar returned to the bed she pressed close to him for warmtheat, sleep, its a good startas the storm continued outside their little shelter. Into the morning the storm went on, Einar waking to thunder and a dull grey light that had begun to infuse the basin, heavy, damp, everything damp, even, he realized somewhat to his dismay, parts of their bed where time and the sheer volume of the allnight rain had finally overwhelmed the trees ability to shed it, sending occasional drips and small cascades pattering down onto their insulating bed-quilt of spruce, soaking coldly through in a spot or two to dampen their clothes. Despite the incursion, it had been a good night, and as he hauled himself out from beneath the debris and slowly stood, shivering, in the damp, piercing morning air, he was immensely grateful for the thick, sheltering boughs of that spruce. Especially considering the alternative. He shivered again, rubbed night-stiffened legs and hips, realized that wrists, neck, everything seeming to ache that morning, still rather strongly feeling, he supposed, the effects of his cold hours spent lying in the rocks up on the high outcropping that previous day, complaining at him when he tried to move. No matter. Things would loosen up, given

some time. Always did. And he had a lot of work to do, fire to make, devoured soup to replace before Liz wokeso hed better get busy! Which he did, finding some dry aspen splinters that had remained well protected beneath Lizs stack of larger branches, splitting them further with his knife, pleased to find a few still-hot coals buried beneath the ashes of the previous nights fire, crunching up a few tiny, barkless spruce twigs from up near the trunk of their shelter-tree and blowing the fire to life. Once the fire was well enough established that it could be left to its own devices for a few moments, he retrieved their drinking jars, which had been set out beneath a dripping branch to collect rainwater overnight, dumping the contents of one of them into the cooking pot and breaking up several strips of jerky to begin softening in the water. The longer the stuff could soak and soften, the less cooking it would need before it could be swallowed without scratching up your throat on the way down. Adding a few sticks to the happily crackling fire and leaving the jerky to soak, he took the second water jar, empty--he'd gulped its remaining water while getting the fire going, in an attempt to suppress what seemed to be a worsening cough--and headed for the nearby creek where it gurgled through the timber before emerging out into the meadow, found down there three or four small, altitude-stunted box ender trees. The trees, scraggly and scrawny with many side-shoots coming out of the ground to create a rather untidy appearance, instead of one main trunk, as was their way, were relatives of maples, and many springs when living back up at his cabin, Einar had tapped them for their sweet, abundant sap, boiling it down into a concoction that somewhat resembled maple syrup, though lighter in color. Knowing that such a sugar source would be greatly welcome in their diets, he regretted missing the sap-gathering time, which ideally was early in the spring when the days were warm but nights still freezing. Too bad we were so busy crawling through tunnels and running the ridges while that season came and went, or we might have been able to set aside a good bit of this stuff, even cook it down into sugar, if we didnt have the containers to keep syrup in. Come to think of it though he shivered, backed up beneath the nearest evergreen to get himself out of a fresh downpourits not all that late. Not up here. Froze last night, or awful close to it, and its been that way most of these nights. Looks like I might as well give it a try. A good project for a rainy morning, but not before he cooked up a pot of soup to replace Lizs leftovers that he had devoured in the night.

After returning to the fire and setting the soaked jerky to simmer, adding to it some violet leaves and the immature seeds-tops of a few shepherds purse plants hed found on his way down to the creek, Einar began going over just what he would need to begin collecting box elder sap for the syrup he hoped to make, knowing that with something to use as spouts--they could be carved, if no other option presented itself, from aspen or cottonwood, willow, even, though that would give the syrup more of a bitter, medicinal taste--his only lack would be containers in which to collect the sap. Weve got our drinking jars and the cooking pots, but had better try and keep those available for cooking and drinking, if we canand then there are the other three mason jars in my pack that were carrying the deers blood, which has all been used up in our stews, so

once I clean them, theyll be available. But not until I go find my pack and haul it back down here Well. Maybe I can head up there once the soup is on its way to being done, so Liz has some breakfast to wake up to. Need the pack, really need my dry clothes, andhey! I need those deer bones I lashed to the frame, too. A piece of split legbone, narrowed way down to fit in the bore-hole in the tree, would make a much better and more durable spout for the sap than carved aspen wood. And he added a larger aspen branch to the fire, laying it across the rocks of the firepit to burn in half, rather than risking waking Liz by the noise of breaking it, moved the simmering soup back a bit so it wouldnt cook dry if Liz slept for a while longer, and was about to head up the hill for his pack when he stopped, shaking his head. She would, he realized, probably wonder where hed got off to again, and thinking that hed probably caused her more than enough worry with his long delayed return that previous night, he searched around until he found a good sized grey rock slab with one flattish surface, set it beside the fire and charred the sharpened tip of a willow stick in the coals. Testing his improvised charcoal pencil on the side of the slab--hey, works pretty well--he proceeded to leave her a note, where she would be certain to see it as soon as she approached the fire. Gone to get pack. Just up hill. Be back soon. Then as an afterthought he added his signature stylized oak leaf at the bottom of the rock tablet, remembering with a smile and a little shake of his head the last time he had used the symbol to communicate with her, down there in the canyon when shed been picking serviceberries, drawn it in the dirt where he knew she would be passing and waited to see what shed do when she found it. Long ago. So long ago that it seemed almost part of another lifetime. Perhaps the lifetime of another person, even. But it wasnt, it was yours, and hers, and while you probably should have just let her go on back down that trail with her bucket of berries to live her lifeand she, for her part, should have glanced at that oak leaf and hurried on by, ignored it, well, you didnt, and she didnt, and now here we all are. Right where we should be, maybe, but sometimes Im still not so sure. He stood, shook himself, realized that hed been daydreaming again, staring through the leaping flames at the grey, rainy softness of the world beyond their little tree shelter, and letting his mind wander. Cant be doing that. Get moving. And he was gone out into the damp drizzle of the slope, one backwards glance telling him that Liz was still sleeping peacefully, and he hoped very much to be able to do his errand and return before she woke. Climbing quickly up the slope as he retraced his steps from the previous morning--should have been able to do this even last night in the dark, no excuse for wandering around for all that time and not being able to find where I left the pack--Einar found himself quickly out of breath and struggling to maintain his pace, legs aching fiercely and seeming unreasonably weak, coughing more frequently, struggling at times to get enough air and chewing spruce needles in an attempt to suppress the cough. He kept going, though, easily remembering and following a series of landmarks remembered from the previous day, finding the pack just as he had left it. Much to his relief--hed become soaked with wind-driven rain on the climb--the pack and its contents had stayed dry, and he took a few minutes before heading down to re-wrap and tie the deer hide so as to maximize the protection it offered to his dry clothing. Hed be needing them down there when he

stopped moving. The descent was easier, less air needed for going down, and seemed especially short in comparison to his foggy memories of that past nights travels, his exhaustion and uncertainty having conspired then with the dark, windy night to leave him badly disoriented, and in what seemed like a reasonably short time he began smelling a hint of smoke, saw the big spruce down there with a bit of fire-glow just visible beneath it in the still-dim light of that stormy morning. Almost there. Which meant that it was time to stop and wash out the glass jars that he intended to use for collecting the box elder sap, a job which seemed wiser done before he returned to camp and was tempted to get into his dry clothes, plop down beside the fire and not move again for a good long time. Already soaking wet, might as well get it done now so the jars will be all ready to go when I get those spouts made. Finding a slightly less exposed bend of the little creek where it dipped in under the sparse cover of some aspens, he crouched there in the rain and used the rough, abrasive qualities of a handful of spruce tips to scrub the dried blood from the insides of the three jars, rinsing them thoroughly in the creek and finishing the job by scooping a handful of creek bottom sand into each vessel, covering its top with his hand and shaking, rinsing again and deciding that they had been adequately cleansed. If used to store syrup for any length of time, he supposed it would be wise to rinse them first with boiling water to make sure they were thoroughly clean--hed had mold grow on his syrup before, a very unfortunate occurrence--but was quite satisfied that they were ready for their task as sap-collecting vessels. Liz was up when he returned to camp, greeted him with a pot of hot spruce needle tea and he took a sip--good stuff--set the pot down near the fire and hurriedly rid himself of his wet clothes, spreading the contents of his pack on the deer hide there in the mostly dry shelter beneath the tree. It felt good, awfully good to get into his dry things and sit there quietly for a minute beside the fire with pot of tea warming his hands and its contents beginning to do the same for his insides, and he glanced up gratefully at Liz, who had just finished wringing the icy water from his clothes and hanging them near the fire to dry. Thank you for the note. He nodded, still too worn out to speak, took a long drink of tea and a few breaths and felt better, but decided not speaking was probably the wisest thing, anyway, under the circumstances, as he had been about to say something like, dont know why it matters so much to you, Ive spent most of my life wandering around without anyone knowing or caring where I was, and I kinda like it that way, but since it does seem to matter, I figured Id better leave the note, which he supposed would not have been the right thing to say, so he kept quiet, and she sat down beside him, handed him the soup pot, which he was glad to see was already half empty. He ate, finally spoke up. Good spot you picked here. Stayed pretty dry last night. You get some sleep? Yes, lots, and it seemed like you must have been getting a good bit, too!

Another nod. He didnt really remember much about the night aside from creeping out of bed to finish the supper leftovers--an incident which he found slightly embarrassing, now that he thought back on it, but at least hed replaced the soup he gobbled--but supposed that he must have. More silence, and Einar, finishing the soup and getting somewhat shakily to his feet--head felt weird, not quite his own--returned to the spot where he had spread out the contents of his pack, choosing, instead of a deer leg bone, three of the smaller bone fragments that he had gathered from den-like crevice way back up beneath the waterfall. Fox, he guessed them to be, though they could have belonged to another creature of similar size and build, and with a bit of work, scraping on a chunk of rough sandstone and creating points on each end with his knife, he had three spouts which would insert in the holes he intended on boring into the trunks of the box elders, channeling the flowing sap down to drip into waiting jars. It was looking like they would have their syrup. And would also, as soon as the weather broke, be able to head up to the spot he had found and, assuming it suited Liz as well as it did him, begin work on a more permanent and weatherproof shelter. Or at least on a place to stay while they collected materials, discussed options--there were many options, stacked-stone house chinked with moss and usnea, traditional-type log cabin, wickiup-like structure covered with grass and bark to keep out the weather--and built such. Einar was ready to stop running for a while. Into the morning the rain kept flowing in torrents and waves from the sky, intermittent, showing no sign of stopping, and the box elder sap was flowing, too, though slowly in weather that had not warmed especially quickly after the cold night. Protecting the opentopped glass jars from being filled with more rain than sap by leaning curved sections of the outer bark of a long-dead aspen up against the box elders just above where he had inserted the spouts, Einar returned an hour or so later, pleased to see a steady dripping of sap into the jar. Catching a bit of it on his fingers, he found that it was very mildly sweet, a sugar content which would be greatly concentrated through a good bit of boiling until they ended up with a thin, tasty syrup that somewhat resembled that from true maples, in flavor. Some of the early tribes, he remembered hearing, had processed the sap by setting it out to freeze night after night, removing and getting rid of the ice each time until the remaining syrup reached the concentration they were aiming for. Others had made large birch bark containers or burned out logs to form huge troughs, filling them with sap and boiling it down through the repeated adding of hot rocks over the course of several days. A good bit of work, but the resulting sugar had been highly valued, as he knew it would be by he and Liz. Their operation, though, would be nowhere near the scale of the Ojibway-style sugar camps, where the entire tribe would set up a temporary camp, often complete with bark-covered wikiup-type structures, and live for a few weeks in a large grove of maples while the sugaring was going on. No, wont be getting that much sap from our three or four little box elders, but anything we can get will sure make a nice addition to our diet. Perhaps a better way to collect sap, he knew, would have been to hang a bucket from a hook on the spout, and while he could have created both hanging handles for the mason jars and hooks on the bottoms of the bone spouts--carving them from wood or other scraps of bone and lashing them in place with sinew and spruce pitch--he doubted his

improvised spouts, which were simply jammed into the two inch deep bore holes hed made in the trunks of the three largest of the box elders, would hold in place adequately well with that sort of weight dangling from them. And the glass jars were far too valuable to risk breaking that way. So, he had simply set the jars on the ground beneath the trees, whose trunks he had tapped at a height of approximately a foot and a half off of the ground, surrounding each jar with small rocks to prevent its tipping over, allowing the escaping sap to drip into them. He knew that this would inevitably allow some amount of debris--tree bark fragments, the occasional windblown leaf or curious fly or gnat--to fall into the sap, but supposed they could filter it through a bit of clean cloth before boiling. As slowly as the sap seemed to be flowing that morning, Einar saw no reason to sit there in the rain waiting for the jars to need emptying--it would be a while, hours, at best--so he finally responded to Lizs repeated urgings, and rejoined her at the fire. He was coughing a lot despite his best efforts--too doggone much noise there, Einar, now you cut that out-chest feeling tight and uncomfortable, and Liz was concerned, he could see it in her eyes even though she was scrupulously avoiding mention of it, but when she finally did say something, Einar just brushed off her concern with a hasty mention of having spent too much time on the wet ground the day before--which he had, but wasnt going to tell her just how much, of course, nor elaborate on the circumstances, lest she worry more than she already was--and would be fine in a bit. She just nodded, handed him another pot of spruce needle tea, stronger, he found, than the first, and he sipped gratefully at it. Einar was, himself, feeling slightly less confident than he hoped his assurances to Liz had sounded, if only because he was pretty sure he still had a bit of a fever, recognized and did not like the growing heaviness of his head and a dreadfully aggravating shakiness that seemed to have come over his movements, the fact that he couldnt seem to get warm no matter what he did, and, most strangely of all, that he wasnt much liking the cold, that morning. As opposed to most times, when, despite the fact that he, often as not, lacked adequate clothing and probably body fat, too, to really keep warm, he was able to meet the conditions cheerfully and even to take a bit of his own slightly unusual form of enjoyment in them. Well. It would pass, and in the meantime, Liz was offering him more soup, having apparently still been hungry, herself, and using the time while he was away tapping the box elders to brew up another batch, and he would have taken the pot and eaten--maybe it would help him get warm--but for the fact that his hands were shaking so by that point that he feared dropping the pot and spilling the soup. So he just mumbled something about being pretty full at the moment, sat on his hands to keep Liz from noticing their unsteadiness, and hoped he did not have occasion to use his atlatl, before he got things sorted out. Because he almost certainly would miss his target. So you better stick with the spear for right now, can use both hands with the spear, just throw your weight behind it and Liz apparently hadnt given up on his eating more soup, though, even if he had, was speaking to him pretty insistently while holding out the pot, and he struggled to focus on her words. need more. You know you do. Come on, we have plenty of venison, and I saw some rabbit tracks over in the trees when I was getting wood last night, a trail, lots of droppings, looked really well used, and if were staying in this basin we can get some snares put out pretty soon, start adding to our food supplyplease have some more.

At which, unable to refute her logic and not thinking quickly enough to find a way out of the situation without arousing her suspicion, he nodded somewhat miserably, took the pot and quickly pinched it between his knees before his hands could betray him and send it tumbling. He wasnt feeling particularly hungry by that point, made a few halfhearted efforts to drink some of the broth, but for the most part just sat there breathing its steam, face averted from Liz to keep her from seeing the rattling of his teeth. Though he supposed she could probably hear it at times, hard as he was trying to suppress it. Losing ground here Einar, and pretty fast, too. Dont know exactly whats going on, but you betterbetter do something I think. Which must, he told himself, mean that it was time to head up the hill and show Liz the potential cabin site he had found. Yes. That would be just the thing. He rose, head swimming as he leaned heavily on his spear, thought for a long, slow-motion moment that he must be about to topple forward into the fire but regained his balance, grinned at Liz, who had jumped inexplicably to her feet, and leaned back on a spruce to keep himself steady. Rains slacking off, it looks like. You want to come up the hill with me and see our new home? Do some scouting, see just where we might want to put things? Walking as he was directed, hands grudgingly on--or at least near--his head, Bob crossed the narrow open space, weaving his way somewhat hesitantly, as it was dark, between clumps of sagebrush and towards the large, rectangular black boulder which his assailant had said must be their destination. Hard as he listened, he never heard the slightest crackle of breaking sticks or rustling grass from behind, giving him a healthy respect for the field skills of the man who now had his shotgun, if hed lacked it before. Several times, passing what appeared out of the corner of his eye to be especially heavy clumps of sagebrush or rock clusters, he considered making a run for it, diving into the cover and taking a chance that the man had been bluffing about being able to see, but he didnt do it, mostly, he later told himself, out of curiosity concerning the very capable and quiet man who had apparently been waiting in ambush for him that night. He was not acting at all as Bob would have expected a federal agent to behave, did not seem to have any particular interest in taking him into custody, so he kept walking, finally reaching the black rock, waiting. For a good ten minutes, until finally he heard that disembodied voice again, this time coming from the dense blackness of the timber beyond, and Bob, who had grown up hunting--poaching, often as not, and quite successfully--had never been far from that sort of life and fancied himself somewhat of a tracker, had no idea how the man had worked his way around in there without him hearing. It seemed he had a lot to learn. If his assailant intended to allow him to live long enough to do so Liz did not especially relish the thought of leaving the good dry shelter of their camp-tree just then--the rain, while indeed slacking off as Einar had said, continued, thin and persistent and adding its damp, piercing chill to the gloom of the morning--to venture up through the rain-grey, wind-tossed timber of the basin wall, not even to see the spot Einar had picked as their possible future home, though home was a concept which she was very anxious to see brought to fruition. Nor did she want to see him struggling up the slope again that day, having already made one long, rain-chilled climb that morning to

retrieve his pack. It appeared that he could hardly get his breath, even resting there beside the fire, and she could tell by the way he was holding himself that he was hurting, dizzy, struggling hard and with limited success to maintain some appearance of normalcy, and she wanted very badly to fix him another good strong pot of spruce needle tea, perhaps with the addition of a few of the small, spring-fresh mullein leaves they had picked down along the edges of the coyote meadow, get him into his dry clothes and put him back to bed for the day. Which--she almost laughed out loud at the thought--she knew would never happen, not as long as he was alive and even remotely aware of his surroundings. Einar was going, would not be talked out of it. She could see the determination in his eyes, that look he got when there was something he simply had to do, and though half the time she could not see the reasoning behind the called-for action, could not understand what made it so terribly, irrefutably essential, she had learned that there was little sense in trying to talk him out of such preoccupations, because in most cases any such attempt only served to strengthen his resolve. It was clear to her that the proposed climb was such an instance, that he had some purpose beyond the stated one for wanting to make the climb. In which case she certainly did not intend let him make the journey on his own, and possibly end up passing out on the rain-swept rocks up there as he had--she was pretty sure--the day before. Sure, Id like to see the place. You sit back down for a minute and finish this soup, and then well go. That will give me time to go through my pack and get a bunch of snares ready to go, because we might as well be looking for some likely spots to put them out, as long as were going up there. Einar nodded--good, real good Liz, youre thinking--took the soup, wasnt feeling hungry but supposed he had better try, lest Liz go on pestering him about it. But hed have to do it standing up. Wasnt entirely certain about being able to make it to his feet again for a while if he allowed himself to sit, and he sure couldnt have her seeing the extent of his difficulties. She doesnt need to know. Not gonna be dealing with it long enough for her to have to know. This climb ought to fix things right up. The climb, though, did not seem to be helping matters any, at least not at first, Einar unable to catch his breath after the first ten yards of ascent, standing, despite his best efforts, very nearly doubled over each time they paused for a brief rest, face pale and sweating as he fought to get a good lungful of air. Once, the rain returning in a great white sheet that swept down from the direction of the high ridge to find its way coldly in places through the ample protection of the dark timber through which they traveled, Liz broke her silence, approached him and put a hand on his shoulder where he stood stooped over with hands on his knees, breathing, or trying to. Lets go back, Einar. Please. The spot will still be there tomorrow But he just hauled himself upright, grinned at her with slightly wild, fever-bright eyes and shook his head, spoke between gasps through teeth gritted against the steepness of the slope, the stabbing ache in his left side, against everything that was conspiring to stop him, to bring him down.

Were almost there. And he resumed the climb, seeming to have accessed somehow a frenetic new energy that lightened his steps and left Liz struggling to keep up as he swung his way up and over the black, rain-slick trunks of a forests worth of fire-charred, wind-felled timber, the ancient remnants of a massive evergreen grove that had come and gone, replaced, in its demise, by a mix of scraggly aspens and scrawny, eager little firs, smooth bark silver and gleaming through the rain-drear as they reached longingly for the sky, yearning, thin arms waving as they seemed to cry out for a bit of sunlight. Then, at the top of the blowdown, they reentered the dark timber, climbed for a time on a soft, springy carpet of spruce needles, rain-damp but protected from the full fury of the storm that had descended once again on the basin, thunder rolling from one rocky fastness to the next as the dim woods were lit weirdly and intermittently with a white light that flashed through the trees and left their sharp shadows imprinted briefly on the ground. Several more minutes of climbing and then there they were, Einars little outcropping bulking black and forbidding up through the trees just above them, its lichen-dotted sides soaked, dripping, rain-gleamed and shining as the sun made a half-hearted attempt to break through the low huddle of cloud, and he stopped, turned back to speak to Liz, to welcome her home, but was left crouched over on his hands and knees by an especially violent fit of coughing, breathless, brought low, forehead pressed unwillingly against the fragrant, rain-wet softness of the ground, coughing and gagging and finally dispensing with a good bit of the mucous that had been so inhibiting his breathing. He stood, wiped his face--neglected to tend to the smear of mud on his forehead--took in a breath of the sweet, cold, rain-cleansed, evergreen-scented air, welcome, feeling like life itself, his breathing a bit easier as he glanced about anxiously for Liz but discovered, to his relief, that she had been some distance behind him, was just then topping out on the little plateau. Taking her hand, he led her through the sheltering, rock-backed grove of trees in which he had envisioned seating their cabin, lodge, tent, whatever it was to be, out to the little overlook-clearing whose views he had been attempting to enjoy when he had fallen asleep in the rocks, the day before. Here, he made a grand, sweeping gesture, encompassing the plateau, the basin, the ridges beyond, here isyour kingdom, or part of it, O Mother of a Nomadic Tribe. Your kingdom, and agood secure spot tosit and watch it from. Home, hopefully. What do you think? She didnt answer, and Einar, feet planted firmly to prevent his toppling over and getting a good quick look at a very small portion of the kingdom while on his way to a sudden meeting with the rocks below the dropoff, turned to her, the grin fading from his face. She looked vaguely worried, unhappy, he thought, seemed not to be giving the place much attention, opting instead to stare at him with what appeared to be a deep sadness in her eyes--not that he was especially adept at quantifying such things--and he did not understand it, wondered if there was something he had overlooked about the spot, some feature which made it a less than desirable place to settle. Hoped not, but knew that he might very well have done so.

Dont you like it? Kinda dreary right now, I know, butviewll belot better on a clear day, and we gotwaterlot of trees and Legs beginning to feel a bit less than steady he planted the spear like a third limb and leaned on it, took a deep breath so he might have some chance of being able to continue with his inventory of the plateaus favorable features--which were many; surely her outlook would change once she had heard them all--but Liz had closed the distance between them, was holding him, leading him back a few steps from the precipice before which he had stood, and when she felt they were effectively out of danger of falling, she turned to him, caught his eye. Yes, I like our new home. I like this place, and especially like the idea of stopping, settling in for a while, but I dont want to have found it, only to lose youwhat can I say to make you understand that? I dont know what to say. Einar, though, wasnt waiting for her to say anything else, had already turned and was leading her over to the outcropping, anxious to show her how it overhung the ground by a good two or three feet in places, creating the ideal backing and weather-shield for whatever sort of structure they ended up building. He was, for the moment, breathing alright again, wanted to get started, if only with the planning. In the gentle late morning drizzle they explored the little plateau, Liz, a bit more able to focus on it now that Einars breathing seemed to have stabilized some with the cessation of climbing, admiring its good-sized aspen groves and the good cold, clear little pool that collected among the rocks just below what appeared to be a spring coming out from behind one side of the granite outcropping. The water, Einar told her, ought to be safe to drink without being treated, and tasting it, they found it sweet and achingly cold. In addition to the spring, a small creek tumbled and burbled its way down from the basin wall high above, fed by snowmelt, an additional water source which ought, he said, to last well into the summer before possibly beginning to dry up. Starting to get excited about the possibilities offered by the place, Liz ran from one area to the next, seeing fallen aspens, spruces, wondering which of them would make good logs for the foundation of a cabin, how they would haul them into place, wondering just how much could be done with the axe and adze that Einar had discovered behind the waterfall and expecting that quite a bit could, just as soon as they--which means Einar, but Im sure going to watch and learn so I can do it next time--fitted the tools with new handles, and she found herself very anxious to get started. Einar was watching her, smiling, pleased that she was finally taking an interest in the place and seemed to be liking it, and he, too, scrutinizing the landscape and beginning to form a plan. The rain wasnt stopping, though, and both of them were reaching a point where they needed either to stop and build a fire there under the trees on the plateau or head back down to camp, and, seeing little sense in drying out only to get soaked again on the trip down, they opted to return to camp. With Einars help, Liz got fifteen snares set out on the return trip, having noticed and

remembered the locations of a few rabbit trails and other critter signs on the way up, knowing that they would be making that trip back and forth between locations many, many times over the following days. Einar seemed to be coughing a bit less on the descent, breathing a bit more freely, a fact which Liz found encouraging, and he might have, also, had he not been too weary by then to give it much heed. He was glad simply to be able to keep on his feet and complete the walk back to camp, sinking down for a few minutes of exhausted repose near the firepit--which reminds me, got to help Liz get wood for tonight--before rising to begin on the afternoons chores. Having returned to the camp in the wan light of a still-overcast afternoon, they found the three sap collecting jars to be nearly full--mostly sap and very little water, Einar believed, as it appeared that his aspen bark shielding system had done a fine job of keeping the rain out--and he carried them back to the fire, which Liz had coaxed back to life, setting them to begin boiling. While the sap began its journey towards syrup, they changed out of rain-wet clothes, wrung from them what moisture they could and set them to dry on branches suspended a good distance above the flames, Liz thinking to herself that now that they had access to running water so close to camp, she really must do some laundry. And make a regular habit of it, too. Einar, also, was thinking of camp chores, his focus being the need to tan that deer hide--tremendously valuable to them at the moment as a pack-sack, nighttime cover and, in the future when they hopefully had acquired other things to serve those purposes raw materials for clothing and footwear--before it began rotting in the moisture. It was, to his relief, pretty dry at the moment, and had been quite thoroughly fleshed and scraped up there at the old bunkhouse, so was not in too much imminent danger, and at least they had access to a good ready supply of running water this time, both at the box elder camp and up on the plateau, which would greatly ease the tanning process. For that night, though, theyd simply have to make do with the mostly dry hide as a covering, spreading it over them to help hold their covering of duff insulation in place for the night. Not a bad arrangement; Einar expected their sleep to be reasonably warm. If he could sleep, in the first place. Was a bit dubious about his ability to get sufficient air while lying down, but, weary and ready for some good rest, he sure intended to give it a try. After helping Liz devour a large pot of stew--thickened wonderful, starchy, potato-like spring beauty bulbs she had dug up on the plateau--he sat beside the fire, dozing, cradling the pot of spruce needle tea she had made for him. Liz wasnt drinking the stuff, herself, it apparently not being safe for the baby, but she kept insisting that he do so, and he complied, knowing that its high vitamin C content and mild antibiotic properties would help him fight the malady that seemed to have settled in his lungs. If things werent better in the morning, he knew, hed have to seek out some Oregon grapes and dig their roots so he could brew up a strong berberine solution to drink. The tea finished, he crept over to the bed where Liz waited, weary and ready for sleep herself, and got settled in. Warm, finally, for the first time that day and seeming for the moment to be breathing alright, Einar was asleep very quickly. No sooner had he gone to sleep than he began feeling as if he was suffocating, tried to rise to ease his breathing only to find himself trapped, bound securely in a position where he couldnt get enough air, arms pulled sharply back behind him and legs bent at the knees to meet them, wrists tied tightly to his ankles, keeping him in an excruciatingly

unnatural position from which he could not seem to get a full breath. His ribs were pressed painfully up against the hard, cold ground beneath him and felt almost as though they might break the skin, as tightly as he was stretched. It was dark and the place stank; he knew that smell, fought, straining against the ropes, finally rolled to his side but couldnt free himself, couldnt move to change position, took, of necessity, the tiny, shallow breaths that he remembered having to take, in and out, one more time, again, keep it up, keep working to free your arms so you can get a full breath again, but he knew there were limits, knew hed eventually be passing out either from the increasing pain or for lack of oxygen if nothing changed, and it must change, got to change this time, quick, before they come backand he struggled against the ropes, pulled and twisted until he thought he surely couldnt take it any more but kept going, woke with a muted bellow of rage and frustration as he finally got free, brought his arms down to his sides and sat up, took the breath that he had been so badly needing. It took him a while to realize that the whole thing had been a dream. Most of it, anyway, for he truly wasnt breathing too well, that part had been real. Took him a while, also, to come to grips with the fact that Liz was a friend--hed launched himself at her on first waking, wild-eyed and sputtering for breath in the light of the candle shed lit when she first noticed his distress, stopped, hands closing around her throat, only by the sound of her voice there at the last second--realize that she wasnt there to club him on the head for daring to free himself and tie him back up into that hideous, cursed knot. Which she wasnt, apparently, and they crouched there staring at each other for a tense minute until finally she saw some hint of recognition in his eyes, Einar blinking at her in the candles glow, stretching and rubbing his arms until some feeling came back to them. He left the bed, then, wandered over to where the coals of their evening fire glowed a soft, pulsating orange in the slight breeze that reached them, and getting into his boots he proceeded to violently stamp the life out of the gentle, unoffending embers with the thought that they might be watching, might see the glow, driving him to kick and stomp mercilessly until there was no longer any hint of orange left among the ashes. After that he took a staggering step or two back and sat, arms wrapped around his knees and face buried against his sleeve, struggling for breath and rocking back and forth beside the fires cold, dead remains, tears streaming down his face as he thought how terribly, achingly good it was to be breathing the sweet, clean, blessed air of his own hills. Even if he couldnt exactly fill his lungs full of it as he would have liked. And thinking, too, that he really, really didnt want to let sleep overtake him again anytime soon, lest he find himself right backthere. Again. For a good while he sat rigidly awake, staring off into the darkness and keeping ears and nose and, to a lesser extent in the darkness, eyes sharp for any sign of approaching danger, but eventually his own weariness and--it was a factor, no doubt--the lack of oxygen resulting from his labored breathing overcame the tingling alertness that had kept him sitting bolt upright, and he slept. Sprawled out against the nearest tree, head back and arms close to his body in a feeble attempt to ward off the night chill he dozed, boots on, knife in his hand and spear concealed down in the spruce needles against his right leg, and when Liz realized that he had stopped moving and must be asleep, she approached ever so cautiously and crouched

there on the other side of the fire for a few long minutes listening to his breaths, which were trembling and puffing with cold now, in addition to still sounding somewhat strained, before creeping close. Carefully, rabbit stick in one hand, she draped his wool sweater, cast aside earlier during one of his sweats, over his torso, slid the deer hide with painstaking care into place over it, scanty protection against the plunging temperatures of the night, but she dared do no more. Retreating to the bed, she huddled down in the stillwarm piles of spruce needles for a while but could not sleep, kept listening for any movement from Einar and wondering if he was alright over there beside the defunct fire, and finally, restless, she got up and returned to the firepit, finding a still-warm slab of granite and pressing it to her as she sat listening to him sleep. Her own tears flowing freely after a time, Liz pleaded for help, for wisdom, please, I really dont know what to do with him sometimes, and the answer came, whispering in the silence between the sighings of the wind in the spruces, patience, but she wasnt sure just how much of that she might have left. Enough, thats how much. But only with Your help. Later--hed been groaning and growling in his sleep, wheezing for air, legs jerking periodically and arms flailing, and Liz couldnt imagine that he was getting much rest-she got the fire going, knowing that he needed its warmth and hoping its light would serve to jar him out of any weirdness that might still be lingering in his mind upon waking, bring him back to reality, a reality in which he badly needed a source of warmth, some broth, perhaps, and a pot of tea and some mullein steam to inhale if he was to end the night any better off than he had begun it. Liz, rabbit stick at her side and a wary eye on the trembling heap slumped over against the spruce as she struck sparks into the little tinder nest--hed done a rather thorough job of extinguishing each and every coal from the previous fire, she saw--knew that she would gladly settle for simply maintaining the status quo, that night. Wakened again when Liz brought the fire back to life, Einar stayed where he was for a good while, watching the fire and listening to the soft crackle of the dry aspen branches as they were slowly consumed. Finally he stood and hobbled over to Liz, holding the deer hide out to her by way of a peace offering, and she noticed that he had very deliberately left his spear leaning on the tree, had put his knife away, and she knew the effort such actions must be costing him, just then. He didnt say anything, sank down on the aspen log they had been using as a seat, elbows on his knees, keeping his distance from her and staring into the flames. Setting a pot of water to heat, she scooted closer to him, got the deer hide around behind his back and hers so it could help gather and reflect the heat, and though Einar edged almost imperceptibly away from her, he did not get up and move. She took his hand, sat quietly until she saw the water begin to simmer, pulled it back from the flames, poured some of it into the second pot for herself--she meant to make herself a bit of strawberry leaf tea--and threw in a handful of spruce needles. Have some tea? He nodded, took the pot and breathed its steam for a while before taking a sip. Still wasnt breathing too well, but sitting up had helped a good deal. Liz was quiet as she

picked a handful of strawberry leaves from a little patch that grew up out of the spruce needles just outside the fires circle. She had picked some earlier and set them to dry on a hastily improvised rack of spruce sticks in the dry shelter beneath their camp-spruce, but in the humid air they had not yet managed to dry completely, and she knew that it was a bad idea to use wilted, partially dry strawberry leaves for tea. She had done it once up at Susans, and had spent the next few hours suffering from stomach cramps and nausea. Susan had explained to her that while strawberry leaves were fine to use either fresh or dried, they should never be consumed while in their wilted state, the leaves producing a mild toxin during the drying process which was rendered safe as soon as the leaves were fully dry. The toxin was not, she knew both from experience and from what Susan had told her, particularly dangerous, but could certainly have unpleasant results, a thing best to be avoided, which she was doing by harvesting the fresh leaves for her tea. Better than the strawberry leaves, she knew, would be those of raspberry, but she had so far come across no raspberries there in the basin, and the strawberries would at least give her a good bit of vitamin C and some iron. Raspberries could, she expected, be found in the area, perhaps growing, as she had often seen them, on the margins of one of the rockslides that were so prevalent up higher. She would go look in the morning, both because she wanted the leaves for tea and because, before too many more weeks, she expected the berries themselves ought to begin coming ripe, and she could hardly think of a better treat than a handful of freshly picked wild raspberries. Later. Ill go looking for the raspberries tomorrow. For the moment she really needed to get back to sleep, knew Einar could do with some more sleep, too, but wanted to get some mullein tea into him first, in the hopes that perhaps by improving his breathing, they could get through the night without another incident such as the one that had wakened them both rather suddenly, earlier. Ive got some of these new little mullein leaves here, so if youll let me have the pot Ill get some steam ready for you to breatheI know youre trying so hard to keep going and not let this affect you, but I can see how much trouble youre having with your breathing. You really shouldnt let this golet me help you. But he didnt answer, kept his twohanded grip on the pot, shook his head. Well, you ready to come back to bed then? No? Hey. Look at me. Are you gonna be Ok? He didnt seem to be hearing her, had set the pot aside and was busy twisting a length of aspen inner bark, stripped from one of the firewood logs, between his fingers. Finally he looked up, tossed the bark into the flames where it flared briefly--decent tinder, that stuff--and was gone. Finally, he spoke. There was this guy I knew over there, Andyreal mature, quiet kid from some little town just south of Wausauto talk to him you would have thought he was a good twenty years older, he just had a certain way of carrying himself, this ability to come up with answers that made sense and made you think, no matter the topic. He hadwisdom, I guess youd have to say. One of those kids who you just know is gonna make something of himself. Well, we were all sitting around one day and the chaplain, he started asking people what they looked forward toin life, in the future, and guys were saying all kinds of things, you know, marriage, having kids, just seeing their girl again, things like that,

but Andy, when it was his turn, he just says, going home, and the chaplain responds that, yes, all of us are no doubt looking forward to going home, but Andy says no, our heavenly home. Im telling you, it got so quiet after thatI dont think anyone had much to say for a while, and you could tell it had really got to everybody, what hed said. Well, less than two weeks laterAndy went home. I still dont know to this day what to think about it, whether he knew somehow, or justwas ready, but He was down in the tunnels the next day just like I was, I found out later, when they got him. Dont know the exact circumstances for him but it wasa real bad day for us down there. They got me when Iwell, there are these passages that dip down, you know, and sometimes theyd fill with water on those dips and youd have to hold your breath and duck under, swim blind for a few yards, just feeling your way real carefully along the wall cause a lot of times theyd rig those tunnels, and Id just done that and surfaced again, got a breath when they took me. Shined a light in my eyes and slammed me in the side of the head before I knew what was happening, I lost my weapon, tried to fight them butwoke up in a hut, woven bamboo walls of some kind with these grass mats over them on the outside so you couldnt really see out and the same sort of floor, and you could hear water sloshing around under that floor like the huts were on short little stilts or something in the swamp, which they turned out to be, and I could hear it gurgling and lapping right under my head sometimes when one of them would walk past out there, but I couldnt get at it, stuff stunk real bad like they mustve been dumping their waste into it but I just kept wishing it would seep up through the floor because I started needing water awful bad after a couple days in there, but it never did, and when I finally pried a little hole in the floor so I could see down, I realized that it was a lot further below me than it sounded like. Couple feet at least, and I had no way to reach it. I came to find out Andy was in the hut next to methey interrogated us, you know, thought we knew things and I guess I did, but Andy didntstill he wouldnt talk to them, night after night, and Icould hear them over there and knew I should be trying to do something, stop them, but all I could do was just try and keep breathing, thats all I was thinking about, the only thought in my mind, one more breath, just one more breath, the way they kept us tied a lot of the timeit was all I could do to take that next breath and I never did do anything to try and help him He turned away, looked like he was going to be sick, and Liz wanted to let him know that he could stop, that he didnt have to tell her any more, but it seemed the wrong thing to do, so she kept quiet and let him talk, which he did, picking up the empty tea pot and squeezing it between his palms as he spoke. They didnt have me for long, no more than six days Im pretty sure before I found a way out, finally pried my way out between the wall and the floor in this one spot where Id been real quietly working whenever I had the chance, whenever they left me untied, got away into the water down underneath the huts, took the guard with a piece of bamboo Id broken to get a real sharp edge, got out of there before the others had time to realize I was missing. Took me another three weeks, they told me later, to find my way back to friendly territory. I was in kinda bad shape after that week in there and spent a lot of time just hiding out in the swamp drinking rainwater--seems like it hardly did quit raining, that

whole time--and trying to do what I could for my injuries, which wasnt much, praying that they wouldnt find me and take me back there, trying to put some distance behind me and figure out where I was andwhere I needed to be. They never did find me, but it wasnt for lack of tryinghad me surrounded at one point for several days, were so close I could smell them and they seemed to know I was in the area and would have ended up stepping on me eventually, I think, if the choppers hadnt come then and started honing in on their position. Nearly did me in, too, dont believe they knew I was in down there in the middle of all that, but I made it out, still had a good walk ahead of me before I found my way back. Andy didnt get out. I found out later that hed been dead within a week of me leaving. Probably never did talk to them. He was just a kid. I should have stayed, should have found a way to get him out of there when I left or if not should have stayed so they could have put some of the focus on me and spared him some in the interrogationsI could take it, you know, and they kinda preferred me, anyway, were convinced I knew more and they were right, but I he shrugged, shook his head and seemed about to crush the cooking pot, still clasped between his palms, stared into the fire. Well, they wanted to send me home after that, after they took a few days getting me all patched up, told me I was through, but I wasnt ready, begged them to let me stay, pleaded, appealed, went through the whole processwanted to stay there for Andy andjust had a lot of unfinished business over there. They wouldnt listen to me though, ended up shipping me home. At which point I went ahead and quit appealing that doggone medical discharge they were shoving on me, turned right around and headed over to Rhodesia He scrubbed a sleeve across his face, glanced over at Liz and returned his gaze to the fire. Dont know why Im telling you this Guess its because when I woke earlier and was having trouble breathingwell, Im real sorry. I know I know what you must have thought. Dont be sorry. She squeezed his shoulder, didnt know what else to say, what can a person say? put her hands over his and gently freed them from the cooking pot. Now, will you please let me make you that mullein tea? He smiled, scooped up a handful of the leaves.

They slept half sitting up that night with Einars still-difficult breathing in mind--the mullein steam had done him a lot of good, but he was still wheezing a good bit, coughing, until he settled in and quit moving--leaning on a heap of spruce needles that Liz had scraped up and piled behind the bed. Drowsy, drained, minds and bodies alike badly in need of rest, they reclined in one anothers arms and watched through half-opened eyes the flickering, pulsating glow of dying orange as the fire drifted into sleep and the rain, pattering with a gentle insistence on the nearby aspen canopy, sang to them a song of solace, renewal, life, that seemed to hush all other sounds both inside and out, and Einar was certain that he could almost make out its words as he drifted off to sleep

During the night the brittle, damp chill so characteristic of high altitude rainstorms--even during the summer months--crept in and settled over the basin, but still the weary pair dozed, sheltered and warm under the tree in their cocoon of spruce debris. Around them the odors of rain on alpine soil and rock, thin, earthy lichen-scent, the sharp almost-sulfur of moist, fractured granite and the fresh, spicy redolence of the damp, fallen needles of spruce and fir combined with the last fading hints of smoke from their fire, drifted, melded, filled the air with a clean, joyous fragrance that left Einar smiling in his slumber, deer hide atop them to hold the insulation in place, and sleep was silent, deep, immeasurably sweet there beneath the spruces, interrupted only occasionally by Einars need to sit up a bit straighter and improve his breathing. Morning came, and Einar lay watching the sunlight--for sometime in the deep predawn hours the clouds had parted--as it cascaded golden and rippling down into the basin, transforming the landscape from one of damp, sullen greys and blacks to a soft, brilliant world of living green, the reddish hues of fireweed and paintbrush contrasting with half a hillside of purple lupine and sky pilots and elephants head, interspersed clumps of the deep, impossible orange-yellow of golden-asters, and he went on lying there as the sun slowly crept down the basin and found its way to the patch of aspens just beyond their shelter, glowing with a hushed green through their trembling leaves, sparkling the drops of moisture that still clung there after the rainy night and sending them in blinking little diamond-bright showers to the ground with the breeze it brought on its wings. Not long after that the gentle sun-streams finally fell in patterned, fernlike patches through the boughs of their spruce-shelter, lightly brushing Lizs face as she lay sleeping. Einar watched in awed, wordless wonderSing to the Lord a new song, for He has done marvelous things...marvelous, marvelous thingsHe set my feet on a rock, and gave me a firm place to standstudying the play of light and shadow on her face until his attention was drawn by a nest of columbine, flowers large and deep purple in the welcome shade of the aspens, where they bobbed and rustled in the whispering, sundappled breeze amongst a thicket of bracken fern, rain-speckled, vibrant, and softly he left the bed, freed himself of Lizs sleep-grasp and crept over to the flowers, broke one of the spurs from the largest of the bunch and squeezed a large drop of nectar up through its broken end, every bit as sweet as honeysuckle. It was a trick he had learned one summer while watching the hummingbirds feast on the same nectar, had never heard of the stuff being consumed by humans and had known that the plants were, themselves, inedible, but he had cautiously tried it, and had found the nectar to be good. Taking more nearby flower spurs, he sat down on a rock to enjoy their nectar. He was, despite the joy of waking to the sunlit forest after hours of undisturbed sleep, still feeling terribly unsteady and, he thought, a bit feverish that morning, cold and shaking shortly after having left the bed, and the sugars in the nectar seemed to be helping him to feel a bit stronger, less likely to meet face-first with the damp ground in the near future. Better eat something soon, it looks like. Something more than this nectar Wakened by his movements Liz had sat up, and he took one of the flowers to her, motioning for her to stay where she was. Brought you breakfast, and he set the columbine flower, well over three inches in

diameter, in her hand. Its beautiful! But I didnt think you could eat columbine Sure I can, and so can you! Let me show you how. See these spurs here--each flower has five of them--that give the columbine part of its real distinctive shape? She nodded. Well, they act as nectar reservoirs, and the hummingbirds--and hummingbird moths, too, you ever seen one of those? Pretty neat looking--come and pollinate the flowers as they reach in there after the nectar. Well, theyre not the only ones who can enjoy it. Watch. And he picked one of the spurs, handed it to her and chose one for himself. Following his lead, she freed its drop of nectar, tasted it, her eyes lighting up. I never knew! Nope, me neither, until I tried it one day. Not gonna get enough nourishment to sustain you or anything this way, and for all I know it might be a bad idea to try, considering that the roots are real toxic and the seeds, too, since they contain cyanide, but the local tribes did eat small quantities of the blooms, and as far as I know, the nectar is safe. Pretty good, isnt it? And its so sweet that even a little quantity of it like you can get from one flower will really give you a little burst of energy if youre trying to run on nothing, for one reason or another. Yes, I imagine it would. Speaking of nectar, though, wed better go ahead and put those sap jars back under the box elders, dont you think? And get the fire going so we can finish boiling down what weve already collected, make some tea and maybe some more soup. If you think its alright to have a fire here in the daytime, now that the rain seems to have moved out Yes. Still need to be cautious, use real dry wood, but I think werealrighthaving a fire He stopped, doubled over with a coughing fit, and it took him a good while after to catch his breath well enough to speak again. Liz didnt think he was looking too good, very pale and shivering and not seeming to be able to get quite enough air, and she hurried over to the fire and began preparing wood for that mornings small blaze. Einar soon joined her, taking a seat on the aspen log and using his knife to help split kindling for the fire, which Liz soon brought to life, setting a pot of water to heat for tea. They were quiet as the water heated, the silence an easy, comfortable thing between them as they sat together watching the sun finish creeping down the meadow-dotted bowl of evergreens and aspens below the camp, illuminating each of the trees in turn until finally the entire basin was in sunlight. Seeing that the water was simmering, Liz poured off some for herself, adding to it some strawberry leaves from the patch near the firs, threw a handful of crunched-up mullein leaves into the remaining portion, handed Einar the pot and he breathed the steam as deeply as he could--got to find some Oregon grapes today, need to be drinking berberine, not sure what I could have been thinking, waiting so long-drank some of the liquid and set the rest aside for later. Liz was watching him, he felt her gaze and looked up, saw that she was staring rather intently at him.

Id like to run the trapline this morning Einar, check the snares I put out yesterday. Will you stay here and watch the fire while Im gone, get the sap boiling again and all? Taken slightly off guard by her assertive tone and wishing, instinctively, to contest the matter, Einar instead kept quiet for a minute, shook his head and grinned at her. Only fair, I guess. Theyre your snares Which answer surprised Liz and pleased her immensely, as she had been expecting to have a fight on her hands when it came to talking him into staying close to camp that day and taking things a bit easier. Not that his remaining behind would insure, by any means, that he got any more rest than he chose to in her absence, but at least it spared him the long, steep climb, gave him the chance. Taking a few strips of jerky and her nearly empty pack, she set off. Liz was gone, and Einar, having banked the fire and set the syrup-jars to begin their slow simmer for the day, headed down to the little cluster of box elders to unplug the bore holes and again insert the deer bone sap spouts, hoping to collect another jarful or two that day. They were down to one jar, the other two being in use with the previously collected sap, but he figured by the time a third one filled, one of the others might again be available, a good quantity of water having boiled off of the cooking sap. It was a very small-scale operation, but would, if successful, provide them with a bit of valuable, sweet syrup, and definitely seemed worth the effort. The jar in place, he watched a few slow drips of sap ooze and splash down into it, left, satisfied, and headed down to the meadow to collect strawberries for their breakfast. Wanted to have them ready for Liz when she got back, knew the snare run shouldnt take her long at all, seeing how much more quickly she was able to move than he, at the moment. Which I must work on. No excuse for this. Kinda hope she gets a rabbit or something up there so we can have a change from the venison soup, but at least we have food available to us right now. Though what we really need, both of us, is fat, and youre not gonna get much of that from any rabbit, nor from a spring deer, either. Need a porkie, some more grouse, ptarmigan, orbest of all would be a bear. Kinda lean themselves this time of year, but theyll be working on that as fast as they can, knowing winters just a few short months away, and that meats a lot fattier than any of the hoofed critters, anyway, even during the lean times. Yep, he told himself, beginning to fill his hat with the red brilliance of dozens of tiny wild strawberries, better be on the lookout for some bear sign. And, he knew, had better find one pretty soon, too. His mind was at ease that morning, a surprising and a welcome thing, but in his body was a great weakness, a beyond-weariness, and it frightened him some, now that he was able to think about it, the occasional blurring of his vision and the irregular fluttering and racing of his heart behind his ribs, the occasional sharp pains it gave him, the inordinate amount of work that seemed to be demanded of him in completing even the simplest of tasksspeaking of which, he had completed the strawberry picking--hat was full--and it seemed as though hed better sit down for a minute, which he did, back warm in the sun--gonna be fine, plenty to eat now and weve got where we were going, if we can manage to stay here and not have to start running again--and the bumbling, buzzing hum of the bees and flies in

the nearby flowers singing softly to him, lulling him towards sleep, dream, head on his knees, spear leaned up against the rock there beside him and hands trailing the ground Down below him in the meadow he saw Liz and little Hildegard, only something wasnt quite right, because Hildegard, bare-backed in the warm morning sun, appeared to be a boy child, and that certainly seemed a strange name for a boy, and the two of them were crouched side by side in the sunshine, digging avalanche lilies with sharpened elk-rib digging sticks, the yellow flowers spangling the meadow and climbing like a river of gold up the slope beyond, and when he looked more closely, or tried to--eyes were awful blurry, everything a bit indistinct, fuzzy--he saw that each of them had a large basket of willow wands, each nearly full of the sweet, nourishing bulbs, ready to be steamed and dried and stashed away as winter bounty, and the boy--he looked to be a good seven or eight years old already, and Einar wondered where the time could have gone--had strong, lean, sun-browned arms, looked to be thriving, and Lizthere was his Lizzie in that fringed dress of white doeskin, cattail-leaf hat perched rakishly on her head, shading her eyes He smiled, overwhelmed at the raw, aching beauty of the entire scene, the wonder of it, rose to go to them but suddenly they were gone, evaporating before him like mist in the sun-splattered meadow and disappearing before he could take a step in their direction and then he was gone, too, the world fading to black around him as he fell

Einar, when he next became aware of existence, found himself not especially wanting to resist the darkness that seemed to be holding him down, pressing him into the soft, muddy rain-saturated earth, found it somehow a pleasant thing, a welcome respite, felt as if he could go on contentedly resting there on the ground for days, weeks, for an eternity, perhaps, and he might have, had it not been for the image of Liz and the boy as they had been in the dream-vision. He kept seeing it, and with the sight came the thought that no, its not time to rest yet. Not like this. The babys not even here yet and Liz is going to need help with the baby, and besidesyou still have to make her that doeskin dress. And build the cabin. Havent done that yet. Any of it. So it cant be time yet, not if you have any choice. Wasnt sure there was much he could do about it, though, wasnt, for that matter, even entirely certain that he was still breathing, though he supposed he must be. So. Do something about it. And he got himself with some difficulty rolled to his side, leaned back up against the rock where he could hope to get more air. Lying down had been a rather bad thing, when it came to getting oxygen. Better, he coughed, took a few shallow breaths, got himself draped across the rock with his arms out in front of him in the hopes that he might remain upright even if he passed out again, which he didnt, at least not right away, sat there for a time just studying the meadow and trying to scrape together the strength to get up and head back to the fire--needed checking, probably some more wood, too--thinking also that he ought to go dig some Oregon grapes and chew on their roots for the berberine, eat a good handful of those strawberries hed collected, see if they might give him a bit of energy, but it didnt happen, any of it and then he was asleep again, or something like it. Lizs snares were empty, all but one, which held a good sized rabbit which she freed

delightedly and slung over her shoulder, bending down the flexible spruce sapling which had served to secure the creatures capture and end its life and resetting the snare. She had not really expected to find anything in the snares, that being her first morning to check them, and was pleasantly surprised at the acquisition of the rabbit. It would make a nice change from the venison jerky soup that had been sustaining them for the past days, and, starting down, she paused here and there in small clearings to dig spring beauty bulbs to go with the rabbit. A nice thick stew, she expected, ought to do Einar a lot of good, sounded great to her, as well, and she tucked the leaves and blooms of the spring beauty plants whose roots she had taken into her pack to supplement the stew. Not wanting to leave Einar alone for too long she finished the digging quickly, continued her descent. He had almost, it seemed to her, been too willing to stay behind that morning and let her run the trapline, had consented too easily, and she didnt know quite what to make of it, whether he was looking to get rid of her so he could go out and do the sort of strenuous work she would have tried to discourage him from that day--it definitely wouldnt be the first time--or if perhaps he was simply feeling a need for some time alone, after their talk the previous night. If that was it, she would certainly understand, would try to give him whatever space he needed, assuming she was able to tell how much that was. He had seemed uncharacteristically relaxed and cheerful that morning, aside from the coughing and such, but she wasnt sure what to make of the fact that he had chosen to tell her the things he had--other than to be immensely grateful that he had, apparently, finally come to trust her enough to share things that he clearly found very difficult to think about, let alone put into words--nor did she know, yet, how the telling of them might affect him. Best to get back down there. But thentheres always the possibility that he has simply come to his senses and decided to take it easy and allow himself some time to recover, to get over whatever was causing the fevers and the breathing troubles, before it gets worse. Ha! Not much chance. That would really not be like him at all. Speaking of the breathing troubles, Liz reminded herself that she needed to be keeping a sharp eye out for mullein, as they had used up most of their supply that past night, and would almost certainly be needing a good bit more. The stuff was not quite so common up as high as they were, not, certainly, the abundant weed of roadside and disturbed ground as it was down lower, but still she managed to fill her hat with the soft, light green leaves, small ones, as they were the only ones available that early in the season. The smaller ones were also, she knew, better for the making of tea, as the plants healing properties were more concentrated then than they would later be in the larger leaves. But the larger leaves are better for bandages, for padding your feet when you walk--though theyve got to be fresh for that purpose, or theyll just crumble to nothing as soon as you start walking--and Im wondering if they would have any use as diapers for the little one, when she comes along? Probably not. They arent very absorbent, and it seems that all those little hairs might cause a rash on the babys skin. They do seem to irritate the feet some, if you dont put socks or some other type of leaves between them and the skin. Though maybe theyd have their use with the little one, if I put a pad of usnea on top of the leaf to be in contact with the skin and to absorb things, and used the big mullein leaf to hold it in place? Oh, well, it doesnt much matter anyway, because itll be too late in the season to find many fresh mullein leaves, if any, by the time the baby comes around.

Guess well just have to use rabbit skins or something for diapers, with pads of usnea as the throw away part A bit further down the slope, and with the collection and storage of medicinals on her mind, Liz came across a large, scattered patch of yarrow, the tiny, fern-frond leaves of deep green emerging in plenty from a scanty cover of the previous years aspen leaves, and she paused to collect several hands full of the strongly coagulant plant material, remembering several times when its blood-stopping abilities had served them well, and knowing that, according to what Einar had told her, it was just as effective for this purpose when dried as it was fresh. All right. Its been a very productive morning, but Id better get back down there and see what Einars up to. Just as soon as I dig a couple of these Oregon grape roots, because whether he thinks so or not, he really should be drinking some of that Berberine stuff right now. Good thing theyre so plentiful and easy to find! Returning some hour and a half after heading up the hill, she found Einar sprawled out across the rock down at the meadows edge and not looking particularly lively when, having failed to find him in the camp, she went searching, startling him awake at her approach. Chagrinned at being caught sleeping and a little confused--hadnt realized hed been out long enough for her to make it up there and back, not even close--Einar got the spear into his hands and scrambled to his feet. He was awfully stiff, cold on the side that hadnt been exposed to the sun and was hit by such a wave of dizziness upon standing that he was soon back on the ground, Liz joining him. Grinning at her, Einar fought to catch his breath, to drive back the blackness that was once again trying to take him, spoke, not realizing that his speech was strangely clipped, fast, alarming Liz. You know, I think Hildegard is gonna be a boy, so we might want to consider some other name What? What are you talking about? Hey, are you alright? What have you been doing? Youve got mud all over you. And whats this about needing to consider some otherI thought Hildegard was just a joke, anyway? Dont tell me you were seriously thinking about using it Well I liked it, but Im telling you, shes gonna be a boy, and it just wont do. Shes? No, I dont suppose it would do, not at all, but Einar, I think you really just need to come have some rabbit stew, sit by the fire and rest. I got a rabbit, and on the first night the snares were out, too! Isnt that great? Come on back to the fire, Ill help you. Nah, he hoisted himself upright with the aid of the spear, dont need help. I can do it. And Ive had just about all the rest I can take for one day, anyway. Need to move. Look. Got us some strawberries to go with your rabbit Liz took the strawberries, pulled Einar to his feet and followed him as he took off--more

quickly than was strictly necessary, she thought--for camp, shaking her head. She could see from the scuff marks on the ground, the mashed-down grass, that hed spent a good bit of time lying there, and as that seemed rather unlike him, she doubted it had been his choice, though didnt expect him to admit as much. What am I going to do with you, you goofy guy? Fill you with stew and make you some more of that mullein tea for starters, I guess. And then sit on you for the rest of the day to keep you off your feet Which would have been rather ill-advised, as she well knew--but she was just about to try it, anyway--and wasnt, though she did not know it yet, going to be at all necessary.

The quart jars of box elder syrup had, by the time Einar and Liz got back to the fire--it took them a while, Einar being somewhat less steady on his feet than he would have liked--boiled down significantly, and were emitting a delicious smell, the remaining syrup quite sweet when Liz gave it a try. Almost entirely clear, not quite as flavorful or as sweet as maple but with a similar taste, she was excited at how well it was turning out, wanted to ask Einar whether he thought it was done or not, but, leaned up against their bench-log, he seemed to have gone to sleep again, knife in one hand and a piece of firewood, which he had apparently intended to split, in the other. She decided to let him be, for the moment--saves me the trouble of having to sit on you--focused on skinning the rabbit and getting it all chopped up for stew, adding a good sized handful of spring beauty bulbs so they would have plenty of time to get soft and mushy and fall apart in the stew, their starch thickening it. Stretching the rabbits skin over the wide, smooth-barked aspen log that had been serving as their seat, she carefully scraped it until all of the remaining flesh and membrane had been removed, a process which she knew from experience must be done with care, lest she leave the hide full of small nicks and holes that would enlarge and stretch when the time came to tan and use the fur. Finishing the process, she drove a number of bone fragments--Einar had collected them back behind the waterfall at that bobcats lair, and she wasnt sure what he had intended to do with them, but hoped he wouldnt mind her using a few of them--through the edges of the hide and into the benchlog, meaning to leave it stretched so until it dried. She wished they had some salt, expecting it would make the whole process a lot easier, perhaps removing the need to do so much scraping and drying right at first, but was glad that Einar, at least, seemed very well versed in a number of more basic procedures. The rabbit furs, if they got enough of them before the time came, would make a fine blanket for the little one. Liz thought she remembered Einar describing to her once the incredibly warm blankets that could be made by cutting rabbit furs into strips and then somehow weaving them together, and she hoped he might know how it was done. If not, shed certainly figure something out. The stew beginning to bubble, Liz took one look at Einars hatful of wild strawberries, which, being delicate things and having been treated rather roughly while in the makeshift container--looked like he might have fallen on the thing, actually--and decided that they had better be made into a jam or sauce of some sort. Pouring them out into the small enameled bowl that they had salvaged from the trash pile at the old bunkhouse she poured the berries into it, she realized that Einars wool cap was soaked and sticky with juice--wear this to bed, and youll be turning yourself into bear bait! Is this some new

hunting strategy of yours?--set it aside for a later trip down to the creek, where she intended to do some laundry--and returned her attention to the berries, picking out the stems and leaf bits that had been mashed in with them and scooping out a bit of hot syrup from one of the jars, drizzling it over the red mush. There. Jam. Pudding. Strawberry sorbetdoesnt really matter what we call it, Im sure it will go great with this stew! Returned once again to wakefulness by the combined odors of simmering rabbit and strawberry mash, Einar scrambled up onto the log bench--whats with all the resting, said Id had all the rest I could take for one day--sat watching Liz confusedly for a moment before returning to his firewood-splitting duties. Upon finishing with her strawberry dessert making, Liz had unpacked the leaves and roots she had gathered on her climb that morning, yarrow, mullein, the bright yellow roots of Oregon grapes, and she sat not far from the fire, spreading her harvest on a smooth, clean section of aspen log to dry. Einar took one of the roots, saw that she had already taken the trouble to scrub the dirt from them in a creek somewhere on the way down, removing some of their dark brown bark and exposing strips of their bright yellow, bitter smelling interiors. Mind if I have one of these? Kept meaning to go out and dig some this morning, but No, take as many as you need. Thats why I brought them. Want me to make tea? Ive got some water almost hot. He nodded, started chewing on one of the roots in the meantime, not liking the fact that he seemed to be breathing no better than he had been, earlier that morning. The root was intensely bitter, nauseating, almost, but its acrid flavor seemed to cut through some of the haze that had been hanging over him, and he realized that Liz was stirring and testing the box elder syrup, seeming intent on trying to determine its state of doneness. He went over and sat down next to her, tasted a bit of it on the end of a stick. How do you tell when its done? Its definitely getting sweeter Well, up at my cabin--oh, boy, there were years when Id end up with close to three gallons of the stuff, which was real good considering how small the box elders were up there, and pretty sparse, too--I used to check the temperature as it went, and you could tell enough water had boiled off when it was able to heat up to a certain temperature. Then Id filter it, let it cool so all the gunky stuff could settle, and pour the syrup off into pint jars so I could can it. If you didnt can it, mold would sometimes grow, eventually, and spoil it. Learned that the hard way. Cant really do any of that out here, so I figure well just cook it until its a little thicker and tastes right, then stop. Been thinking about how to preserve it. If we had a lot more, Id say we might be better off just cooking it down into sugar, since that would be a lot drier, and stores better. Easier to transport than a liquid, too, in case we end up mobile again. But I dont know that were gonna end up with enough to bother doing that. Well see. For now, I figure we can just store it in one of the jars, add a couple drops of a real strong berberine solution to help keep bacteria from growing in it, and use the stuff for syrup. Then maybe by next spring well have scouted around this area enough and found a bunch more box elders, maybe down lower

in the valley back down there before we climbed up to the waterfall, someplace like that, and we can go down there for a week or so in the spring and set up a sugar camp, end up with a bunch of the stuff! Used to do that up at my cabin. There was a spot down along the creek below me were there were more box elders, and Id just camp out there for a few days every year. That syrup, and the sugar I sometimes made from some of it, were my entire sugar supply a lot of years, too. It was good to be able to produce something like that for myself, cut down on the number of things on my list when I went to town. Though of course were doing it for slightly different reasons, nowa lot more at stake here than reducing the number of yearly trips to town. Yes, there sure is. Though from what youve said, I imagine you werent making many trips to town during those years, even though technically you could have Ha! No. Went as seldom as possible, which sometimes meant Id go for months without seeing anyone else--except down at my gate now and then when apparently some misguided soul would take a notion for whatever reason that they needed to come check on me, but mostly they never ventured past the gate, after seeing my special sort of no trespassing signs--and that suited me just fine. Wasnt at the cabin all that much, anyway, at least not during trapping season. Or climbing season. Or hunting season. Which, lumped together, adds up to very nearly the entire year It sounds like those were good times for you Yeah. In a lot of ways. But I think these are better. Dont believe you would have liked me very much if youd met me during those years, anyway. I was kinda ornery, you know, kinda wild, just an uncivilized old mountain critter whod sooner eat wolverine stew boiled in an old elk stomach and sleep curled up under a tree than have anything to do with town living and crowds and such Liz rolled her eyes, struck playfully at him with her war club. And what, precisely, is supposed to have changed between then and now?

While Lizs rabbit stew simmered over the coals, she and Einar kept testing the syrup, finally deciding it to be done and pouring all of it into one jar. Even after boiling down many quarts of the raw sap they had ended up with something just short of a pint of syrup, but both of them were quite happy with the results of their labor. The stuff was incredibly sweet and flavorful, a real treat that they would stretch and guard carefully, getting the most out of each drop. Einar, added a few drops of berberine solution, boiled down and concentrated over the fire until it was a bright, bitter yellow, to the syrup, pleased when it did not noticeably alter the taste. The strongly antiseptic liquid would, he hoped, be enough to prevent mold or bacteria growing in their syrup. Watering down the remainder of the berberine--didnt particularly want to scald his throat by drinking it as it was--he gulped down several good mouths full of it, knowing that he needed to do something about the infection that seemed to have settled in his lungs, preventing him

from getting enough air and making it, as he had discovered the previous night, nearly impossible to lie down to sleep. Liz, glad to see him drinking the berberine but--seeing also the pinched greyness of his features, the way he seemed to be struggling for breath, shivering heavily again despite the fire and the fact that the day was warning up quite nicely--fearing that it might not be enough, asked if she could pound his back for him, try and loosen up some of the phlegm so he could get rid of it and hopefully breathe better. Einar, beginning to drift once more into a feverish haze which he fought fiercely but seemingly in vain, nodded his assent. Liz made him some more mullein tea in the pot that had held the berberine, had him drink what he could of it and breathe its steam for a while, after which she gently pounded one side of his back and then the other, a practice which he had mentioned using in the past when he had similar troubles and which, along with the steam, led to a great deal of productive coughing, Einar seeming a good bit more present and alert when he had finished. Still, she was concerned, took his hand and checked the color of the skin beneath his fingernails, still an unhealthy grey-blue, as it turned out. Einar, do we need to think about heading down for a little while, lose some elevation so youll have more air? Im wondering if it might help But he shook his head, insisted that hed be fine, and Liz did not press the matter, seeing that he hardly seemed to have the energy to remain sitting at the moment, let alone make the steep, rocky, thousand foot descent that would likely be needed if his breathing was to be eased, much. The stew was ready. Despite its smell Einar was not really hungry, nauseated somewhat by the berberine and by his own lack of oxygen, but he ate, doing it mostly just because Liz was staring at him and expecting him to do soand because he knew that he must, couldnt afford to let himself get any further behind, any weaker, not when he had so much work to do, shelter to build, bighorn sheep to hunt and butcher, meat to dry, and huh! Sheep to hunt, is it? Now whered that idea come from? Guess you might as well, though, with that big herd you saw grazing up on the ridge. Theyve got babies down in one of these basins, Im sure, gonna be spending a lot of time up in here, might as well give them a little more time to fatten up on this good rich grass, then take onehide would be real good to have, as well as the meat. Thats some good meat, real good, not that Id pass up on a mangy old coyote or a weasel, right now, but the bighorn sure is better. Real mild, tender meat. Liz would probably like some, too, and a bighorn will tend to weigh a little more, on average, than a deer, especially if you can get a ramyep, better eat, so Ill have the energy to get myself up there and go after one! And haul it back So, he ate. The meal finished and Einar heading down to the creek to rinse out their eating vessels and haul back a pot or two of water for boiling before they let the fire die out for the day, Liz headed across the meadow to a spot where a thin, misty cascade of snowmelt showered down over a twenty foot wall of not quite vertical granite. Having studied the place from camp with the binoculars and seen the green abundance of moss that grew along the moist expanse of rock, the riot of wildflowers, fireweed, daisies, a hint of blue that could have been harebells, she thought it a likely-looking spot to hunt for the

raspberries she had been hoping to find. Much as shed been enjoying the strawberry leaf tea, she knew raspberry would do her even more good, help prepare her for the little ones birth, and the berries would be a real treat, too, provided it was not too early for them to be ripe. Skirting the meadow--she remembered all too well the time shed taken off across the center of a similar clearing, hoping to save time, not too many weeks ago while she was suffering from snow blindness, only to be surprised by that federal helicopter landing mere yards from her, taking her--and keeping mostly beneath the trees, she reached the water-smear, found a tiny oasis of moss, dotted with the small, red-maroon blooms of kings crown, succulent-leaved, delicate, and the tiny, roundish green leaves of newly sprouted watercress. But no raspberries. Exploring up along the base of the rocks she came to a little gulley, damp but not flowing, that cut the cliffs from top to bottom. There where it opened up, the draw was choked with a lively mess of large-leafed, vibrant thimbleberry bushes, many of them speckled with ripe and mostly ripe berries. Liz had tried them before and, while they did not seem either as sweet or quite a strongly-flavored to her as raspberries, they were still delicious. So delicate that many of them fell apart as she picked them, Liz knew that the berries would not last long once harvested, but she want ahead and picked as many as would fit in her hat, anyway, knowing that they could eat at least that many before the day was over, feast on them, but she was frustrated at the way they kept falling apart in her hands. Returning to camp she found Einar sitting beside the fire--which hed apparently put out--adding feathers from one of their recent grouse meals to a newly-made atlatl dart. He didnt look too good, but was at least awake and breathing, which she took to be very positive signs. Gonna be heading up to the red ridge pretty soon after a bighorn. Want to come with me, help carry the meat back down? Pretty soon? You mean today? He laughed a little at that. No. Want to give them a little more time to fatten up. Week or so. Yes, of course Ill come! Maybe we can finish that bow in the meantime, so each of us will have a weapon Whats that? You have a weapon, Id say! And he eyed the rabbitstick somewhat ruefully, rubbed his collarbone. But yes. I intend to do that. Finish the bow. Ill start on it tomorrow. Liz sat down beside him, held out the hat full of thimbleberries. Ah! A treat for tonight! Figured it was about time to start seeing some ripe ones.

There are a lot more where these came from, but I cant seem to pick them without ruining them. I guess theyll all just have to be eaten fresh. Oh, theyre great fresh, but if therere enough of them, we can dry them. Some of the tribes used to mash them up just a little bit, form them into little cakes and dry them in the sun to use during the winter. They were used a lot in winter stews, combined with deer fat, meat and dried lily and spring beauty corms. And the leaves make a good pretty good tea, high in vitamin C, have enough tannin to help stop diarrhea. The Utes used the stuff during pregnancy, said it helped strengthen the uterus or some such and prevent excessive bleeding at birth, drank it for a week or two afterwards for the same purpose. Thats exactly why I wanted the raspberry tea, but I havent found that many raspberries yet. There are tons of thimbleberry bushes though, so Ill just gather and dry those, and start drinking the tea. Hey! Are they also called salmonberries? Einar nodded. Yeah, thats another name for them. Dont hear it as much here in this area, but its the same plant. Then its one Susan mentioned in the note she gave me! I was going to ask you sometime what salmonberries were, but hadnt got around to it yet. She says Liz pulled the tattered sheet of paper from her pocket, says Im supposed to take two teaspoons of leaf tincture every half hour, during labor. Not that Ill have a teaspoon to measure it with, or a way to make a tincturebut she says a very strong tea will do nearly as well. Huh. Well, good. Glad weve got a lot of it here, since raspberries are looking a little scarce. Though I still say were bound to find a good patch if we follow the creek up a ways, check in the sunny clearings. This is just prime raspberry territory. Thimbleberries are good, though. We better dry a whole bunch of those leaves. Sounds like you can use them, and theyre supposed to be good for helping restore a persons appetite after being sick, too, though Ive never tried them for that. Well in that case, Ill be making it for both of us. At which Einar shrugged, wanted to object to her implication that he had been sick but figured it was probably a pretty accurate characterization, much as he disliked to admit it, not much sense having a better appetite though if you got nothing to eat, so I better get busy nabbing us one of those bighorns before we can run out of deer jerky, set out a bunch more snares. Shes got her dozen or so up there on the way to the plateau, guess Ill cover the trees that border this meadow and the one next to it. Be real easy to access as long as were down here, and not to far to come every morning once weve moved up higher there. A job with which he meant to get started just as soon as he had helped Liz finish their snack of thimbleberries.

The agents at the compound had been unsure at first, the signs a bit ambiguous, but after the events of that past week, there could be no doubt. The fugitive was stalking them,

hunting, circling their camp and leaving a half-heel impression here, a tiny scuff mark on a rock there, the occasional coarse, black hair from the bear hide slipper he seemed to be wearing on one foot, and once--the agent who found it had been afraid to touch the thing, and the bomb techs, all wrapped up in their padded suits and helmets, had to be called in from Clear Springs before anyone would move it--a long, bone-tipped dart placed rather deliberately over an animal hide-wrapped package of some sort, just outside their perimeter fence. The package, when finally they had used a robot to remove the dart-evidence, they needed it intact--and place a small charge to detonate the ominous object beneath, had turned out to contain nothing but a chunk of solid granite, but the message had been clear. He knew where they were, was watching, and was seemingly able--and anxious--to come and go at will, while evading their detection. The dart had beyond dispute belonged to the fugitive, a good mostly-intact fingerprint being discovered on the dart head. A strand or two of his hair was even found cemented securely into the pinepitch glue that he had used to help secure the dart head in place, each complete with the bit of skin necessary to make a DNA match; it seemed to the investigators that he must have got the dart too close to his hair as he leaned over it working on the glue, holding it over the fire to keep it soft as he wrapped and twisted the sinew strands into place over it, longish hair trailing down like some stereotypical caveman image, youd think with all of the technology and financial resources at our disposal, the manpower, wed have had this caveman by now But they didnt, and it was aggravating to no end that not only was he alive and continuing to evade them, but becoming bold enough to bait them like this, too. And then one dark, moonless night an equipment storage trailer burned, fully engulfed before a response could be mounted. The trailer, while covered by the compounds surveillance system, had been considered safe, as it stood a good fifty yards inside the double-thickness, concertina wire-topped perimeter fencing. By the smoky morning light, the sharp, throat-searing stench of melted and burning vinyl siding still hanging heavily in the air, the AIC stood surveying the ruins, the neat cuts in both the inner and outer fences where the fugitive had taken advantage of the fact that a small patch of scrub oak within the compound obscured a few feet of it from view of the cameras--no more, they had it cleared out that morning, hacked short and then burned--a barely-visible depression in the ground offering a very careful, slow belly-crawling intruder safe passage to backside of the trailer itself. It was suggested that the brush all around the compound fence be bulldozed, burned, paved, perhaps, to give them a flat, clean buffer zone several hundred yards wide, at which one of the agents joking suggested landmines, not a bad idea at all, thought the AIC, and his predecessor Jimson probably would have done it, too, but there was a little matter of public relations to consider; the last thing the Bureau needed at the moment was a visit from Amnesty International or the Red Cross or some other high profile international organization because some misguided grouse hunter or horse or child had accidentally strayed into no mans land and lost his legs. Electrifying the fence certainly seemed, for the moment, a reasonable compromise. As did an increased effort of community outreach, surveillance and intelligence gathering, the AIC firmly convinced that their man must be receiving food and other supplies from one or more of the local residents, perhaps even staying in their homes at times. A major tactical error on the part

of the fugitive and one which the AIC hoped would finally prove his undoing. Would have to. A person cannot get away with such indiscretions indefinitely.

Setting out to begin work on a series of snares--most of them constructed of his nettlestalk cordage, as they did not have very much paracord left, and he was reluctant to cup up what they did have--Einar worked his way around the meadow, seeing a good bit of rabbit sign and one or two squirrels--he placed snares on angled branches leaned against the trunks of spruces in the hopes of catching one or two of them--and once, the clear imprint of the front foot of a good sized bobcat in the soft, muddy soil that had collected along a bend in the little creek. Having brought along a few assorted scraps of rabbit innards and fur to use as bait, he scouted around the area for a minute, finally settling on a nearby fir beneath which to set up the trap that he hoped might take that cat. Aside from the fact that they needed the animals pelt and could always use and additional source of meat was the reality that the predator would be competing with them for the rabbits and squirrels that would likely be making up a large portion of their diet unless (until! We must) they secured some larger prey like a bighorn, elk or bear. Cutting a few branches and building a three-walled cubby to keep the cat from sneaking in around the back and nabbing the bait without tripping the trigger, he hunted around for a heavy rock slab, taking straight sections from a nearby mat of alpine willow and making the few cuts and notches necessary to create a simple figure four trigger. Hanging one of the rabbits hind feet from the tree trunk at the back of the cubby where it would swing slightly in the wind and hopefully prove an irresistible draw to the curious and hungry cat, he placed a rock slab on the ground beneath the spot where he meant to set up the trap, knowing that rock falling on rock is a good bit more effective at catching and hopefully killing such a creature than is rock falling on dirt. Putting together the trigger, upright balanced a bit precariously on the hard rock surface below, he eased the slab down into place, having arranged everything so that the cat would be very hard pressed to creep in and reach the rabbit foot without brushing the trigger stick and ending up thoroughly squished beneath the slab. Relieved when the trigger held, Einar eased away from it, got managed to get himself clear of the cubby, rolling down onto a patch of damp, brilliant green meadow grass before dissolving in a coughing fit that he had been fighting to suppress during the entire setup process. No good, Einar, youreway too loud here, gonna bescaringscaring all the. Couldnt get his breath, though, a difficulty which soon replaced his involuntary breaking of noise discipline as the most urgent matter at hand, leaving him hunched over beside the creek, scooping up hands full of water and chewing fir needles, fighting for breath. The coughing finally ended when he spit up a mouth full of thick, greenish slime--sure can do without that--significantly easing his breathing but leaving him exhausted and wondering if he might be in more trouble than he had realized. Well. Need more berberine it seems. Have to go back to camp and Not right away though, because he wasnt going anywhere right away, wasnt even doing too well and holding his head up, sat there by the creek for a good ten or twelve minutes more in the shade of the spruces before he started growing cold and made himself get up. Got snares to finish putting out, youll have time to be lazy later.

After it gets dark. While Einar was away Liz returned to the draw that held the thimbleberries, taking with her the two cooking pots and filling both of them with the soft, mushy fruit, eating a good many as she worked. The sun was warm on her back, a gentle breeze coming up off of the nearby meadow and bringing with it the gentle smells of sun-warmed soil, spruce needles drying after a rain, the subtle, barely-there ambrosia of the numerous wildflowers that were making their brief, brilliant appearance in the basin, short lives sandwiched between the late thawing of the snow and an short, early, high-altitude autumn, and the rhythmic work of harvesting the berries kept her hands occupied, her mind wandered, lingered on the things that remained to be done during those fleeting summer weeks, the preparations to be made for the winter, for the coming of the baby. Finally, hands stained reddish-pink and stomach happily full of berries she returned to camp, gently mashed that days harvest and formed the resulting mush into small cakes on a flat, blackish, sunsplashed rock whose surface she had first cleaned with water and a handful of spruce tips, knowing that they ought to dry pretty quickly in there in the high, dry, midmorning air. She would have been a bit skeptical of Einars mention of the dried berries as a stew ingredient, but remembered how glad she had been for the dried chokecherries and serviceberries theyd had that past winter, how the fruits had added tremendously to the energy value of their stews. Speaking of Einar, Liz realized that she had seen no sign of him while returning from her berry picking, wondered what had detained him but, seeing as they day was warm and no more than half over, she was not yet too concerned for him.

Finished with his snare rounds--could have set more but he was out of raw materials, would have to make some more of that nettle cordage, and come back--Einar wandered a bit, exploring, coming across a thicket of raspberries where the wind had years ago blown down a significant number of spruces, creating a little clearing and nourishing its soil with the decaying remains of a good two or three dozen trees. Many of the berries were under-ripe, still, the clearing not getting a full days sun because of the surrounding forest and raspberries generally ripening somewhat later than thimbleberries, anyway, but he stopped to gather what he could, eating a few but, not feeling especially hungry, stashing most of them away for Liz. A fine treat, and one he was delighted to be able to bring back to her. Especially seeing as he had not run across a grouse or rabbit or other critter that might have provided them with a fresh dinner. Not that there was anything wrong with venison jerky stew, of course Picking several hands full of leaves from the raspberry thicket, he carefully stacked them on a piece of flat aspen bark, covering them with another after laying a few wadded up bracken fern leaves on top of them to keep them from sliding out of the makeshift container. Wanting a way to secure the two halves together, he dug with his hands into the soft soil beneath the berries, feeling around until he hit a pencil-sized spruce root, pulling a good three feet of it from the ground. Splitting the root with his knife, he used the springy, flexible pieces to wrap and tie the leaf-holder closed, using the remaining split half to create a loop that could be slung over his shoulder to ease the carrying of the little package. Leaving the raspberry thicket he came across a few nettles--found them the hard way, actually, the still-short plants concealed

beneath a bed of ferns, catching him in the back of the hand as he passed, and, not wanting to pass up on the opportunity, he gathered a good bundle of them to take back for soup and tea, finding and collecting a number of the past years old brown stalks, also, mashed to the ground by the weight of the snow. Wandering again, Einar eventually found himself down near the small lake at the lower end of the basin, took an extra few minutes to go stand beside its grass and reed-green edge, studying the water for signs of life. The day was very still, hardly a ripple creasing the glassy surface of the tarn, blue sky and a few ragged-edged, black-rimmed clouds reflected flawlessly there as if one was looking up at the sky instead of down into the water. Which illusion left Einar briefly dizzy, grabbing for a tree to steady himself but finding none nearby, and unable to get his bearings, he sat down heavily on one of the many lichen-dotted rocks that jutted up out of the sea of lively green that rimmed the water on that side. He closed his eyes--felt awfully hot and sick all of a sudden--tried to drive away the churning dizziness that had come over him and met with limited success, but not quite enough to allow him to keep to his feet without the world tilting around him, it seemed. Slumping down off the rock and kneeling amongst the reeds he splashed water on his face, found that it felt good and stretched out on his stomach, submerging his head--face in the clouds, disturbing the sky-mirror with his splashing--until he began to cool down a bit and was finally able to keep straight the border between earth and sky, and his general place in the scheme of things. Rolling to his back he lay there panting for breath and staring up at the sky, which looked just like the lake, minus its border of reeds. It was still spinning slightly, as were the trees when he raised his head to see them, but not, he supposed, enough to pose a real problem. Whew! That was interesting. Now. Better get up andwhat were you doing? Right Signs of life. Any fish in here? He didnt think so, knew the body of water was not large enough to support a fish population through the winter, would freeze over thickly enough to deny them sufficient air, might, seeing as he was able to make out the bottom in many spots through the still, crystal clear water, even freeze solid. And it hardly seemed large enough that the wildlife department would stock it with fish, as many of the larger alpine lakes and streams were. There were, however, other signs of life, the delicate little tracks of a mouse--he could even see where the tail had dragged, leaving a solid, wavering line like the trail of a worm--zigzagging their way along the narrow band of black mud that joined water to soil, and when he followed them with his eyes, they disappeared into a hole in a grass hummock not far from the water. Einar was not the only one to have noticed the presence of the mouse, as he discovered when, upon crouching down for a closer look at the tiny trail, he discovered, faint but unmistakable, the light-footed impression of a foxs front paw, distinctly narrow and with hair partially obscuring the pads, in the mud beside the hole. He saw also a spot where the creature, having apparently come along too late to catch the rodent out in the open, had made a few tentative scratches in the dirt, but had stopped short of actually attempting to dig into the tiny den, the ground being far too rocky. Well. Youll be back I believe, little fox. Your tracks are fresh, look like theyre from this morning, but you dont need to worry about me. Not gonna try and take you, not right

now in the spring when your winter coats all falling out and getting thin for summer. Yep. Look at this And he picked up a small tuft of reddish-grey fur from a rough patch of lichen on a rock just above the mouse burrow, inspecting it, fox for sure. You feast on mice, get nice and fat and healthy over the months, grow a nice sleek coat, and Ill see you again in the fall Just dont take too many of our squirrels and rabbits, or Ill be seeing you before then! Might be seeing quite a bit of the fox, actually, he knew, as hed seen the precocious little creatures quickly become accustomed to human presence and end up making quite a nuisance of themselves, hanging around begging for food like a pet and stealing anything and everything they could sink their quick little teeth into. Hed tolerated such behavior from one handsome little silver fox up at his cabin, having enjoyed watching the creatures antics, the way it slunk warily around the edge of the clearing, watching him, waiting for him to turn his back so it could creep in close and investigate the spot where he had been cleaning a fish or scraping hides, and he had especially enjoyed observing its winter mouse-hunting method, which involved stalking across the meadow down below the cabin, stepping lightly across the surface of the snow with its big radar ears swiveling constantly until some tiny sound or vibration from below alerted to the presence of a rodent, at which all four feet would leave the ground, sending the fox into a high jump that ended with the creature torpedoing nose-down into the snow and, often as not, coming up again with a mouse meal. Smiling at the memory--that fox had stuck around for several seasons, keeping him company in a distant, quiet way that had suited both of them quite well and keeping the area relatively free of mice, too--Einar got back to his feet, tilted his head until he found an angle at which the dizziness seemed more or less manageable, and continued his circuit of the tarn. More tracks here and there, droppings, over on the far side where the ground was a mass of exposed, water pitted rock, that looked to him like marmot, and when he scanned the nearby boulders, it was to see one of the golden-bellied creatures, already beginning to fatten up on summer grass and leaves, lounging on its back in the sun. Opening a lazy eye it glanced at him, watched his movements for a minute before deciding that, as long as he came no closer, he wasnt much of a threat, not even worth screeching at and diving beneath the rocks over, and promptly went back to sleep. Yep, good place youve got here. Good safe spot. Think Im gonna like it here, too. Stomach growling in spite of himself at the sight of that nice sleek marmot--makes a good stew, real good stew, and even provides a nice bit of fat if you can take one in the fall--Einar shook his head--weve got food, better let it fatten up some more--turned away from the water and headed up into the evergreens. Time to be getting back to camp. Gonna take me a little while to get back up there, its looking like, as slow as I seem to be moving. Not acceptable. Got to do better. And he would have, if only he could have managed to get a full breath. Einar was about to be moving a lot faster, though, full breaths or not, the sound beginning as a faint hum in the distance, so faint that it might have been lost at first among the bumbling and buzzing of the bees in the clumps of red and white paintbrush there at the edge of the meadow, but rapidly approaching

By the time Einar became sure what he was hearing the plane was close, flying low along the ridge, and he hurried himself in beneath the trees, crouched there hugging a spruce as it approached, made a low, slow circuit of the basin and continued along the ridge, finally fading from both sight and hearing. He wondered if theyd been seen, their trails through the meadow or--sure hope not--smoke from a fire Liz might have got going back at camp for one reason or another, figured they would have spent more time circling had that been the case, and then he heard the plane coming back, pulled himself in closer to the tree, standing, plastering himself against its trunk until he was positive that he could not be seen, not visually, anyway, and he highly doubted that they would have chosen a bright, sunny mid-day to scour the place with IR sensors, so he was probably alright, but Liz please dont let them see her, dont let her be sitting there trying to get a fire put out with it leaking smoke and alerting them Remembering the last time an aircraft had come while they were separated, the chopper that had caught Liz out in the meadow while snowblind, had taken her, he scrambled out from beneath his tree as soon as the planes humming again faded into the distance, and was running, atlatl and dart in one hand, spear in the other, the assorted acquisitions of his morning of foraging wrapped and tied at his side but still flapping and banging somewhat as he scrambled over fallen trees and up around boulders, heading for the camp as quickly as he could, set on arriving there before the plane could come back, before they could bring a chopper in. Hurrying to return to Liz, Einar nearly forgot the troubles that had been keeping him moving at a snails pace most of the day, preventing him, at times, from getting enough air and leaving him dizzy, forgot them, that was, until he found himself collapsed over a fallen aspen tree fighting to get enough air through his coughing. Couldnt stop the coughing and he couldnt stop moving, either, climbing, must keep going, tried to silence himself long enough to listen for the return of the plane and couldnt hear anything, and it was no wonder, through the rushing in his ears, blackness coming up to meet him but he fought it, finally managed to get a full breath after coughing up a great deal of thick, unfortunate-looking phlegm that had apparently been freed by the effort of running. Better. And he was on his feet again, exhausted but hardly noticing it, the sound of the returning plane just edging into hearing, third pass, this cant be good, hid himself beneath an evergreen thicket as the aircraft--not the same one theyd seen from up on the ridge that day, he was now sure of it--made a lazy circle around the outside wall of the basin, skimming low over the ridge and presumably scouring the steep-sided valley on its far side before returning to view, taking off along the ridge. Einar was running again, then, just as soon as he was sure he would not be seen, breathlessly scrambling up through the brush and fallen trees as he took what turned out to be a very nearly straight line up towards the camp, and Liz. Approaching the camp--he smelled it before he saw it, faint, lingering odor of smoke, and he hoped desperately it was from their breakfast fire, and not a new one that Liz might have been burning when the plane first come over-he slowed his pace, stopped to listen, the absurdly fast pounding of his own blood in his ears drowning out all other potential sound, but nothing appeared amiss, the plane seemed not to have been covering for some ground force that had been making its way

into the camp, or if it was, they hadnt got there yet, so it wasnt too late, stop it, slow down and think, Einar, no way they could have got people in here this quickly, not unless theyve been watching us for dayswhich they may have been satellites, drones, maybe something aroused their suspicion, grab Liz and youd better get moving, sure hope shes here, hope shes got things packed up, and then he saw her, sitting calmly beneath the spruce that had been serving as their nighttime shelter, twisting nettle fibers for cordage. Liz spotted him as he stepped out into the clear space beneath the sweeping branches of the spruce, got to her feet looking suddenly a bit alarmed and came to him, got her arms around him and kept him from falling, which he had been about to do, led him over to the aspen-bench where she had been sitting and pulled him, unwilling but too badly winded to resist, down to sit beside her. It was a minute before he could speak, eyes darting around the camp the entire time as he studied their possessions, their packs, made a plan and estimated how long it would take for them to get out of there. Too long, very likely, but theyd have to do their best. She was offering him water, holding it up for him and he drank, finally spoke. Plane keeps coming back. You had a fire while I was gone? Ive seen the plane, yes, but havent had a fire, not since this morning. He looked relieved, rested elbows on his knees and took a few deep breaths--first time in a while hed been able to do that, lungs hurt and the air tasted like hot metal in his mouth, but at least he could breathe, and it felt great--nodded. Good. Dont like the way they keep circling around here though, think theyve seen something, trails, tracks, some sign of us or our camp. Weve gota little more than we came here with, but not too much to carry, I dont think. Better pack up. And he staggered to his feet, un-slinging his burdens of nettle stalks, leaves, the little packet of carefully picked and protected raspberry leaves, setting them beside his pack and preparing to load up. Liz wasnt moving to do the same, and he motioned towards her pack, wild-eyed and insistent. Einar--what do you mean, leave? Where are we going? Down. Down over the basin rim, into the valley where we can move faster, and then were just gonnahave to keep moving, put this place as far behind us as we can. Come on, better get packed up before that plane comes back, before they start bringing in the Wait! She was on her feet, staring him down. Listen to me. We didnt put this place behind us when that other plane came over, up there on the ridge when we first got here, and I dont see why we should have to do it now. That plane isnt here for us, its just taking another look at those bighorns, dont you think? And youve always said were more likely to be seen when were on the move, anywayweve got a good hiding place here, how about we just sit down she steered him back over to the log-bench, stay hidden and give it a few minutes, see what the plane does, and go from there? Einar shook his head, wanted to tell her how this was different, very different and they

had better leave, but when he thought about it, he couldnt really come up with solid reasons to support his intended assertion, sat there and stared at the ground for a minute, listening, hands dug into the soil in search of any distant vibrations that might tell of the approach of a more menacing form aircraft. But feeling nothing. Ok. Well wait. Not sure whats got their interest up there, but you could be right about the sheep. Doesnt really explain their circling the basin like thatthink we need to get everything packed up and ready, just in case, but for nowwell wait. At which Liz sat down beside him with a great sigh of relief, relaxed her grip on the war club. Sure glad you came to that conclusion Looking at him, she had a feeling that the worst of the crisis with his breathing might be behind him, or close to it. Weary and strained as his face appeared, it was, at least, something approaching the right color, the frightening grey-blue pallor that had been showing around his eyes and mouth over the past day or so seeming somehow to have left him on his scramble up from the lake, and she was hopeful that if she could keep him well hydrated and eating for a few days, breathing mullein steam and drinking the berberine solution, that he might soon be out of danger. The plane seemed to have left the area, neither of them having heard any sign of its return, but Liz rose to begin loading her backpack, nonetheless, knowing that there was some chance that Einar had been correct about the suspicious behavior of the plane, and that, either way, being ready to go would help put his mind at ease. Sitting together beneath the shelter-spruce, bags packed and the process of turning Einars newly-gathered dry nettle stalks into cordage occupying their hands as they listened for further intrusions by the little plane, Einar and Liz had, as yet, no idea just how great an impact that days events were to have on their immediate future. And not in a way they would have suspected.

Having made several more passes before buzzing over the ridge for the last time and disappearing, the plane finally left for good, and though Einar was on edge, alert for any sound that might tell of the presence of additional aircraft, the approach through the timber of a team sent in to take them--not that there would be much to hear, theyre not gonna send amateurs--he stayed there with Liz, knowing she had been correct about unnecessary movement putting them at further risk of detection. And supposing that she might just have been correct about the plane being related to the bighorn herd theyd seen up on the ridge, too, though he could not quite imagine why so many passes would be necessary, if they were simply counting the creatures and checking on the state of the newborns. In the past, hed seen the Division of Wildlife, or someone working for them, count elk by skimming the treetops with a little yellow and white JetRanger helicopter, hovering in the heavily-timbered folds of some of the steepest, most rugged country in the area--directly across a gorge from his cabin, as it happened--presumably hoping to stir the elk to movement so they could be seen and counted. He hadnt much liked all that activity at the time, had spent the morning grumbling and squinting through binoculars at the hovering, humming chopper and subsequently crouching back in the trees behind his

clearing for a good part of the day when he should have been working on other projects, before finally getting mad enough to head down the mountain and find a phone. Wanted answers. Hed met one of the local wildlife officers on his way down, a man he knew, to some extent, and had learned from him of the elk counting project--survey, the fellow had called it, and Einar had bit his tongue to keep himself from demanding to know just what sort of questions they were asking the poor elk, anyway--that would be going on for the next several days. They were using a grid system, the officer had told him, zigzagging back and forth to cover every inch of ground in the proscribed area, which had explained the intent and persistent attention the little chopper seemed to have been giving to rugged area of broken red spires and timber opposite Einars land. He had returned to his cabin with a mind somewhat eased for knowing the purpose of the commotion, but still not much liking it, and hes slept in the woods, that night. So, it seemed not out of the question that similar effort might be put forth for the bighorns, and he had a sudden impulse to go up there to the ridge, find a sheltered route by which to creep up to its summit and scout around until he found the herd, confirmed whether or not they had been the planes focus. A bad idea, perhaps, but he probably would have done it, had he been alone. Better than sitting there wondering, waiting to find out if the activity had been completed, or was simply the prelude to something more ominous. He wasnt alone, though, had no intention of taking Liz up there into a potential trap, and doubted shed willingly let him make the climb alone, just them. So he sat, chewing on an Oregon grape root in the absence of tea--no fire until after dark, hed decided, jut to be safe, and then only if theyd heard no hint of further air activity-and gently pounding that mornings haul of dried nettle stalks to separate the fibers for cordage, still contemplating an eventual scouting trip up to the ridge, and certainly not ruling it out. Using the camp-time well, Einar helped Liz get a good bit cordage twisted and cut for snares--between them, he estimated that they had made nearly fifty feet of the stuff, pretty good for an afternoons work--the finished loops hung from a nearby branch, ready to use. The stuff was good and strong, the small, even plaits of Lizs work having finally met if not exceeded his own in precision and quality, he saw, her speed at making the stuff, too, and it pleased him that she had not only picked the up the skill readily, but had made it her own. Good as the nettle fibers were, Einar wished that there was some dogbane handy, it providing a finished product that was, in many cases, stronger and more durable than the nettle, and a bit easier to work with. Liz, he thought, would probably enjoy it. Dogbane was largely a plant of the slightly lower elevations, though, so Lizs introduction to it would have to wait until they could make a trip down to the green, creek-wound valley below. Scanning the row of coiled snares Einar decided he would take a good dozen and a half of them with him in the morning to finish the wide, timber-hugging loop that he had begun work on that morning, assuming they were not running for their lives before morning came, an assumption that he was certainly not ready to make. But it is always good to hope, so long as a person doesnt let the hoping begin to obscure reality too much.. Or so Einar had come to conclude. The packs, then, remained ready to go, sitting

side by side in front of the firepit with weapons--Lizs atlatl, darts and bola; Einar insisting on keeping his within easier reach that afternoon--leaned up against them, ready to grab if they had to exit the area with little notice, and glancing at them, the thought occurred to Einar that they had become a bit lax over the last couple of days, building their fires right out in the open like that, shielded only by a few rock slabs that they had placed around the coals to help hold in the heat and by the tangle of spruce boughs overhead. Not nearly as unwise as building a roaring bonfire out in the middle of the meadow, perhaps, but he had spotted the blink and sparkle of the fire on his rainy descent from the plateau--and a good thing for you, too, or you might have gone on wandering all night in that storm until you finally ran out of energy and froze in the mud out there-and if he had been able to see it, so, perhaps, might others who for whatever reason happened to be traversing the basin or nearby ridges in the evening or nighttime hours. With that in mind, Einar picked out a good digging stick, a broken length of springy, suncured spruce that Liz had no doubt meant as firewood, scraped aside the dead coals from their previous fires and began loosening the baked soil beneath, scratching out a hole and not stopping until it was a good foot and a half deep. Knowing both that he had time--not going anywhere, not that afternoon, anyway--and that it would increase the fires efficiency, he used the sharpened stick to slowly bore an angled hole from the ground surface a couple of feet from the firepit, down to its bottom. Done, and he rose, stretched and went to hunt a few more dry branches for that evenings blaze. Their mid afternoon snack--eaten during a break Einars fire hole-digging and Lizs ongoing twisting of cordage--consisted of a strip each of jerky, eaten dry, water to wash it down, and a good-sized handful of Lizs thimbleberry mush. The raspberries Einar had so happily been bringing to Liz had suffered considerably from his hasty return to the camp, ending up just slightly less mushy than the thimbleberries, but Liz had still been delighted to see them, had promptly set them aside for after dinner. Even more valuable to her were the leaves, and the knowledge that there were many more to be harvested where they had come from, and, hanging them between two sunny spruce branches, strung onto a length of cordage so that they looked like laundry on the line, she determined to go as soon as Einar had decided it was safe and pick a great quantity of them to be dried for tea. She did not want to let the season pass, if possible, without a good quantity of them being stored away, as her pregnancy was to stretch through the fall and into the winter, when such things certainly would no longer be available fresh from the plant. When Liz looked up from her work it was to find Einar resting beside the firepit, having collected and split a good pile of dry, dead aspen branches, and by his expression it was clear that he was listening intently, scanning the whisperings of the wind and the muted gurgling of the nearby creek for anything out of place. She thought he looked better than he had in days. The enforced stillness, though Einar might not have admitted it, seemed to be doing him a lot of good, his cough and the congestion in his lungs persisting but not taking his breath so badly, the fever troubling him less, and when evening came and they had a little fire in the pit hed dug, he made an effort to consume each and every pot of berberine and mullein tea Liz made him. She had a stew going, its faint odors beginning to rise as the liquid heated to contrast most enticingly with the increasing bite of the evening air, and

Einar rose, left the fire and stood outside its tiny circle of light, testing the air, listening. It had, when he reflected on the past hours, been an incredibly long day, the early morning time when he had woken to a fresh, rain-sparkling world and joyfully watched Liz in her sleep before leaving to do something about breakfast seeming ages ago. A lifetime ago, also, seemed the dark hours of that past night, the scene in which he had crouched beside the fire and told Liz things that he had for years believed he would never speak aloud to another human seeming almost surreal, and he hoped he had done the right thing in burdening her that way with the matter, wished for an awful, bleak instant of sheer terror that there was some way he could take it all back, reclaim a thing that was rightfully his, and his alone to bear, wrap it up and conceal it deep inside where it belonged, but knew that there was no way. And no sense dwelling on it just then, either, as it was done. Finished. He looked up at her, found her watching him and shook his head as if to clear it of the shadows that had begun rapidly creeping in around the edges at the memory of the night, got to his feet and joined her beside the little fire. Supper was starting to smell awfully good.

That night, as most nights up there in the thin atmosphere of the basin, was a chilly one, Einar and Liz never quite thoroughly warm as they huddled together in their bed of spruce litter, fire-warmed rocks nestled against Lizs chest and the small of Einars back where they lay pressed together for warmth, tucked in near feet and shoulders, but they grew somewhat stiff and chilled as the heat of the rocks faded in the night, and Einar-awakened by his still somewhat labored breathing and the need to raise his head a bit more to improve it--knew they would spend most of their nights thus, until they could acquire a better sleeping robe or two. Makes a big difference, having something to wrap up in at night, help hold the heat in. But at least it was summer. Hed spent winter nights with a similar lack of protection. Worse, actually, because he had more than once in the past found himself damp and without dry clothes to change into, fire not being an option because of the air search, and those were nights that stood out in his memory as some of the longest of his life. This is pure luxury, by comparison. Their position could be improved, he knew, by clearing a bed-sized patch of ground and building on it a series of small fires to thoroughly warm the soil and rock beneath, either scraping aside the coals or burying them so that they could radiate heat through the night. He had taken advantage of such beds a time or two, had found them very effective, but had not wanted to risk so large a fire since coming to the basin, and especially not since the recent appearance of that plane. No matter. They were fairly well protected, the nights were staying above freezing, and they would be alright. Might even--he listened for a minute to Lizs peaceful breathing, shivered, rested his forehead on her shoulder, which was warm--manage to get some sleep. In Einars dreams, which were mercifully few that night, quiet, subtle things that spoke gently to him of great, windswept alpine expanses, the smell of sun on granite and the rush of the wind in the spruces--quiet but immensely powerful--he saw the bighorns up there in one of the smaller basins just below the high, rocky expanse of the ridge, ewes and lambs side by side partaking of the good rich spring grass while others lay in the

meager shade of scattered copses of sub-alpine fir, chewing their cud, and then the plane came, skimmed low over the basin and most of the sheep went on with their meal, nervous glances skyward quickly giving way to their need to eat, but one, a large, healthy-looking ewe, seemed to have been badly spooked by the sound, was moving quickly into the timber at the lower end of the little basin, lamb following her with a shaky, bleating persistence, and then the two of them were gone over the edge, out of view Waking at first light, Einar left the bed and made his way out to the edge of the meadow where he stood listening to the morning for a few quiet minutes--nothing out of the ordinary, so far as he could tell--before finding a large boulder and positioning himself behind in the hopes that he might avoid waking Liz with the racket he was about to make. Chest feeling tight that morning, breaths a bit wheezy and not terribly efficient, Einar knew that he must stay on top of things if he wanted to continue moving in the right direction, prevent the congestion in his lungs from dragging him down again as it had done for the past couple of days, let alone worsen to the degree that he would find himself all but useless for a time, hard pressed to recover. Which wont do, not if I can avoid it. Finding a fallen tree that would serve to keep him up off of the damp ground he sat down, leaned forward until his chest was resting on his knees and began beating his fist along the outside of his backbone, right fist on the left side, left on the right--had a bit of trouble with that one, due to the persistent stiffness in that shoulder, but it was improving, and he managed the task--stopping from time to time when bouts of coughing seized him, pleased when he was able to loosen and expel a good bit of mucous, that way. Might have worked better, he knew, if hed had Liz do it for him as she had done the day before, but he wished to spare her the duty, if possible. Which, apparently, it would be, as the exercise seemed to be producing the desired effect, leaving Einar worn out and a bit nauseous-feeling, but breathing better and ready to face the day. Thirsty, though--hadnt been getting nearly enough to drink over the past couple of days, between the fever and his rapid breathing--and he headed back to camp for some of the leftover mullein tea from the past nights fire. As Einar climbed the short slope up to camp the memory of his dream, the one with the bighorns, returned to him, and, pondering once again the feasibility of a climb up to the high ridge to scout around and try and track the actions of the plane--ha! Tracking a planefrom the grounda day after it went overnow thats kind of a new one, but I know I could do it, could figure out by reading the recent movements of the bighorns whether the herd, or something else, was the object of that planes interest--he returned to the meadows edge, quickly crossed it and climbed a short distance up the rocky, sparsely timbered slope on the far side of the basin, searching for a concealed route to the top of the ridge and finding it, he was pretty sure, in a steep, tree-choked gully that cut up out of the basin and appeared to offer a hidden path very nearly up to the broken, rod-rocked summit of the ridge, at which he would likely be forced to leave it and traverse around a band of cliffs. He wanted to take off right then and make the climb, figured if he really pushed himself he could hope to be back before the day was halfway over, and he very nearly did it, but knew that it wouldnt be fair to Liz. Better get back up there.

Liz was awake when he got back, had pulled out some cold stew for their breakfast and was soaking some partially dried thimbleberries in water enhanced with a small bit of box elder syrup, and when she asked if he was ready for breakfast, he sat down without hesitation, his appetite beginning to return just a bit. For a time they ate in silence, watching the sun creep down into the basin, shining with a brilliant green translucence through the aspens and finally reaching their camp, but Einar had eyes only for the red ridge, for the route he had mapped out in his head. Thinking maybe I better make a quick trip up there today Liz, see if I can tell for sure what that plane was looking at. Sure would be a good thing if we could know for sure that they were just counting sheep To Einars surprise she did not object, instead nodding, rising, and beginning to prepare them a packet of food to take. The climb, though she hated to think of Einar exerting himself that way while still struggling so with his breathing and knew, also, that heading up towards the exposed ground of the ridge would surely put them at greater risk of discovery if the plane did return at the wrong time, sounded to her like the best thing they could possibly do, that morning. She knew that as long as there was any doubt in Einars mind as to the purpose of those repeated passes by the plane, the matter would gnaw at him, might very well grow in his mind until it became his prime focus and eventually demanded action, very nearly destroying him in the process. Shes watched it happen more than once before, and the thought of being able to interrupt the process this time was a very welcome one, indeed. A risk, too, because there was always a chance that they could get up there and see something which convinced Einar of the nefarious intent he seemed already to have ascribed to the planes activitiesbut in that case she supposed shes be just as anxious to leave the area as he would, so it seemed there really was nothing to lose. Ive got us some food herewhen do you want to leave? Us? Yes, Im coming with you. No negotiating this one, is there? Nope. Figured Then lets make sure all the jerky and everythings hung up safe in the trees so nothing gets ahold of it, and head on up there. Afraid Im gonna be a bit of a slow climber today, and I wont want to rush things up near the top, anyway. Will need to go real slow and quiet until we have a good idea of what, if anything, is happening up there. May take a good half of the day, but I really need to know, and figure maybe it can count as scouting for a future sheep hunting expedition, too. Some of the best meat youll ever taste, if we can get ahold of one. Which I know we can. Ive done it before. Though never with an atlatl

Well, lets go then! And she embraced him--much to his befuddlement; had he known she was that fond of bighorn sheep stew, hed have tried harder to get her one, before-glad to see how much his health seemed to have improved since the previous evening, and grateful, also, that she wasnt going to have to go at him with the war club to prevent him from making that climb alone. The gulley proved to be a bit steeper than it had appeared from below, travel slow and difficult but, as Einar had observed, well concealed, and he did reasonably well with the ascent, having to stop now and then and catch his breath, but not nearly as often as he had feared he might. Things seemed to be on the mend. And then, they saw it. Watching the timbered steepness above them, Einar had been noticing for some time what appeared to be cliffs ahead, a vertical, if broken wall of red rock, and then, hauling themselves up through a particularly steep band of small, close-growing firs that clawed at their legs and tried to scrape the packs from their backs, they found themselves looking at a full grown bighorn ewe, neck twisted around behind her, clearly dead. That she had fallen was obvious, a patch of broken, mashed chokecherry scrub showing where she had hit a narrow ledge some ten feet above the spot where she had come to rest, after having gone over the broken red rim, a good thirty feet above that. The ewe, large and quite healthy-looking--aside from the broken neck--as had been the one in Einars dream, was clearly a mother, a fact which Liz was first to notice, and had been dead since sometime the previous day, leaving Einar a bit amazed that the meat had not been torn into by scavengers. The steepness of the area, he supposed, must have protected it, but surely would not for much longer. They had to get that meat out of there, and it was going to be a major task. Positioning himself so as not to go tumbling back down the chute below him as he worked--trees might have stopped him, but it sure would have hurt--Einar was preparing to begin skinning the ewe, Liz balanced on the other side to assist him, when they heard, from up in the direction of the chokecherry ledge, a thin but unmistakable bleating.

The sound did not come again, no stir of motion up on the ledge coming to give away the exact position of the creature that had let out that cry, and Einar, anxious to get the ewe butchered so they could start down with their first load of meat, did not want to pause just then to climb up to the ledge. More than one trip would, he saw, almost certainly be necessary to get all that meat down to camp, and from the feel and smell of it, he could tell that the carcass had sat already too long out in the elements, the warm sun of the previous afternoon having beat down on it through the trees. The faster he could get it skinned and gutted, the less meat they would end up losing. So Liz went, scrambling up through the brush as he worked and finding numerous footholds on the broken rock below the ledge and very soon hoisting herself up onto the narrow, brush-choked band of rock. Hearing a trickle of small rocks come dancing and skipping down from the rocks just below the ledge Einar looked up, and there was Liz, already halfway back down, a small, raw-boned lamb slung over her shoulder, weak, dehydrated and looking very nearly dead. She brought the animal to Einar and he reached out to take it from her,

meaning to end its suffering without further delay, but Liz saw what he was intending, stopped him. Wait! Why dont we take it back and see if we can keep it alive, raise it through the summer and then in the fallwell, it would have a lot more meat on it, by then He took the little creature from her arms, gently inspected its dull eyes, poor, scraggly coat and protruding bones, the way it breathed with its mouth open, panting, wheezing, guessed that it probably hadnt been doing especially well, even before following its mother over the cliff. Not surprising, he knew, as only a third of bighorn lambs tended to make it through their first year, the majority of them being lost to disease resulting from parasitic infection, mostly lungworm, which he suspected might be the source of the lambs troubles. He shook his head. Aw, Lizthis sure isnt any time for us to start keeping livestock. Not certain this little critter could even make it yet, without milk. Its only two or three weeks old at best, and in pretty rough shape. Kindest thing would probably be to add it to tonights stew pot But look! Theres no meat on it. Please. Just give me a few days to try and feed it, see if we can turn it around, and then if not Einar shook his head sadly, seeing how set Liz seemed to be on trying to save the lamb. Im sorry, Lizzie. This critters real sick, would need constant tending and a sort of food we dont have access to, most likely, if it was to have any chance. Might be able to keep it going for a little while on a liquid mixture of real well cooked-down spring beauty root starch and that box elder syrupall of it, all weve gotbut probably not, because how would it get the fat and protein it needs? And we cant be spending all our time and resources like that, when were barely making it ourselves. Got a little one of our own to think about, you know, to get ready for And if the lamb did happen to live? Think. Itll need to be spending its days grazing out in these meadows, all day, every day, all summer long, and what if that plane comes over again and they spot it out there, decide its worth sending someone up to investigate the lone lamb that seems to be growing and thriving all on its own away from the herdthat would be the end of this place, for us, the end of whatever wed been able to build here, to set aside Einar saw from her eyes that he had won the argument, glanced down at the lamb and almost wished he hadnt, but knew it was best. Stepping into the brush out of Lizs sight, he returned a few minutes later with the lambs lifeless little body curled up in the bottom of his pack, fifteen scrawny pounds of meat and bone and hide that would now be put towards securing their own continued existence, and for that, Einar was grateful. He set the pack aside, returned to skinning out the ewe, Liz helping. The meat was already a good bit past fresh but was--aside from the internal organs, which, much to Einars dismay, were already in a state which left them far more suited to use as bait than as food for humans who had any other choice at all--still useable. The fresher portions he intended to slice up for jerky, those that had received more heat damage after the sheeps death--he found himself wishing hed come upon it shortly after the fall, so he could have prevented all of that, but grateful, all the same, for the meat--being boiled up over the

next few days for stew. Even they, though not smelling quite fresh, could be made safe through boiling, and would be a most welcome addition to the food supply. Perhaps most valuable of all, though, was the hide. Large, soft, thin and strong, bighorn hides had been highly valued by the Shoshones and other mountain tribes for making war shirts and dresses and had, Einar was pretty sure, been turned into snowboots for winter, hair-side in. The hair of their particular ewe was somewhat ragged, as she had already begun shedding for the summer, and he expected they would probably end up scraping it off during the tanning process. Though, shivering at the memory of the past several rather chilly nights, he was tempted to try and tan it with the hair on, and put it to use, for the time at least, as a blanket. Well. Time to decide on all of that later. Right now weve got a major job ahead of us hauling all of this down to the camp, and it looks like wed better be hanging what we cant carry from one of these trees so it doesnt get gobbled up while were gone. The thought of that long descent to the camp, picking their way down through the steepness of the timber-choked gully, up over all of those fallen trees, across three steep-sided creeks and through more than one boulder field was enough to remind Einar rather forcefully of his weariness, of the fact that his breathing, while better, was still not back to normal, a painful cough still troubling him at times and lungs not quite functioning at full capacity, whatever that might be, but he just shook his head and grinned, returned his focus to the sheep haunch he had been securing to his pack frame. Was pretty sure hed make it, and that, for the moment, was all that really mattered. They had food, and lots of it, would eat well that night and--unless that plane shows up and we have to run--for many to come. He would have liked to finish the climb, scout the basins and see if he could figure out for certain the planes purpose, but figured the ewe and lamb were a pretty good indication. Securing his cargo of meat to the pack frame--Liz had agreed to carry the hide--Einar finished off the load by lashing the ewes head to the top of it, wanting the brain for tanning the hide, a task which he intended to get started on right away, this time, since they had ready access to water, a stable camp and the ability to have fire, at least at night. The deerskin, he figured, could be done at the same time, as could the small skin of the lamb. The ewes horns, also, would prove useful to them, though far smaller than a rams would have been, and lacking their characteristic curl. Larger horns had, he knew, been turned into bows by some of the mountain tribes, particularly the Shoshones, a pair of horns softened with steam so that they could be straightened, lashed to stout branches to dry straight and then shaved down into the proper shape and thickness, joined together with a precise sequence of sinew wrapping and thin reinforcement pieces shaved from smaller horns. The bows were then backed with sheets of sheep sinew just like the ones hed salvaged while butchering the ewe, held in place with glue made from the boileddown shavings that had been produced during the shaping of the bow and strung with twisted sinew, also, producing a bow made entirely of items harvested from bighorn sheep. It was a process that Einar had seen done, once, but he doubted it was something he would get right on the first attempt. Might end up giving it a try, though, if they came into possession of a couple rams horns at some point. Liz had been busy, had loaded her pack up and was ready to help him secure the meat they were having to leave behind, a process that was accomplished using a number of strong, flexible fir and spruce roots,

pulled from the nearby slope and tied together into the ropes needed to suspend the remaining meat up out of reach of scavengers. Most of them, anyway. Liz was quiet on the way down, willingly carried a large share of the meat from the ewe, in addition to the hide, but Einar could tell that she had been deeply affected by the loss of that lamb, wished he knew what to say to her but was having to use all the energy and breath he could muster, just to keep himself on his feet under the load with which hed burdened himself. Just as well. By the time they had reached the bottom of the gulley and made their way down to the cabin-site plateau, where they stopped to drink at the spring, it was all Einar could do to prevent himself from falling forward under his load and remaining there for a few hours of exhausted sleep. He was doing it, had every intention of finishing the trip down to their lower camp, hanging the meat, turning around and making the climb all over again to retrieve the rest of it, but Liz saw how much the effort was costing him, led him over to a fallen aspen and began helping him out of his pack. Einar stopped her, not wanting to go through the process of getting back into the pack again for the remainder of the descent, not entirely sure he would be able to make himself do it, once freed of his burden and resting. Liz wasnt giving up, though. This is going to be our home, eventually, isnt it? He nodded. Thenwhy not now? We were just staying down below so wed be close to those box elder trees while you were doing the syrup, and thats all done now. We can hang the meat up in these trees right here below the spring, go down and get the rest of our things and move them up here, where well be closer to the rest of the meat. And to the place where we plan to get settled, eventually. Einar thought the plan sounded like a reasonable one, let Liz finish freeing him of his pack and sank gratefully forward, head on his knees for a moment before rising. Youre right. Nothing to keep us down below anymore, and I like this place better, anyway. Can see a lot further, and the springll save us the trouble of boiling our drinking water, too. Real good plan. After a brief rest in the warm late morning sun on the rocky overlook just beyond the area of their future camp, some good long drinks of spring water and a bit of food--Einar, his body screaming at him for something more than a strip of dry jerky, had wanted to tear right into that raw sheep meat, but he knew better, as long as it had sat there, so he settled for the jerky--they worked together to hang the meat out of the reach of the hungry coyotes, bears and bobcats that could potentially come by in their absence, digging more long, flexible spruce roots to use as rope. When Einar pulled the carcass of the little lamb from the bottom of his pack Liz insisted on taking it from him, gutting and skinning it herself, though he had hoped to be able to spare her the task, having seen how its death bothered her. She seemed determined to do it, though, so he let her be, seeing the care with which she handled it and knowing that when the time came for tanning, he would find the hide without the nicks and thin spots that might have marred it in less exacting hands. Hanging the carcass and sorting through the creatures small gut pile, Einar was

again strongly tempted to feast on some uncooked sheep, liver, to be specific, but as the lamb had clearly been ill, he knew this would be unwise of him, instead retrieved one of the glass jars they had used to cook down the box elder sap and stowed heart and liver in it, filling the jar with icy spring water to help preserve the organs for later cooking. They would certainly have a good meal that night. And would need it. Got a lot of climbing still ahead of us if we want to save the rest of that meat, and wed better get started with it. Just as soon as she finishes with that hide. The ewes hide he had unrolled as she worked, washing it with jar after jar of icy spring water and doing a bit of preliminary scraping, folding it flesh side in and rolling it up when they were ready to leave, tucked away in the high, cool shade of a spruce where it would be relatively safe and well preserved until their return. Ready to begin the climb again, Liz stopped him. Theres really only one load of meat left up there. A full load for one person, I mean. How about if to be more efficient I go after it, while you head down to our old camp and start hauling our things up here? That way if you get done before I do, you could start slicing some of this meat up for jerky Sounds good. Only lets switch places. Ill climb up after the rest of the meat, while you pack up and move camp. You can slice jerky meat every bit as well as I can, and if that plane comes back, I want to be the one up there near where itll be focusing. Want a closer look at it, still got to make sure its just watching the sheep, and not us. She nodded, didnt like the idea of him making that climb again as badly as the first one seemed to have worn him out, let alone doing it by himself, but knew there would be little sense in trying to dissuade him, since he had that plane on his mind. You be careful up there. You too. And Einar was gone, spear in his hand, atlatl and darts sticking up out of his emptied pack and a spring in his step that belied the weight of his exhaustion, maintaining that pace until he was well out of sight up in the timber, not wanting to give Liz reason to come after him, try and talk him out of making the climb. Once out of Lizs sight in the trees his pace slowed significantly, limp becoming more pronounced--the carrying of all that meat down over the rocky terrain of the gully had aggravated it badly, left him wanting to step carefully in an attempt to avoid the sharp pains he was getting where his toes ought to have been, and he supposed he might need to replace the padding in his boot, add some fresh usnea to cushion things a bit better, a task he determined to attend to up at the top, before loading his pack. For the moment, though, it was seeming terribly essential that he keep moving, even if a good bit more slowly, lest he risk giving in to his weariness and finding himself at some point slumped over against a tree, waking after two or three hours of unintentional sleep to scramble, racing darkness, up the gully after that meat. Just keep moving. Which he did, the distance slowly passing away behind him as he continued putting one foot in front of the other, the sharp stabs in his right one reminding him continually of the need to collect usnea from the trees as he passed. Thankfully, it was quiet plentiful. Down at the lower camp, Liz loaded all of their belongings--jerky, cooking pot and the

rest of the jars, extra clothes and tools--into her pack, making a quick sweep of the area to be sure they werent leaving anything behind before heading back up the slope to the plateau. Einar might, she supposed, want to fill in the fire pit, scatter the piles of duff they had used for bed insulation and generally leave the place looking more like it had when they found it, in case anyone ever stumbled upon the spot, but for the time, she thought it wise to leave the camp as functional as possible, on the chance that they might find themselves down there again, and needing a ready place to sleep. Stopping for a quick bite of jerky before starting on the climb, she decided to check Einars snares quickly before heading up, found a rabbit in one and, to her surprise--he hadnt even told her about the setting deadfalls--a bobcat in the deadfall hed baited with the rabbit foot. Returning to camp and adding the creatures to her load, she started up for the plateau. Making an effort to keep his movements quiet and deliberate as he neared the spot where they had hung the remainder of the ewe, Einar managed to surprise a marten up in the tree, startling the large, red-brown coated weasel as it feasted on the meat and nearly taking it with a dart when it paused briefly to glare at him before vanishing into the timber, but he missed it, took a minute to retrieve the dart from the rocky steepness below the tree. The marten hadnt eaten much, but Einar was glad they had not decided to leave the meat for the following day, because he suspected they might have arrived to find the carcass badly decimated, little more than cracked bones left for them. Speaking of cracked bonesit was past time to tend to his foot, see if he could determine the source of the problem and better pad it for a little relief, and he found a secure spot to sit, back to a rock where he would be less likely to go toppling back down the gully he had just climbed, and pulled off his boot. To Einars dismay, the front of his sock was soaked with blood, his foot, when he got the sock off, quite a mess underneath. It appeared that the skin had been broken in two separate places along the gnarly mass of scar tissue and new skin that had finally formed over the wounds, and when he carefully explored the area, he was pretty sure he felt at least one sharp spur of bone just beneath the surface. Spur, splinter, whatever you want to call it, not surprising that its there. The problem-one of them, at least, the greatest being his choice of surgeon for the removal of the toes, but choices had been a bit limited at the time--stemmed from his carrying that heavierthan-normal load on the long, steep downhill, earlier. Descents like that always put some pressure on your toes, can cause blisters and sore feet if a person isnt careful or is wearing boots that dont agree with him, and when youve got no toes at all on a particular foot, and you do, apparently, have some sharp bits of bone left in thereno wonder it broke the skin. What a mess. Well. Gonna have to wash this real good when I get back, bandage it up, but for now, Ill just have to pad it with a bunch of usnea and hope it doesnt get a lot worse on the way down. Doing what he could for the foot, Einar lowered the meat, got it situated in--and lashed to the outside of--his pack, and began the descent, relieved that the plane had not made another appearance. Much as he hoped its actions had been related to the annual sheep and lamb count, and that alone, he really had been expecting to see it again, to watch it-or perhaps a helicopter sent in its stead--circle their basin and signal that the time had come for their hasty departure. Which, considering the acquisition of all that meat and

the hide from the ewe, would have seemed, even to Einar, who was accustomed to such turns of events, tragically poor timing. Not three steps into the descent, Einar knew he was in trouble. He tried to keep off of the foot as well as he could, used his spear to take a few tentative hops, thought of trying to find a crutch-stick, but knew it was no use. Not with all the weight he was carrying, and not on the steep, rocky terrain of the gully. It would be inviting disaster. Just have to get through it. Searching his pockets, he dug out a coil of willow bark, thoroughly dry and somewhat dirty from being carried for so long-he had been trying to avoid the stuff so it would do him more good when he really needed it, but still carried it for the occasional times when his leg or foot would get to aching badly, and this right here is way beyond aching--and wadded a portion of it into his mouth. The bleeding from his foot was not serious enough that he would be putting himself at risk by chewing a few mouths full of willow, he didnt think, and maybe it would dull things just enough to help him keep going until he got back to camp with his load. Would have to. Reaching the plateau with her heavily burdened pack, Liz began arranging its contents, setting things up on a flat rock not far from the spring, cooking pots, jars, tools, hanging damp clothes in a tree where they could finish drying, and stay dry if it happened to rain, and cleaning the bobcat and rabbit and hanging them in the deep shade of the spruces. An abundance of meat, a bounty, the camp was full of meat, and now, instead of lacking food, she saw that their problem was going to be dealing with the abundance before they began losing too much of it to spoilage and bugs, and Id better get started! But not before preparing a bed for that night, a similar arrangement to the one theyd had down at the meadow camp, and then, of course, she had to test it, lay down and dozed for a few minutes. The little one--Hildegard? Oh, man, I sure hope hes not actually thinking of using that name, if its a girl! Goofy guy--needed some rest. But not too much, because she had jerky to prepare, and she soon rose, wandered out into the sunlight and began choosing a series of straight, thin aspen branches with which to build a rough frame for drying jerky. As the afternoon wore on, Liz found herself looking up frequently from her work and scanning the timbered slope above the little plateau, the slightly more open ground up towards the mouth of the gully, hoping to see some sign of Einars return, disappointed but not especially surprised when she did not. She had known from the start that climb was to be a slow one for him, slow and difficult, but he had seemed to be breathing alright, had eaten, and would be back, in his own time. Liz returned to her jerky slicing.

Finding her hastily improvised jerky drying rack to be very effective, but filling up fast, Liz took the time to make another, using split spruce roots as Einar had shown her to lash three aspen branches together at the top, forming a large tripod which was a good foot or two higher than her head, at its summit. She then lashed on crosspieces, three levels of them, from which to hang jerky strips. The frames, Liz hoped, would prove fairly easy to move should the need arise, which it very well might, if that plane returned. The jerky needed to be out in the sun for drying, and though she did not know just how visible the

loaded frames would be from the air, she did not want to take the chance. Which meant staying close throughout the drying process, so she would be there to move the frames on short notice, if needed. Not that she had been thinking of straying far from camp while the meat dried, anyway, because it seemed a prime target for any hungry creature that happened to be wandering through, and wasnt too leery of the human scent. As the afternoon wore on, though, she found herself wishing more and more that she was not so thoroughly tied to the camp, starting to really worry about the amount of time it was taking Einar to make his way back down that gully, praying that he hadnt fallen or met with some other misadventure, but supposing that the most likely scenario involved him having ventured up onto the red ridge to scout out the movements of the bighorns, attempting to puzzle out the intentions of the plane, as had been his original purpose in heading up the gully, in the first place. If hed done that, she knew that it would be unreasonable to expect him back before dark, at best. Einar reached, finally, the bottom of the gully, stopping to lean for a minute on one of the many aspens that stood clustered around its mouth, lifting his pack with his hands to get its weight for a few moments off of his shoulders, where it seemed to be making it increasingly difficult to get enough air. Better. Good to be able to breathe again, if only for a minute. Had almost forgot about the difficulty he was still having with acquiring adequate oxygen, as focused as he had been on the foot, on sparing it as well as he could from bearing the brunt of the weight while at the same time maintaining his balance on some reasonably challenging terrain. The descent had been rough, sharp pains traveling up from his missing toes until after awhile his entire leg was wanting to cramp up on him with every step, and then it actually began doing so, leaving him to hobble along as best as he could, teeth gritted against the hurt of it and eyes fixed on the next landmark, which was seldom more than eight or ten feet away. Down there towards the bottom of the gully his landmarks had begun growing closer and closer together, stops more frequent, and he found his mind drifting more and more frequently towards the possibility of stopping, dropping the pack, sitting for a while and getting his weight off of that foot. Horrid, hateful thing that it was. Made sense, he had plenty of meat, could pick a sheltered spot and just lie there and gorge himself on the freshest of the stuff and then wait for sleep to comethe day was warm, sky clear, and he knew his hunger would wake him again before too many hours had passed, would wake him, surely, in time to complete his trip back down to camp before darkness closed in, and if it didntwell, no harm in spending a night wherever he had dropped. Knew he must not do it, though. Kept walking. Find a rhythm, you got to find a rhythm and stick to it, or youll never make this. Get ahold of yourself. Minds wandering. Wont do. And then he was marching, pace picking up, out of nowhere the words of an old song coming to him and helping him to measure his steps, settle into a speed and maintain it, repeating in his head, complete with melody, as he descended a hundred yards or so, then double the distance, again, and then suddenly the song left him, left him all alone with the crushing weight of that pack and the awful gnawing in his foot, the bundle of raw, irritated nerves that his right leg seemed to have had become, a shaking, trembling mass of gelatin, nearly useless, merely a burden, an impediment to travel. Hed surely do

better crawling on his belly, except for the pack. Would mash him into the ground if he tried anything like that, no doubt about it. No good. Got to stay on your feet. March, Einar. You got to keep marching. But the song was gone, and try as he might, he couldnt come up with another. Just keep moving, then. You done it before. And he did. Until he saw the watercress. Clustered along a small pool where the creek had backed up behind some rocks, the watercress spilled green and vibrant over the moist, mossy rocks. He did not really want to stop but made himself do it, thinking Liz would like the change in diet and knowing that, despite the bounty currently on their hands, they must take advantage of every opportunity for collecting food and adding to their supply. By standing below the spot where the little creek cascaded down over the rocks, Einar was able to harvest a good quantity of the watercress without removing his pack or stooping over too far, which was fortunate. Tucking the watercress into his hat and tying it to the outside of the pack--the day was fairly warm, and he didnt really need the hat anymore, for keeping warm--Einar got himself moving again, his thoughts turning to Liz and how she would enjoy the treat of watercress. He hoped. Didnt even know for sure that she liked the stuff, but expected so. Wasnt sure, either, how excited she would be about it, or much of anything else that day. Hed seen the way she had mourned that lamb, insisting that the job of dressing out the little carcass, scraping and preparing its tiny hide be hers and hers alone, had watched her uncharacteristically emotional response to the entire situation and had known without her saying anything that she had to have been thinking of the baby, of all the things that could potentially go wrong, of how they might run into problems they were not equipped to do much about, and, though he had no intention of speaking to her of the matter, he had to admit that he had entertained similar thoughts, from time to time. Had even found himself wondering, since the discovery of the lamb and ewe, just what chance he might have of keeping their little one alive if something happened to Liz, as it had to that ewe, shortly after the birth, knew that hed give the effort everything he had, but doubted his chances of success. Well. It was a thing to think about, to ponder, because all possibilities must, as a general rule, be considered, weighed, pondered beforehand, in any matter where so much was at stakebut perhaps not too extensively. Not while he was struggling as he was to cover distance, anyway, to keep moving. Better find something else to think about. Yet, despite the admonition, his mind stayed on the subject, grimly seeking to discover and weigh all of the possibilities, and the process carried him through to camp, nearly caused him to forget about the foot, at least for a brief time. Liz, who had been glancing up frequently at the slope for any sign of Einars return as she worked on slicing more meat for jerky, saw him shortly after he had spotted her, hurried to him and would have helped him out of his pack and carried it down the remainder of the hill for him had he let her, settled for freeing a section of ribs that had been lashed to the pack frame, lugging it along and chatting excitedly all the while about the bobcat and rabbit from his snares, the jerky, and the drying racks that she had made to expedite the drying process. Einar, exhausted and somewhat dazed after the forced march on that foot, followed her in grateful silence, glad that she was walking in front so as to spare him the effort of trying to keep her from seeing how badly he was limping. Which he had, somewhere along the line, decided to do, though he couldnt quite

remember why. Just seemed best that way. Hed deal with it later, when she was busy with something else. Or asleep. Seeing how much Liz had got done in his absence--must have been gone an awful long time, its looking like--Einar tried to let her know how genuinely delighted he was to see the racks full of drying jerky, the carefully scraped bobcat pelt stretched against the trunk of a large spruce and held in place with rock shards, as she had seen him do in the past, but the best he could manage was the occasional enthusiastic, glassy-eyed nod. Needed water awful badly, got some, trying to move only when Liz wasnt looking, still determined to keep her from asking about his foot, found speaking a bit easier after hed gulped a good quantity of that sweet, achingly cold spring water. Shouldnt have tried speaking though, as it turned out, because something in his voice must have alarmed Liz, and she sat down beside him, was insisting that he look at her, which he didnt want to do, but that only seemed to make her more concerned, for some reason, and finally he gave in, looked her in the eye. Hey Einar, how did things go up there? Are you Ok? Breathing alright? A nod, took a minute to gather his thoughts, made a supreme effort to sound normal. Whatever that was supposed to sound like Good. Breathing pretty good. Got all the meat. Thats all there was. So now we can just concentrate on making the jerky, boiling up the stuff thats not fresh enough. You sure have got a lot of jerky started! Thats great. Ill set up another rack in a few minutes here, and get some more going. Want to wait till its dark to get a fire going, just this one more night to make sure that planes not coming back, and then we can build a small, smoky fire just upwind of the racks, let its heat help keep the stuff drying as it cools off tonight. Which Liz thought a fine idea, and told him so. It was not until she grabbed his arm to pull him in the direction of the bed and show him the work shed done there, that she discovered his difficulty when, startled and slightly unbalanced by her actions, he unwittingly put his full weight on the injured foot, and fell. No more keeping the secret after that, as she soon discovered the source of the trouble, had his boot off and was fussing over the foot, demanding to know what he had done to it, bathing, bandaging, worrying about the blood loss and wanting to scold--you shouldnt have been carrying that much weight so soon, especially not on a steep downhill like that, and considering youd already done it once todaylook at this, its like starting all over--but holding her tongue. It was clear that he already knew, and she offered him some willow bark from her pack, glad when he took it, promising to make him a pot of the tea just as soon as they could have a fire. Which, she was quick to point out, would not be long, as the sun was setting. Einar just nodded, smiled at her and got to his feet--foot, actually--carefully keeping the bandaged one from contacting the ground and using his spear for a walking stick, meaning to head out in search of firewood for that night. Sit back down, she told him, and when she spoke there was a weariness in her voice that he had not often heard there, her face drawn and a bit pale, he thought, and he guessed that she--well, little Hildegard anyway--probably needed some rest after the exertions of the day, after carrying those heavy packs all up and down the basin, and when he suggested that she go

test out the new bed for a few minutes while he got the fire going--shed already gathered wood, it seemed; there was a large pile sitting near the firepit--she did not object. Einar made the stew that night, a rich, plentiful dish consisting of some of the well-boiled and seasoned meat and fat that had been most exposed to the heat, least fresh-seeming, and thus needing to be used first. The stuff began, about halfway though its boiling, emitting a fairly appetizing fragrance, Einars addition of a good portion of wild garlic greens and the watercress hed harvested on the way down greatly augmenting its flavor and covering up any evidence that the meat was slightly less than fresh. Wonderful smelling stuff, but when the time came, he could hardly eat any of it. Tried, though, at Lizs urging, knowing that he had an awful lot of work ahead of him in the morning, had the tanning of the two sheep hides to start on, more jerky to slice up, the construction of a shelter to begin thinking about.

Concerned that the racks of drying jerky might prove a very tempting target for scavengers in the night--Einar had never forgotten the time over a year prior when, badly in need and barely able to use the bow because of his recently-injured shoulder, hed taken an elk, only to very nearly lose it the following night to coyotes while hed slept-they decided to move them nearer to the bed, where Einar was certain hed wake and be able to respond if anything should try tampering with them. Hauling the two racks in beneath a tree adjoining their sleeping-spruce, they sat together near the dying remains of that nights fire and finished the stew that had been left after their supper. Being made from the less-fresh meat on the carcass, heat-damaged and starting to turn, Einar explained that it ought not be left overnight, not unless they could keep it pretty cold, a task which could perhaps have been accomplished by partially submerging the pot in the spring, but that would have required them to build a rock cairn over the pot to deter scavengers, and besides, they were both hungry again, though Einar less so than he knew he ought to be, as sparingly as he had eaten, earlier. The big pot of willow bark tea Liz had made for him and insisted he drink--its nauseating bitterness gentled somewhat by the addition of a handful of mint leaves she had found growing along the soft, mossy runoff area below the spring--had helped some to dull the discomfort of having the foot washed in a lukewarm berberine solution and then carefully inspected in the firelight by Liz before she packed it with fresh usnea for the night, and though left a bit queasy, he had been able to hold onto his dinner. Liz had confirmed what he already suspected about the presence of exposed bone in the wounds, sharp ends incompletely removed, it seemed, when he had earlier worked on the toes, and Einar did not even want to think about what that might mean for the future. Had to, though, sat staring grimly into the fire as Liz reheated the stew, remembering snatches of an account he had once read by Arctic explorer Peter Freuchen, who had lost toes to frostbite, also-had done the job himself, too, as Einar remembered, having little choice--and had been troubled for years to come by the aftermath, finally losing most of the foot and then part of the leg. But that was just one instance. No reason this has to go the same waycant go the same way. Ill justgive it some time to heal up again, come up with a better

way to pad and protect it when I walk, especially with a heavy load, so this doesnt happen again. That, or I use this as an opportunity to go in there and try to find the offending bits of bone, or whatever it is, and take care of the problem. Skins already broken, after all But the thought of tearing things open even further, of the rather high chance of infection and the potential for blood loss--he couldnt handle much of that just then, knew it--seemed to outweigh any possible benefit. He shook his head, took the stew Liz was offering him and choked some of it down. Liz was restless that night, tossing, scattering the spruce needles that they had heaped carefully around themselves against the cold of the night, and Einar, terribly weary but troubled too much by his foot--and by the rather pressing question of what to do about it-to be immediately ready for sleep, scraped them up and tried to pack them back into place. Much as he had wanted to curl up with Liz beneath the ewes hide that night and get a few hours good warm sleep, he had known that the task of tanning it, which he meant to begin on in the morning, would be easier if it was not allowed to dry out too much or become caked with needles, dirt and cone debris as it would have if used for their blanket that night. So, another chilly night, the edge, for the moment at least, taken off by the piles of warm rocks that they had scattered in the bed. Liz saw that he was still awake, turned to him. I wish wed been able to do something for that lamb Hidell make a good covering for the baby. Looks like you got it scraped out real nice, Ill start on the tanning tomorrow. Can end up lining it with rabbit furs maybe, turn it into something real warm. It was so young He nodded. Happens. If it hadnt been for us coming along, the critter would have succumbed to its breathing troubles before long, or to starvation. Or both. I know it happens. I know. But sometimes that really scares me. Because out here, were part of that cycle, you, methe baby. He grunted, got himself turned over onto his back with his head on a pile of spruce needles and cones where he could breathe a bit more easily, stared up at the stars that pierced brilliant and barely blinking through the boughs overhead. Everybodys part of the cycle. Everybody, everywhere. Dust to dust. No getting around it, not in this life, anyway. Down there in civilization people find ways to avoid thinking much about it buy their meat from the grocery store in neat little packages, plastic and Styrofoam and clean, concise little labels--boneless, skinless, neatly filleted--instead of hide and hair and blood and dull, dead eyes like it comes packaged out here in the real world. They send folks off to fight their wars for them and only see the sanitized version on the TV, turn the other way when the body bags start coming home, the wounded, the brokenthey dont have to look, sothey choose not to. Because it would scare them. Shake up the illusion. Kind of a unique position this countrys been in for the past while. Long while.

Peace and plenty, lots to eat and all the wars going on overseas for the last century or more, not here in our own streets and fields. Most of the world cant say that, you know, not even Europe. Especially not Europe. Its a blessingand a curse, both. Curse because it allows folks to get real complacent, start taking all that bounty and ease for granted, live under the illusion that it doesnt cost anything to keep it that way. Which of course it does, costs everything, sometimes, and if youre not willing to pay up, and ready, toowell, let them go on living their illusion, I guess, because theyre gonna lose it all, soon enough. Itll come to them, find them and root them outno way around it. Me, Id rather be out here where it stares me in the eye every day and I get to stare back, cause thats reality This kid, you know, heat least hes gonna be born into the real world, therell be things he knows from his first year or two of life that the others are all gonna learn the hard way, someday, and a lot of them wont live through the lesson. Einar heard her sniff, take a long breath, realized she had been crying and felt badly about it, but what was he supposed to have said? Something that was not the truth? No sense in that, and besides, he wasnt feeling particularly creative, with that wolverine gnawing on his foot the way that it was. Supposed he might have been a bit too blunt about the entire thing, maybe should have kept his mouth shut. Liz moved closer to him, put her chin on his shoulder. He? Why do you keep calling the baby he? What happened to Hildegard? Turned into a boy critter, thats what. I saw him the other day. You and him both, actually He smiled at the memory. Hmm. Sure would like to be around to see that particular sight with my own eyes. Real nicenot sure I was there, though. What? What was it? What did you see? Oh, just the two of youkid had to be a good seven, eight years old by the looks of him, and strong, real strongyou were wearing that white buckskin dress Im gonna make for you--halooks like I better get that done pretty soon hereit may have to be bighorn instead of deerskin, but thats even better, thinner and stronger--and you were down in the meadow there below last nights camp, at avalanche lily time. The two of you were crouched out there in the spring sunlight digging, filling a great big basket with the things, looked like you were gonna have plenty to eat, that winter. Good times. There was a weariness in his voice, a deep, wistful longing that made her press closer to him, tuck the deerhide in around his neck. He seemed to have grown awfully cold, somehow, during the course of their conversation, and she adjusted his hat, wished they had been able to use that sheep hide, instead of leaving it all rolled up to stay clean and retain moisture ahead of the start of the tanning process, as Einar had insisted. She got him rolled back over onto his side, wrapped her arms around him for warmth. Of course you were there. Its just that you were out checking the snares while we dug the rootsor maybe even hunting a bighorn with your atlatl. Or bow. And you had the other child with you. Children. Both of them.

Other children? Now what makes you think Hey, I have dreams of my own from time to time, you know. Mmm. Dont doubt it And he was asleep, wanting to hear about Lizs dreams, if she was willing to tell, but suddenly unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Bob, his shadow of a captor having sufficiently demonstrated a degree of skill and stealth so that the poacher would have considered willingly going with him out of sheer curiosity, even in the absence of any threat, carefully followed his instructions that night in the meadow just beyond the federal compound, making his way into the black line of timber beyond the dimly floodlight-glowing expanse of the field. The man, of course, had moved on by the time Bob reached and entered the trees, the repetitive call of a whippoor-will--flawlessly executed but geographically absurd--providing him with his next clue, and he followed, stalking the bird up through the trees and across a band of rockstrewn sagebrush stubble--remnants of a quick grass fire earlier that spring--into yet another dark section of evergreen forest and finally, somewhat to his surprise, out to a trace of a road whose narrow, two-track existence appeared to luminese faintly in the starlight where the mans truck had earlier flattened the grass and weeds that filled the tracks. A pickup truck, white, it seemed, bulked suddenly out of the darkness as he neared the road, and Bob saw inside a faint red glow as if someone were consulting a map by a red-lensed light of some sort. At the edge of the road he hesitated, keeping to the trees and briefly contemplating the wisdom of turning and vanishing into that timber-he could do it, knew he could; no matter who this fellow thought he was, Bob knew the area, knew his way around and could disappear himself, if he chose to--but his curiosity was really getting the better of him, and besides, the ghost-tracker had all his gear. And all of Einars, too, and without that, not only would Bob always be waiting for that knock on the door, the announcement that items had been found lying in a meadow somewhere with both his fingerprints and the fugitives on them, most incriminating, if anyone chose to make anything of it, which of course they would, but, even more importantly, if he did not get those items back, that would mean the end of his new and already much-beloved hobby of fed baiting. Not happening. Bob left the cover of the trees, took the four long strides that separated him from the truck, and got in. For several minutes they drove in silence, the man navigating the bumpy track with a practiced ease that told Bob he was not at all unfamiliar with such driving, reaching at last the highway and heading up away from Culver Falls and the compound, out towards Clear Springs, traveling until the narrow, winding river canyon opened up into the grassy fields of the ranchlands that stretched rolling and undulating and scrub-oak dotted out towards the larger city. A few miles of highway driving and then an abrupt turn at an almost-road that took off across one of the fields, a jarring series of mud-bottomed ruts and teeth-chattering washboards that were taken with a carefree speed by Bobs driver, the truck swerving sharply and coming to a sudden and much appreciated halt within a dense stand of scrub oak, the trees, as well as Bob had been able to tell by the flashing

illumination of the headlights as they had made the curve, a good fifteen to twenty feet high on average, far higher than they grew only a thousand feet higher, in the foothills up towards Culver. A tent stood starkly illuminated in the beam of the headlights, a tan and green two or three man dome tent, a cheap setup, by the look of things, the sort of gear you might find at the local big-box store, green camp chair and charcoal grill set out up front, the place looking very much like a typical summer tourists camp. Not, somehow, what he had expected of his abductor, but then, the man had been full of surprises, so far. Leaving the headlights on for illumination, the man stepped out of the truck. He had a limp, Bob observed, fairly significant, though not significantly hampering the control and agility with which he carried himself. Well, you ready to get started? He demanded, hoisting Bobs pack out of the truck bed and shaking it in his direction. Started? I want that bag back, for starters. Oh, youll get it. I just borrowed the thing, sure dont want to keep it, have a life of my own to get back to, but I am interested in seeing you hold onto yours a little longer, and not spend it in a little cement box somewhere because they get you figured out and track you down. So. You ready to get started, or what? Bob wasnt entirely certain, being decidedly curious about the strangers intentions and identity, but a bit dubious, also, as to what he might have planned. He nodded. Sure, lets get started. Ok, now that was a good decision. Here. Let me show you something. Youre not doing it right, those tracks. Fooling them so far, but thats only because they dont have a good tracker there on the base right now. Compound. Whatever they call that rusty old heap of sheet metal. You know, they think theyve got that thing secured, with all their lights and cameras and fencing and all, but I do believe they missed a spotyep, blind spot, cameras are blind, brush would cover a fella if he had a mind to creep in close and stir things a little. But thats neither here nor there. We were talking about tracks. See, when he walksAsmundson, hes got a problem with his right leg, broke it a while back, I believe, and its not as strong as the other, still. So he drags it a little, see, like this And he took off across the dusty ground, illuminated in stark relief by the trucks headlights, dragging his right foot ever so slightly. See? That, and the fact that hes missing the toes on the same foot, gives him a real funny walk, and you can tell he tries to compensate for it, to cover it up, tries real hard to keep everything looking real normal, but he cant do it, not quite. Theyll know that by now, are bound to have seen a bunch of his tracks, and pretty fresh ones, too, up at those beaver ponds where they lost the two agents a while back. They came in less than a day behind him there, and even though it was starting to snow by the time they got on the ground, theyll have got a real good idea of how he walks now. If you want to fool them--the good ones, the ones who know what to look for, youre gonna have to get that walk right. Close to right, anyway. All the weight on the heel and the ball of your foot, but probably more on the heel, cause think

about it, how much pressure would you want to be putting on your toe area, if you were just recovering from a do-it-yourself amputation like that? Not very much at all, Im thinking. So. Bum leg, no toes, let me see you give it a try. Right. The boot. Here, put it on and give this a try. For well over an hour the two of them took turns making tracks in the dust there in front of Bud Kilgores camp, Kilgore taking a juniper branch and wiping out the sign after each session, smoothing the ground to prepare a fresh slate, which he divided neatly in half each time with a stick-scratched line, first making a set of tracks on his side before tossing Einars improvised boot to Bob so he could do the same. At the end of that hour, the two rows of Einar tracks were looking quite similar to the causal observer, but Kilgore was not happy. Bob had the technical details right, had proven, it seemed, to be an impressively quick study when it came to such things, but something was still missing, something not quite right. He thought for a moment, crouched there poking at the dust with his walking stick, stood. Now think about it. You cant just put a rubberstamp of his tracks on the ground, because no matter how correct you get that, the terrains gonna change or the angle of the slope get steeper or something, and youll mess up. Make a mistake thatll give the whole thing away. No, you got to do more than walk like him when youre doing this. You got to think like him, hear and see like him, hurt like him, become him. Now this is a man whos been out there for well over a year now, being hounded and hunted and pounded on by his pursuers and by the elements, especially the elements, the way things have worked out, and hes pretty worn down, physically. Probably weighs a hundred pounds, if that, at about my height. But hey, you must know that already, if you got close enough to nab his gearthats right, I dont need to be telling you any of this, youve got a picture of him in your head, use that. Become him, while youre doing this. Well Im not starving myself and losing any hundred, hundred and fifty pounds, Bob growled, if thats what youre suggesting. Never missed more than a couple meals in a row in my life, and Im sure not going to start now. A person cant live like that. I cant live like that. No, no thats not what Im saying, and Im not suggesting you chop off any of your toes, either. Since were on the subject though, it wouldnt hurt you to miss a few meals now and then, I would think, make a habit of it, at least for a whilebut your life expectancy is really none of my business. This would all be more accurate, of course, if you could be physically configured very similarly to the man whose tracks youre trying to duplicate, but that wouldnt be the least bit practical. All Im saying is that youve got to get inside his mind, his body, so youll be more likely to respond to any given terrain change the way hed respond. Those are the things were looking for, you know. Were trying to look into the persons thoughts, their soul, not just follow their tracks, and a lot of times, thats just what were doing. Got to get the details right, and that way the story you tell with these tracks will spell his name to them, and youll go on fooling them. Thus--daylight approaching--concluded the first lesson in what was to prove a rather

interesting, if brief partnership.

Nights up there on the plateau were colder than the ones down in the basin had been, a good eight or ten degrees colder, it felt like, and partway through the night Liz woke, staring over in the direction of the tree where they had hung that rolled up ewe hide, wishing she could go retrieve it to add to the warmth of their bed. Or at least dig around in the coals for any hot rocks that might still remain, to replace the ones that had long ago grown cold. Einar, though, seemed to be sleeping--she wasnt sure how, as cold as he clearly was--and wanting to let him go on doing so, she stayed where she was, pulling handsfull of spruce needles up around her where the original bunch had scattered, dragging the stiff, crusty deer hide up closer to their necks in the hopes that it would trap more heat. Not much better, but it would have to do, and she tried to console herself with the thought that they would soon have that sheep hide tanned, the deer also, and would be able to wrap up in them to sleep. Would be very helpful to have enough rabbit furs to sew together into a blanket. Very, very helpful, especially if we dont end up getting a bear before fall sets in. I havent seen any sign of bears up here yet, but surely before fall, well be ranging farther out and will come into contact with some In the meantime though, Id better put a lot of focus on snaring enough rabbits to make that rabbitskin sleeping robe. In the morning Ill head down to the old camp, check my snares and then, unless hes insisting on doing it himself, check Einars, too. Hed better not insist, because he really should keep off that foot for a few days, and with all the tanning work to be done, he ought to have good reason to stick around camp here and let me do the snares. Unless he insists on me doing the tanning, because I have less experience at it and need more Well. Well deal with that in the morning. Her insulation adjustments had helped, though their effects had not been immediately obvious, and she was finally growing warm enough to go back to sleep. Morning brought crisp, clear skies and the smell of frost in the clearing outside the shelter of the trees, leaving Liz almost surprised when she didnt see a film of white on the grass. Seeing that Einar appeared still to be soundly asleep--not like him, but it was about time he got some good rest, and hopefully itll help him. At least while hes asleep he cant be up and abusing that foot--she carefully added some more insulation to his bead, heaped piles of spruce needles on top of the deer hide in the hopes of keeping it in place even if he happened to grow a little restless, and retrieved her pack. Needing to move around to get warm and thinking that there would be no better time to check the snares, she used the tip of a partially burnt stick from the remains of the fire to scratch a hasty note on a flattish slab of granite--doing snares, back soon--and leaned it up against a tree where Einar could not help but notice it when he woke. To be sure he wouldnt miss the note, she leaned his atlatl, which had been set very deliberately beside the bed should he need it in the night, up against the slab. Still within easy reach, but sure to draw his attention to her words. Glancing at the tablet, she wanted to add, and dont you even think of going anywhere while Im away, unless you want to meet with the wrong end of my war club, but thought it unwise, an unfortunate thing for him to wake up to, and besides, there wasnt room for all of that on the rock, so left the note as it was.

Einar, having been allowed by his exhaustion a good full nights sleep, woke stiff and shaking a few minutes after Liz left the camp, lay there for a minute struggling to get some feeling back into his legs and arms, just enough to allow him to move with some degree of coordination, and got to his feet. Foot. Right one felt all swollen and raw that morning, and he leaned on his spear to avoid contacting the ground with it, after that first jarring step. Wide awake now, if I wasnt before Limping over to the firepit and taking a seat on a rock, he squinted at the racks of drying jerky, the remaining meat where they had hung it from nearby spruces, glad to see that it did not appear to have been tampered with by scavengers in the night. He could remember nothing about the night, seemed to have slept clear through, which disturbed him somewhat. Especially since hed had on his mind that he needed to be alert for the sound of bears or weasels scrambling up into those trees or tipping over the drying racks. Not good, Einar. You must have passed out, or something. Thats not the way you sleep. Hope Liz was paying some attentionbut either way, looks like the stuff is right where we left it. On with the day, then. But before hed be able to do much with the day it seemed that he might have to find a way to warm up just a bit, his legs having gone numb again while sitting there, refusing to support him. The firepit was cold, no coals responding with a glow when he pushed aside the ash and blew on them, and he fumbled with a handful of tinder--dry grass and spruce shavings he and Liz had set aside the day before--stopping himself just before he threw it down into the pit. No sense having a fire this morning, especially not until we see if that plane will be coming back. Its possible that theyll be checking on the sheep at a similar time each day for a few days. Suns up, itll be in the clearing soon, can warm up, then. Better get that deer hide though in the meantime, because the winds awful sharp this morning, not helping any. Returning to the bed for the deer hide, Einar discovered Lizs note and his atlatl, shook his head a little upon reading it--he had, of course, intended to head down and run his trapline himself, somehowhopping, limping, crawling on hands and knees, whatever it took--though he could not help but admire Lizs initiative. Hope she got something to eat before heading out, at least. And he hobbled over to the spring, filled one of the cook pots with water and broke up a few pieces of jerky to soak, adding some leftover bits of mostly dried thimbleberry mush from the rock where Liz had been drying the berry cakes. A cold soup for breakfast, but it would be better than nothing. Far better, as Einar discovered when, hungry and having an inordinate amount of trouble dealing with the cold that morning, he took a taste of the mixture, another, finishing nearly half of it before he stopped himself, still awfully cold but feeling less hollow and shaky inside. Need some fat though, need it awful bad. I can feel it. They had saved the ewes fat, what little of it there had been, had put a good bit of it in their supper that past night, and Einar wished they had gone ahead and rendered the rest of it down so he could take a few bites of it that morning without worrying about cooking it first. As it was the stuff smelled pretty awful, having been, along with portions of the meat, damaged by the heat of the day and of the ewes body after her death, and he knew that eating it without first applying some heat meant risking illness and digestive distress that he could hardly afford, at the moment. Einar was almost beyond caring, between his immediate need for fat and the knowledge that his inevitable use of the injured foot

throughout the day would likely rob him of the desire and perhaps even the ability to do much eating later, if the way it felt just then was any indication. He restrained himself, though, turned away from the bark slab--suspended from a tree branch to give it some shade and deter scavengers--on which they had deposited the half-rancid bits of sheep fat and contented himself with chewing on another strip of jerky. Try and get your mind on something else, why dont you? Pretty pitiful, a full grown mountain critter like yourself moping and mourning and all but crying over a few chunks of rancid sheep fat that you have to wait a few hours to eatitll still be here later when we have a fire, and if you can do the sensible thing and stay off that foot, you may even be able to eat some of it, then. Anxious to make himself useful and push the thoughts of food as far as he could from his mind, Einar lowered the sheep hide, looked it over and saw that it could really use a bit more scraping, draped it over the smooth, leaning trunk of a fallen aspen and set to work. All the bits of fat and meat and most of the thin membrane layers removed he stopped, contemplating for a minute the best course of action. The hair, thin and poor with spring shedding, anyway, needed to come off, a process which normally he would have accomplished by soaking the hide until it began loosening and slipping, but lacking a vessel large enough to soak the hide in and being entirely uninterested in submerging and soaking it in their drinking spring, he decided to simply wet the hide thoroughly, rub some ash from the fire on the hair side, and fold it hair-side in on itself, rolling it to keep in the moisture and keeping the flesh side moist and clean through the process by setting it on a bed of fresh, clean leaves and covering it with the same, watering it several times each day. The wetting finished and ashes applied, he picked a spot near the camp and got the hide situated. Next, stopping first for a long drink at the spring, he turned his attention to the fur from the bobcat that Liz had retrieved from his deadfall trap--hmm bobcat jerky. Never tried that one, but we ought to do something with this meat before things start heating up too much today and the flies come out. Guess it could just go into our stew tonight--not as thick and luxurious as it would have been in the late fall or winter, for sure, but still in pretty good shape. The hide, where Liz had pinned it flesh side-out to a spruce trunk, was pretty thoroughly dry, ready for its second scraping and then the application of some brains to begin softening it. Finishing with the scraping, he returned the hide to its place on the tree, hopped over to the firepit and sat down. No more avoiding the issue, it was time to take another look at his foot.

Reluctant to remove his boot, Einar sat there for a minute beside the firepit, counting rows of jerky--some of it looked nearly dry, and he supposed he ought check it--and eyeing the remaining sections of sheep carcass, trying to assess from which area of it the next jerky strips ought to be cut. A futile exercise, as he already knew the answer, had known it since the evening before. Only a few areas had been fresh enough to safely cut jerky from, and Liz had already done a pretty good job on those, though there looked to be enough meat remaining for three more racks full. And an awful lot of stew. His stomach growled painfully at the thought, left him smelling the stuff, wishing for a fire. Shook his head, guessed hed better build some more racks and get started slicing, nearly

talked himself into starting on it right away, doing his best to ignore the foot and getting on with his work. Not good, Einar. Whats got into you? Enough stalling, just get this boot off. He didnt though, at least not immediately, deciding that, as the morning sunlight had just begun making its way up over the red ridge and seeping between the aspens to softly illuminate the clearing just above the cliffs that overlooked the basin, he had better be moving out there into the open where he could take advantage of its warmth. A reasonable decision--no denying that he needed some help getting warm; could barely keep his hands still long enough to bring the remainder of his breakfast to his mouth, he was shaking so, let alone think of untying boots and tending to that foot-but he knew he was mostly just stalling, mind grabbing for anything that might allow him to put it off for a few more minutes. Out into the sun, then, sat there for a minute as it soaked into his back and started loosening the muscles some, drowsy, wanting to lie down, stretch out on a log and sleep until the suns rays seeped into every inch of him and, hopefully, managed to recharge him a bit, though he knew it didnt work that way, definitely didnt, because there had been times when hed triedbut it did ease the bitter chill that had grasped him since waking, so he went on sitting for a time, finally shaking his head in disgust and attacking his bootlaces. Didnt really understand his reluctance to look at the foot that morning, tend to it, see what he could do, supposed part of the problem came in the very fresh memory of the difficulty hed had getting the boot on in the first place, that morning, his dread of having to repeat the process, but as he sat there, he finally had to admit that something else was involved, something that caught him a bit by surprise and aggravated him, once he gave it a name, but it could not be denied. He was scared. Didnt look forward to the pain of tampering with the foot, certainly, had got his fill of that, and more, many times over during that past winter and spring, but more immediate than his vague dread of subjecting himself to more such discomfort was a very real fear of getting into a situation where skills beyond his own would be required if he was to save the foot and, most likely, his life. If the thing wasnt already infected then surely it soon would be, the way the wounds had opened up, and those sharp ends he was pretty sure he had felt in therewell, they werent going to go away on their own, would most likely continue aggravating the area and preventing it from ever healing properly, leaving him continually open to infection and limited in his ability to travel, work, carry things on his back. All of which he must be able to do, if they were to have a life out there, the demands, he could only imagine, increasing as Liz neared her time. Didnt much care to repeat, even if somehow successful at treating the mechanical issues causing the repeated injury, the aftermath of such treatment, which he remembered all too vividly from the first time. And the second. The blood loss, the horrible, crushing weakness it had brought him, the long, fevered nights, mind wandering through a terrifying and seemingly inescapable landscape as his body struggled to fight off the infection that was trying to take hold, a fight it had won, but not without cost to him, or to Liz. He didnt want to put her through that again, hated to think what he must have said, and done, in his delirium, what she must have witnessed, remembered bits of it, scattered thought-images, and he very deliberately turned his mind away from them lest they grab hold of him again, come roaring in on him and start twisting and pounding until he lost himself in

them, dissolved, useless, the days activities forgotten Stop it! He scrubbed a hand across his face, physically shook himself and sat up straighter, glaring down at the basin that opened out below him almost as if seen from the air. Now you get back on track here, figure out whats got to be done and then you do it. The rest of itwell, its not gonna be real relevant if you die here in the next few days or weeks because you didnt act in time, now is it? Any of it? Youre just hungry, short on sleep and its twisting things some, but thats sure no excuse for sitting here moping around like this. You got work to doon the foot, sure, but especially on that meat and those hides, got a shelter to build, got winter coming in a few real short months, and a baby just a month or so after that, and what are you doing, but sitting here on a rock terrified of the shadow of your own foot. Fool. Fix it. Figure out what has to be done, and then fix it. Which meant that he must try to find a more permanent remedy, he supposed, and he sat there staring at the toe of his boot--black rubber much rock-scuffed from all of the mountain miles hed put on it--and going over and over in his mind all the reasons why he would be better off not tampering with the thing, just giving it more time, seeing if it would heal properly, given more time. Already knew the answer, though, knew that the thing had already healed over once, thoroughly, as thoroughly as could be expected considering the circumstances, only to be set back tremendously by his carrying of a heavy load or two of ewe down that gully. And he had no reason to think it wouldnt happen again, over and over again, if he simply continued bathing and bandaging the foot and waiting for it to heal over, again. Something was wrong in there, and until it was addressed, he could expect to be in constant danger of ending up precisely where he was just then. Which--he shifted position to take more weight off of the foot, growled in frustration as it brushed the ground, realizing that he wouldnt be doing too much walking that day unless absolutely necessary, and even then, not very quickly--was not a particularly good place to be. Well. This is getting ridiculous. You could go around and around like this for hours and not figure anything out, and meanwhile, all that meats waiting on you to go process it so we can keep on eating. And he pulled the boot off, the sock that held Lizs usnea pads from the previous night in place, poured a careless slurp of water from the berberine-infused drinking jar over the whole mess to help loosen up the adhered bits of usnea, not liking the inflamed shade of puffy red that he saw beneath. Saw something else, too, where the tissue seemed to have receded a bit overnight in one place--cant be good--realized even without prodding that he was looking at bone. Shook his head, let it rest on his knees. Help me. Please. Sure do need some guidance on this one, not doing too well with ideas She came, then, approaching on soft feet through the timber below the clearing, and he knew her walk, remained where he was as she stepped out of the trees and hurried to him, carrying a single rabbit, the entire yield of the two traplines that morning.

Liz would have been disappointed with the meager yield of the snares and traps that

morning, had they not already very nearly possessed more meat than they could handle. As it was, she had been almost relieved to be returning with only the single rabbit. Relieved, also, to find that Einar had stuck close to camp in her absence. He didnt seem to be doing anything though--unusual for him, and it concerned her a little--sat staring at his foot, was clearly aware of her presence and had been since before she entered the clearing, she expected, but did not immediately acknowledge it. She sat silent with him for a long while, but finally, worried by his dazed look and wanting to make sure he got some breakfast if he hadnt done so already, she spoke. Want me to help you get that foot wrapped back up so we can eat? He glanced up at her as if startled, shook his head. Was just thinking about that cabin. Wondering if maybe a big wickiup-type structure of some kind might be better, just because itd be less regularly shaped and less likely to draw attention from the air. And the ground. Easier to camouflage. Would that suit you alright? Not quite as solid, I know, but with a good stout frame covered with enough aspen bark and maybe even some good long, solid strips of cottonwood bark from down a little lower, itd keep the weather out, could be insulated real well and even chinked and kind of plastered on the inside with a mixture of mud and spruce needles that would dry solid and strong almost like cement. Id make you a stove like we had back in the bear cave, so the place could be warm for when the little one gets here Of course. That sounds like a fine plan. We need shelter, we both do, shelter of some kind before winter comes, but it doesnt have to come in any specific shape. Doesnt have to be a cabin. And whatever you decide, Im helping you build it, of course. Im not so far along that I cant be a lot of help. I can help you haul logs over here, or the bark or whatever we end up using, and well get it done pretty quickly. He nodded, shes more anxious to have this thing done than shes let on, and I dont blame her. Better get started on it. Shes got to have a place, someplace sheltered and secure, even if its just a little cave back behind a rock overhang somewhere, but assuming we get to stay here for a while, which we will, if they dont discover us and come lookingmight as well be something a good bit more solid. Gonna try real hard and fix it so we can stay here. Real hard. And without another word he poured the remaining berberine solution over his foot, packed it with clean usnea clumps and eased a fresh sock into place. Wished she wasnt there watching, so he could throw something or growl or bellow like a cat-scratched bear, as he felt like doing, but she was, and he kept quiet, got the boot on and sat there for a while pretending to carefully inspect a small tear in its fabric upper section, just breathing and waiting until he could be trusted with speech. Took a minute. Better do something about this. You know, if we wear the snowboots all summer on these rocks up here, theres not gonna be anything left of them by the time snow comes again. Already showing a lot of wear, and while I hope to have us some good warm winter boots of hair-on bighorn hide by the time the snow flies, theres no guaranteeing it.

Best to save the boots. I was thinking that deer hide ought to be turned into moccasins when I get it all tanned up. Would mean I dont have a backpack anymore, since thats what Ive been using, but figured I could pretty quick put together a pack basket from some of those willows down by the tarn. Make the basket before cutting up the deerhide, of course, in case we end up having to move, in the meantime. And Id still have the pack frame to lash things to, also. Thinking we ought to put the socks aside for next winter, too, while theres still some wear left in them. Maybe use them at night, but not while were out and about in the daytime. Ive been wondering about that. It seems the moccasins might be better for our feet, anyway, now that the weathers so much warmer during the days. My feet are almost always wet from sweat not when Im out working in the sun, and I expect yours are, too. The wool socks make it tolerable, but drier would be better, and without these hot boots, thatll be a lot more likely to happen. Ha! Feetll probably stay drier in the snowboots, if thats the concern. Tanned buckskins not waterproof, you know, and the dew soaks in, damp soil, marshy areas like weve got down near the tarnfeet will be spending good portions of the summer wet, either way. But at least with the air as dry as it is up here, there are plenty of opportunities to dry them out between times, and avoid problems. We couldnt waterproof the moccasins? There are ways. Tan the hide in oaknot really practical for us up here, but if we were down a couple thousand feet lower with access to lots of scrub oak, galls, acorn hulls, that sort of thing, for the tanninwe could end up with a more waterproof leather. And theres always spruce pitch. Ive made some fine waterproof soles for moccasins out of spruce pitch, ash, a little grease and some cordage to embed in them for traction, so there are things we can do. But basically when youre dressing in buckskins in the summer, youve just got to come to some sort of an understanding with the wet. No real way around it. Be better once things start freezing again. Youll probably be surprised just how comfortable a winter can be, when you got enough of the right clothing, plenty to eat and arent having to run all the time! Sounds like you can hardly wait Oh, I can wait. Got an awful lot to do, and Id better he stood, winced and nearly fell back to the ground before steadying himself with the spear, better get started. Gonna help you slice up another batch or two of that jerky this morning--bet you never had bobcat jerky before, did you?--then start hauling logs in for the house. Lodge. Wickiup. Whatever you call it, Im starting on it today. Now. Just as soon as another pause, his face white with the effort of standing there and pretending his foot wasnt bothering him, soon as we have some breakfast. Made you some stew. Just cold soaked jerky and thimbleberries, but its looking pretty good They ate, Liz enjoying her breakfast and Einar keeping his down despite the way his foot

felt, knowing that he had to have energy for what he meant to do that day. And the next. Until it was finished. Sitting there, eyes focused doggedly on a little roundish splash of florescent green lichen on a nearby boulder as he fought the nausea--and won--that was trying very hard to rob him of his much needed breakfast, the shelter took shape in Einars thoughts, details spelled out, his mind making a quick inventory of the materials that would be needed, where he would be most likely to find them, and how he was to get them there to the site. It would, as he saw it just then, be something between the wickiup he had earlier pictured, and the cabin that had kept appearing in his dreams, a stout, secure shelter--gonna need that axe, better find a handle today and let the thing soak overnight--that could be chinked and insulated and made cozy against the coming winter, and as he looked over the images in his mind, turning them this way and that and finding the place to be good, he knew that he must not waste any time in completing the project. Was looking like he might very well not have any to waste.

Einar went at his work with a single-minded fury that morning, pressing fingers slow and unwilling with cold to quicken their pace as he sliced jerky, pausing once to sharpen his knife, and Lizs, hanging the little strips from rungs on the two racks Liz had made, as the older jerky dried and made space available. The slicing finally getting ahead of the drying of the earlier batch, Einar stopped his work and assembled a third rack, positioning it out in the sunlight with the other two and pausing briefly to allow himself to absorb some of the suns warmth, while he was out there. They were working in the deep shade of the spruce out of necessity, wanting to preserve the larger chunks of meat as well as possible as they worked, and he had grown badly chilled, sitting there practically immobile in the shadows. Sun felt good, left him very quickly sleepy and wanting to lie down, so he rose, shook his head and hobbled back to his work area. Not sleepy anymore. Doggone foot. Back to work, the two of them slicing and hanging a large quantity of jerky before the sun climbed close to being overhead, and when Einar saw that Liz was easily going to be able to handle the rest of the meat from the bighorn-that which was not too far gone to safely be made into jerky, at least; the rest would be boiled for stew--he left her to her work. Scouting along the base of the rock outcropping at the back of the little plateau, Einar found the spot that he and Liz had previously looked at for a cabin, the rocks providing a good bit of protection and even a bit of an overhang up behind, trees shielding it from the wind and from visual detection on both sides, and the front just open enough that they should be able to look out of a front door and see a bit of green down in the basinmeadows. Close to the spring--no more than twenty yards, he estimated--but far enough away so as not to contaminate it with the chores of daily living, the situation seemed a good one, indeed. If only he could somehow come up with the strength and endurance to get the job finished, Liz and the baby would have themselves a good snug little home, with all the basic needs provided for, or at least the means close at hand to allow for their meeting. Now. Some timbers. Dont have that axe ready yet, got to take care of finding it a handle today, but thats alright, because its probably gonna take me a good bit longer than one day to haul all the timbers over here, anyway. Can start on that at least,

see how far I get. Of the wood types available up there in the basin--spruce, sub-alpine fir and aspen--Einar knew the spruce and fir would prove the more durable over the long run, not being quite as soft as aspen, but he had seen a number of old miners cabins built exclusively of aspen which, because of the high, dry climate in which theyd been built, had stood the test of time remarkably well. So he saw no problem with using aspen here and there, if it was readily available, which he knew it was, a few blowdowns having earlier caught his attention in the wooded area just around the shoulder of the slope from their camp. It was there that he headed, taking the paracord and the lengths of deerhide that had served as his pack straps, as well as his sweater, with which he intended to pad his waist or shoulder while pulling the logs. Had Liz realized what he was up to she certainly would have gone along and helped, tried to dissuade him, perhaps, from the need to exert himself that way, but as he had simply told her that he was going to take a look at possible locations for the shelter, she stayed in camp, adding to their growing supply of dried and drying jerky. In a small semi-clearing just beyond a dense growth of firs he found the aspen he had been looking for, a fifteen foot wind fall not too far from the chosen house site, having come to rest suspended almost entirely off the ground as trees so often did in dense woods like that, upper branches wedged firmly in between two spruces. Breaking many of the smaller branches with ease--the tree was a year or two old, he estimated, and a good thing, too, because it would weigh far less than a green aspen--he moved on to the larger ones, finally freeing the upper portion of the tree and seeing, to his relief, that it had pulled out fairly cleanly at the base, a minimal tangle of soil-encrusted root bits remaining to add weight and bulk. These he kicked and struck at until most of the dirt had been knocked free, at which time he found that he was able, through great effort, to move the tree just a bit by hand, and bracing himself, he got both hands under the root area, lifted, hauled it back by a few inches so that the upper portion of the tree came loose from between the evergreens and tilted to the ground. He fell to his knees then, exhausted, panting and coughing from the exertion and from his painfully dry throat, but immensely relieved, also. He was going to be able to do it. Would be slow, an immense effort at times to keep himself going, he could tell, but Liz would have her shelter. May have it all to herself, in fact, she and the baby, if you keep this up And the voice, almost audible over the pounding of the blood in his head, was mocking, derisive, and probably right, too, but he hushed it, got to his feet and hurried up to the front of the tree, finding a good place to secure the straps hed brought. Straps wrapped and tied, the tree was ready for hauling, and he passed the wide deerhide strip from his pack over one shoulder--had to be the right one, unfortunately for his foot, as the left, though functioning fairly well, was still tender from his earlier injury, easy to re-injure if some care was not taken--gave a tug, pivoted the tree around so it was facing towards camp, and began the slow, difficult haul over the rocky, fairly steep ground that lay between. At least it was slightly downhill. That helped. What did not help were the other fallen trees in the intervening space, a number of them showing up to slow progress to a terribly wearying, snails pace grind around one obstacle and then over another, Einar throwing his entire being into getting that tree up over a large, partially rotted spruce trunk, hanging limply forward in the harness for a moment as it balanced precariously on

top, and then finding, somehow, the strength to give the thing another tug, boots digging into the soft springy forest floor as he heaved forward, the tree finally tipping, sliding, coming down behind him. He wanted to stop right then and there, fall forward and let himself become one with the soil for a few minutes of blessed rest, but knew that he did not dare allow himself the luxury. Might never be getting up, if he did. Not for a good while, anyway, and he had work to do. And the pain of that torn up foot was always there, eating at him with every step, demanding his attention and waiting to claim him if he gave it half a chance, overwhelm him and leave him, likely as not, curled up on the ground, useless. So he kept moving, one step after another, finally saw the rocks that marked his destination, dragged that tree right up to within fifteen feet of them--hadnt wanted to get the pile too close, needed some room to work--before finally stopping, sitting, getting his breath and taking a quick gulp of water from the jar hed left there in the cool shade of the evergreens. Got back to his feet, couldnt see straight, the ground rushing up at him as everything went momentarily black, and then he was spitting out a mouthful of spruce needles and last years old, mostly decomposed aspen leaves, squinting hard at a black slash on the trunk of the tree hed just hauled--bear claw marks, he observed rather irrelevantly--and trying to work his way through the dizziness. Ok. Dont stand up so fast. Now. This pile of logs may be here a while as youre getting things set up, so youd better get some skids to go under them, keep them up off the damp ground. Yes. Use these two little dead spruces here, right, haul them over, get them positioned so you can stack long stuff like this on top of them and the blackness, again, it had taken him by surprise this time and he found himself doubled over across the aspen hed just hauled, face down in the dirt, not bad, and he stayed that way for a time, waiting for his breathing to get back somewhere near normal, heart rate to slow some before carefully righting himself. The aspen rolled up onto its skids, he took another gulp of water, freed the hauling straps and headed out after a second log. Liz hadnt shown up, had not, apparently, heard the ruckus hed made dragging that log through the timber, and he was glad. She had work of her own to take care of. Three more trees Einar hauled over to the shelter site, hitching himself up to them like a mule, two aspens and a good-sized spruce most of whose branches hed had to break off first to keep them from catching on every tree and protruding rock he hauled it past, and even still their remains snagged maddeningly, continually pulling him up short as he made the journey and leaving him very appreciative of the smooth-barked ease with which, in comparison, the aspen had traveled. Pausing more and more frequently as time went by, Einar, after that second tree, found himself falling into an exhausted sleep whenever he sat down for a minutes rest. It alarmed him some, aggravated him, as the forced pauses were delaying his work, leaving him groggy and uncertain about his balance when, after a few minutes, he would wake, and after the third such incident he found a solution. The only one that seemed reasonable. Which meant taking his rests standing up, propping himself against a tree in a position that would cause him to fall if he dozed, waking him quickly. It worked, after a fashion, and sometime in the early afternoon he stood, taking one of his brief rests and debating whether or not to go after a fifth tree that day, when he heard Liz approaching.

Glancing around at the stack of fallen trees arranged neatly on their skids, four smoothbarked aspens and the spruce, carefully limbed, its time-dried boughs stacked beneath a nearby evergreen and looking like a good start on a firewood pile, Liz stared in wonderment at how quickly Einar had accomplished the task, wanted to club him in the head with her rabbit stick when she saw what it had done to him. You were just supposed to be scouting, you goofy guy, not single-handedly building the house in one afternoon But instead of rendering him unconscious as she might have wished, hauling him back to camp and securing him there for a few solid days of rest and food, she set down her load of freshly made stew and cool spring water, hurried to him and freed his hands from their death grip on a the shoulder-high spruce branch that had been keeping him from falling over on his face during his latest rest, led him over to the stack of logs and took a seat beside him, backs resting on the pile. Liz pulled close the pot shed been carrying, took off the lid and held it out to Einar, who, despite his best efforts, had begun drifting towards sleep the moment hed sat down. At Lizs urging he took a sip of broth from the pot, found it to be very good and had some more, he and Liz passing the pot back and forth until it was empty. The meal had been exactly what he needed, bits of meat, stewed thimbleberries and a generous helping of fat from the ewe combining to greatly restore his strength and presence of mind. At which point it occurred to him for the first time to be a bit disappointed that Liz had finally found him, because he expected she might make some objection to his continuing to work as he had been with the trees, and he wasnt sure he had any energy to spare on arguing with her. Well. He could only hope shed recognize the urgency of the task, leave him to get back at it, after their lunch break. Looks like you made a fire Yes. You said we could if no planes came this morning, and it definitely isnt morning anymore. I was very careful to use dry wood and keep it small and hot. We needed some more stew, but I especially wanted to make this, and she handed him a quart jar half full of a bright yellow, highly concentrated-looking berberine solution. I saw your foot this morning. Youd better drink this, really load up on the stuff. He took the jar, drained it in a few big gulps, shuddering at its bitterness despite the mint and bit of box elder syrup that Liz--having got a taste of the stuff, herself, when shed fallen and ended up with that spruce stick stuck in her leg--had added in an attempt to render it more palatable. Thank you. Itll help. And he braced himself with the spear, struggled to rise--had to move, and quickly, or hed soon be asleep as his body worked to digest all that newly-introduced stew; he could feel it, knew that moving around on that foot would keep him awake, alright, if only he could manage to stand--but Liz had a firm hold on his hand, and he didnt get very far. Come back to camp, Einar. He shook his head. No. Have to get this thing built. Lots of good fallen trees around

here, figure if I can get all of the logs stacked up todayor most of them, anyway, then tomorrow I can start preparing the spot and getting this thing started. Its not gonna be fancypicture a half a-frame with one angled wall, one vertical one, and youll have a good idea what itll look like, and the rock face is gonna make up part of the back wall, but itll mean good dry shelter, weatherproof, strong against all the snow thatll pile up on it later, and warm for you and the little one. Gonna build a little cache here not too far from it, maybe just three tall poles with a big hide bag of jerky and dried berries in it to protect them from bears and such, but Im hoping to be able to put together an actual platform with a little structure up on it. Could store a lot more, that way. Want to dig the spring out a little, too, make a little pool there under it and line the thing with rock to keep it from silting up so fast, maybe give you a place to set jars and pots and such in the summer to keep whatevers in them good and cool. And have to finish those hides. Lot to do. I can picture it! All of it. Our home. Maybe if we gather a few of these little trees everyday, and I can helpin a week or two well have enough. Come on back to the camp for now, Ok? And you can show me the next step with those hides. You dont have to do all the trees today, you know. Yes, I do. Many as I can, anyway. I dont havemay not have any week or twoand this thing has to get done. Please dont try to stop me Liz, Ive got to do this Let me help, then. Ill make myself a strap like youve done and we can pull the trees together. Itll go more quickly that way, and if one of them snags, Ill be there to help free it. Its hard work. I know you can do it, but dont want you doing anything that might hurt the baby I dont believe it will. Not if carrying half a sheep on my back didnt. Itll be good for me. And little Hildegard. I need lots of exercise to keep me strong for the birth. Thats what Susan said, anywaysaid I needed to keep active. Not that theres much choice out here, of course! A bit of a twisted smile from Einar at the reference to Hildegard--thought you didnt like that name--and he hauled himself once again to his feet, weary, squinting hard against the dizziness that tried to knock him back to the ground, breathing through it and nodding at Liz. Alright. It will go quicker that way. With two of us. The pronouncement was a great relief to Liz, who had recognized in Einars assertion that he must haul as many trees as he could that day a certain steely resolve she had seen in him more than once before, and which she knew there was little sense in challenging, unless, of course, she really was prepared to use her war club to help enforce her point. Which she very nearly was, knowing that each step he took had to be doing further damage to that foot and possibly increasing the amount of work he--or they--would have to do to get it back on the way to healing. Nearly, but not quite. Figured shed better let

him get the tree-hauling out of his system, wear himself out thoroughly and completely and then that evening if he didnt show signs of being willing to settle in and get serious about the footwell, she might just have to take matters into her own hands. Together they dragged three more trees--all spruces, this time--to the area of the future shelter, Einar going back along the drag path after each trip and returning with armloads of good dry branches and sticks that had broken off in the moving process, adding them to the growing woodpile. On one of these trips he was a long time in returning , Liz finally going after him and finding him crouched in a small, sunny clearing beside the trees drag path, filling his hat with ripe currants from the surrounding bushes. The currants were sweet as well as plentiful--of the many varieties that grew in the area, only a few were really tasty, though all could be eaten--and they nearly filled the hat before stopping, setting the berries aside in the shade and getting back to work. The hauling did go a good bit more smoothly with two people, largely because it was tremendously helpful to have one who could go behind and lift, while the other pulled, when moving the trees over other windfall, of which there was plenty in the area. Liz returned to the camp eventually, needing to check on the jerky--hadnt felt good about leaving it for so long, in the first place, down there where it was easily accessible to any four legged creature that should happen along, had meant only to find Einar and make sure he got something to eat--and Einar stayed behind to do some planning for the shelter, move a few rocks that seemed to be in the way and perhaps start preparing the ground. After he found a suitable branch to turn into a handle for that axe. Whatever else he did, he certainly wasnt going to be hauling any more trees just then; Liz, rolling up the straps and stashing them in her pockets before she left, had made sure of it.

Having taken some time after Liz left to scope out the shelter site and decide, based on how he pictured the snow piling up there during the winter, the direction of the prevailing winds--ha! Prevailing winds? This is the mountainswinds are gonna be gusting and shifting and changing direction from one minute to the nextbut you can get some idea of what theyll do, based on the timber and rock around here--just how it should be positioned, Einar went looking for the deerhide straps, intending to haul another tree or two before following Liz back to camp. They were gone. Werent where he had left them, draped over the last tree they had hauled, and it was only after much searching and scrambling that he decided Liz must have carried them off. Well. He sure wasnt hauling any of those logs without them, without something to perform their function, and though disappointed, he had to admit that he could probably do without the extra work just then. That last haul had been mighty rough, and he was fairly certain that he had managed to keep his balance and go on putting one foot in front of the other only because he had been so determined not to let Liz see him fall. Moving on, Einar found an axe handle in a stout spruce branch, dead but still on the tree, and as strong as he could expect from a tree of that sort. Which was one of the very few sorts he had to choose from, up there. Breaking the branch, he did some work to it with his knife, shaving and shaping it, leaving the details of the axe-end for later when he was back in camp and would have the axe head itself handy for reference. The sun was going down. Time to get back.

It wasnt far down to camp, but by the time Einar made it back, he was visibly having a hard time staying on his feet. Liz had a small fire going, offered him soup and he sat down at her urging, risking, he knew, not being able to rise again when the time came, but he had to get off his feet for a minute, just a minuteand then he was asleep, back against a spruce and head flopped over to the side, and Liz would have left him as he was if not for the fact that he was starting to look so cold, had begun shaking shortly after sitting down and must, she knew, be badly in need of some nourishment if he was to avoid becoming dangerously chilled that evening. He scrambled up when she lightly touched his arm, stood there swaying and shivering against the tree and cradling the pot of soup she pressed into his hands, taking occasional hungry gulps and blinking half in a daze at the fire. Never should have sat down. Gonna be dark soon and Ive still got a lot to do. Liz urged him to sit again, to come close to the fire and get warm, enjoy a good big dinner and a pot of tea, let her help with his foot, but he just shook his head, gulped a bit more of the soup and handed the pot back to her. Almost dark. I want to try for one more log while theres still a little daylight. Frustrated that she couldnt seem to get through to him Liz stood and stepped away from the fire, realizing--shed known it for a while, but was ready to act, now--that it was long past time for attempting to be nice or gentle with him, knew she had to had to try and get him to understand, grabbed the rabbit stick and slammed it into the palm of her hand, telling herself that it really was the only language the fool seemed to understand, half the time, that she should, for his own benefit, crack him in the side of the skull with the thing and tend to the foot while he was out, sit on him for a day or two when he woke, as long as it took for the foot to really start healing up. The next moment she shook her head, leaned it on the rough bark of a nearby spruce, somewhat penitent for having considered actually doing such a thing to him. Wouldnt be right, I guessthough in one sense, it could be looked at as me acting in defense of this baby, trying to make sure his father will still be around, if possible. But Id really better try words, first. Surely the last thing he needs is another head injury, right now. Gonna have to be some pretty strong words though, I think. Something that really startles him into rethinking all of this. Help me Oh, help me get this right. I dont want to do this to him, but Ive got to try something, cant just keep watching him fade away without trying something, and I need You to guide my words, let them somehow get through to him. She pulled the pot from the fire, handed it to him--spruce needle tea, very strong and sweetened slightly with box elder syrup--and sat down. This is your child, you know. You have a duty to help provide for this child. He looked up at her, his eyes betraying an immense weariness and perhaps a bit of confusion, also, at her words. I know it, and Im doingIm trying real hard here, know Im a little slow but its gonna get done, the shelter, a bunch of food set aside, working on it. Not backing down on any duty.

You are, though! You are. Youre destroying yourself, and in doing that, youre turning away from your duty to this child. What? He looked more confused than ever, perhaps a bit devastated, even, she thought, though she did not know if he was actually capable of experiencing such feelings. She had at times doubted it. But wondered if she had perhaps gone a bit too far in her attempts to jar him into realizing the seriousness of the situation. She shook her head, smiled at him. Oh, come here. Let me look at your foot. Youre going to end up with another infection if we dont do something about it, thats all Im saying. He moved closer to her, finally allowed her to start easing his boot off but balked when she tried to remove the sock. Needs to be washed, bandages changed, but thats it. Go poking and prodding around in there right now, cutting and grinding and what not, and I may be useless for days, after. You remember the last time. Useless. Cant afford that right now. If we dont take care of it, youre probably going to die. Do you think we can afford that? Give me a few days, and thenyeah, probably. Youll be pretty well fixed by then, if everything goes well. The two of you. Einar, youre not making any sense. Whats really going on here? He shrugged, didnt know what to say, wished they werent having the conversation at all, because it was interfering with his single-minded focus on getting the shelter together, setting aside a good amount of food for Lizhe knew she was right about the foot, had known it for two days but had made the conscious decision that his focus must be on preparing things for Liz and the baby, that he couldnt risk rendering himself useless with an ill-timed foot surgery before some of those major tasks had been accomplished. And now here she was stepping into the neat, tidy, freshly painted interior of his brain (who knew what he had painted over in order to get it in that condition, but hed been determined that it stay that way, at least until the tasks at hand were finished) and kicking things around, making a mess of it, and he was too tired to come up with an adequate response to her argument. Just knew he didnt want that foot messed with, not until he had the shelter done and some more food put away. And even then, he knew that he couldnt let Liz do it, not this time. Couldnt even let her be in the area. Didnt trust himself, not after some of the dreams hed been having of late, the way hed reacted to her presence when waking the other night with his breathing difficulties, but he didnt want to tell her any of that, didnt want to have to talk about it, being by that time fairly thoroughly convinced that it had been a mistake to go into all of those details of his past life with her, in the first place. It had only seemed to make things worse. For him at least. Hadnt been able to get his mind off the stuff since, not for days. Nor at night, either.

Liz was still sitting there with her eyes on him, waiting for an answer, and though he couldnt talk to her about the first part there was something else, and that, he supposed he could and should tell her about. Which was the fact that he had genuine doubts about his ability to survive another serious bleed if such should result from working on his foot-might make it through, physically, had been through worse and was awfully stubborn when it came to continuing to breathe, it seemed, but expected that the aftermath of the operation, if anything like the first two, would likely leave him fleeing into the woods with whatever strength he could scrape together and evading any attempt she might make to find him. Alright with him if that was the way things went, all other things being equal, but they werent, and it wouldnt help her, any. Or the little one. Also large in his mind was the concern that, while he might well eventually succumb to infection if the foot was not dealt with, such might be even more likely--and more rapid--after working on the foot, and that he might never recover sufficiently after the operation to do what needed to be done, for Liz and the little one. At the moment he was--though barely at times--at least able to work, to put what little strength he had towards securing their future as well as possible. Seemed delaying work on the foot might represent his best and only chance to get those things done. He could see her point when it came to his duty, though. Wasnt as clear on his course of action as he had been, before. So, tell her that. All of it. Two of you can sort it out. But he couldnt, not quite, not all of it. Youre right about a lot of what you said, but Ineed some time, Liz. Not gonna be good for much for a day or so after that foot, Im guessing, and there are some things I want to get behind me first. Like the shelter. Need to get the axe put together, shelter done or at least well on its way, hides tanned and that bow finished up for you, and then Ill take care of the foot. Itll keep, I think, if Im real careful about keeping the bandages changed, drink a bunch of berberine through the day. Days. Just a couple of days. Ill make it.

Not particularly liking Einars continued insistence on delaying the work on the foot but, to some extent at least, understanding it--shed been with him after the past two times, knew he must dread, and with good reason, finding himself in such a state once again-Liz did a thorough job of cleansing it that evening, applying fresh, berberine-soaked usnea pads and setting another jar of Oregon grape roots and water near the fire. He had better, she expected, be drinking as much of the stuff as he safely could, both before and after they tended to the foot, if he wanted to avoid a major infection. Einar, somewhere during the foot-cleaning process, seemed to have forgotten his earlier determination to go after one final log that evening, that, or perhaps her words really had reached him just a bit, but either way--assuming he was not simply too dazed from the hurt of having the bandages changed to get up and do anything right away, which appeared not unlikely-Liz was glad, seeing that he seemed content to go on sitting beside the fire and working on the pot of tea shed given him as darkness crept down into the basin and eventually began obscuring the features of the far ridges.

It was a respite that did not last long, Einar after a few minutes shaking himself free of the inertia that had settled over him at the gentle warmth of the fire, the easing of pain allowed by his getting the weight off of the damaged foot. Too dark to reasonably start out after another log, but not too late to finish the axe handle, and that, he had decided was a must, needed to get the thing fitted and then soak the head in the spring overnight so the handle could swell and secure the connection. A good quantity of pitch glue seemed a good idea, also, but he would add that later, using the axe as it was for the coming day. He hoped also to be able to finish up the bow he had begun work on what seemed like ages ago back at the tumbled-down bunkhouse--hed chosen and shaped a branch, but had never got around to stringing the thing, all of the paracord he had been going to draw from to make a string having been needed to help secure and transport their possessions after the encounter with Kilgore--or at least twist and braid a good stout bowstring from some of the ewes sinew, if not actually finish the weapon. His shoulder was, he was pretty sure, sufficiently healed to allow him to use a bow, and even if it proved somewhat difficult for him, Liz could and should take advantage of it. She needed a longer range weapon than that war club--efficient as she was in its use!--and her bola, and as she had not seemed to take to the atlatl quite as readily as he had, the bow ought to offer her a good option. He wanted to get her started on some regular practice with it, so she could perhaps take their next bighorn sheep. Or deer, or elk. Would be good for her to know that she could do it. So. The axe. Better find that handle you started, fit it to the head and get the thing soaking. All work which could be brought over and done there beside the fire with Liz, and he did, though not sitting quite as close as he had been before, as the warmth had begun making him terribly sleepy, the only thing really keeping him awake being the constant gnawing of that foot. Forget the foot. Back to work. Having done a good bit previously to shape the axe handle it needed only a bit of work to get a good fit with the old axe head--the adze, too, needed a new handle, but that could come later--and before long he was testing it out, shaving a bit of wood off here and there to help the two mesh better and then, satisfied, he hobbled out into the darkness to submerge it in the spring for the night. The moon was up, jagged streamers of cloud skimming past in front of it, thin and so nearly transparent that they gave the illusion of being behind the moon itself, which left Einar for a brief moment to doubt his knowledge of such things, or his eyes, or both. Quite a wind up there. It was very nearly still down in the basin, but, squinting through the spruces at the row of sharp-toothed peaks that rose still white-tipped in the moonlight, he knew that hed be seeing snow streamers billowing and ripping from their tops, had there been a recent-enough snow. Weather coming, it looked like. The wind would be along soon, would find its way down from the clouds and the tips of the highest peaks to sweep through the basin, likely bringing with it a good rain or even a bit of snow, if temperatures cooperated. Which--he shivered, started back for the fire--they seemed so far to be doing. Einar had seen snow fall during every month of the year up there at that elevation except for August, as near as he could recall, and even that was not entirely unheard of. Well. Wouldnt be much, if it happened, and would not stick around very long at all. Liz had some more soup ready when Einar sat back down beside the fire with

the makings of the bow, watercress and spring beauty corms with the last of the past-fresh sheep meat that he had excluded from the jerky-making line, and he set his work aside for a minute to eat. The stew, despite being made with past-fresh meat and landing on a stomach that was still somewhat unsettled from the hurt of his battered foot, tasted wonderful to Einar, the opportunity to eat so frequently when his body, struggling to begin rebuilding itself, really needed the continuous supply of nutrition, a rare and wonderful thing, indeed. He could only hope Liz was enjoying the fare half so much, studied her for a minute by the pulsating glow of the fire and decided that she did not look too far from content. Not that he was any good at judging such things. Back to the bow, then, which meant retrieving the remainder of the previously prepared sinew that had been saved from the deer hed taken near the old bunkhouse, chewing it soft--could have soaked it instead, but he hadnt been thinking ahead, and chewing seemed to do a more thorough job, anyway--twisting and cording it, careful of the splices, keeping the width as even as he possibly could, until it was used up, then moving on to the stuff theyd saved from the ewe. He was glad that Liz--now thats really thinking ahead! And he told her so--had at some point taken the leg sinews, which he had left on rocks to dry, and pounded them flat and white with a rounded rock until the fibers had begun separating, work which he had expected to have to do himself, that evening. He was glad that she hadnt done similar, just yet, with the long flat sheets of backstrap sinew that he had so carefully smoothed and pressed to dry on clean, flat granite slabs, as he intended them to be saved, if possible, for backing a future bow to give it added energy and resilience. Taking a few minutes to further separate the fibers on the tendons from the ewes legs, he continued twining the bowstring with their strands, reaching the desired length and then repeating the task, meaning to end up with a string twice as long as he needed. This, he doubled back on itself, leaving a loop at the end which he knew would come in very handy in stringing the bow. Wrapping and cording the two doubled-over halves of the string together would produce, he knew, a very strong string that would be just under an eighth of an inch thick when the sinew had dried thoroughly. More than was needed, perhaps, for a weak spruce bow like that, but he hoped to find some better wood--have to go down and look for some scrub oak, I guess and good luck finding a straight-enough section--before it broke. Liz, seeing what was happening, had begun helping to prepare the sinew strands, chewing them as she saw Einar doing and laying them out on the smooth, snag-free bark of their aspen-bench when she was finished, where he could inspect them and pick which ought to come next. When he realized what she was doing he looked up at her a bit amazed--he hadnt asked her to assist with that particular portion of the work, had thought it might be something she would find objectionable or distasteful, but there she was, doing it, and when she felt his gaze on her and looked up he grinned at her, eyes glowing. Sure is a lot of help. Thanks. Which wasnt exactly what he had wanted to say, wanted to tell her how grateful he was to have somebody by his side who could be counted on to help with work like that, to help as she had, uncomplaining, with the hauling of those heavy logs, earlier, how greatly he admired her for it and how he considered himself honored to be able to work alongside herbut he seemed no more able to express to her the good things than he was some of the bad, so he sat there silent, eyes lingering for

longer than usual on her own. Silent, but she heard him. Next, the cord finished, came the trimming of the splices, Einar using a sharply fractured quartz flake--at least as sharp as his knife, possibly more so--to very carefully shorten and scrape flat the loose strands that had been left where he had spliced the lengths of sinew together, creating a much neater and more durable string, with less protrusions to catch and scrape and interfere with the action of the bow. The scraping done, Einar rose and found a nearby tree branch from which to hang the string for the night, weighting it with a rock on the downhill end and leaving it to dangle so it would dry straight and somewhat pre-stretched. Realizing after leaning there on his spear for several minutes watching the string as it slowly stopped swaying that he had very nearly fallen asleep on his feet Einar shook himself, took a quick step on his right foot to return himself to full wakefulness-hey! Whatd you have to do that for? I was waking up--and limped over to the spot where he had left the deer and sheep hides, rolled hair-side in and covered in damp needles and leaves to keep them moist. Partially unrolling them and sprinkling more water into each to keep the process of slipping the hair moving along--the wood ash would help, but wouldnt do much except make a nasty, caked-up mess if allowed to dry out--rolling them back up when he was finished. A good days work, not enough, quite, all things considered, but it was looking like it would have to do, because here he was falling asleep on his feet again, the fires light blinking in and out as his eyes tried to drift shut, and Liz was calling him, taking his arm, steering him towards the bed. Might as well. More in the morning.

Though he was nearly asleep on his feet as he staggered along beside Liz to the bed, where she had set a candle on a flat rock for a bit of light, Einar knew that as cold as the night was shaping up to be, hed better stay awake and help her place some fire-warmed rocks among the heaps of spruce needles that were to serve as their only cover, the hides all being in various states of processing, and quite damp. Think we might be better off sleeping nearer the fire tonight, actually, keeping it going and letting that log-bench reflect some heat back at us, gonna get pretty cold, it feels likeand think Id better go get some of that dried deer blood we still have wrapped up in the pack somewhere, mix it with water and drink some before bed or Im just gonna spend the night fighting off a series of leg cramps, can feel it, not a good start Didnt much matter what he thought though, as it turned out, because as soon as Liz got him rolled into the bed he was asleep, or something like it, so still that he did not appear even to be breathing, which worried her. Liz spoke to him, felt for a pulse when she got no response and found it--good thing; he had looked rather convincingly dead there for a moment--but still couldnt see him taking breaths and rolled him to his side, eliciting a muted groan as his foot came into contact with a heap of spruce needles, a gasp and a cough as he took in a great breath of air, turned and blinked dazedly at her for a second before falling back into an exhausted sleep. Liz wasnt sure what to make of it, didnt understand what would have caused him to stop breathing momentarily, if that was actually what had happened, but she certainly didnt want it happening again. Retrieving a few rocks from the fire she crept in close to him, pressing her ear to his back where she hoped any change in his breathing would

wake her. Sleep, Einaryouve sure earned it, and, greatly weary herself after the work of the day, she very soon joined him. Einars legs, seriously overworked and not helped any by the fact that he hadnt had quite enough to drink through the day, cramp up terribly in the night, the right one, especially, further aggravating the foot as he shifted position in an unconscious search for relief. He couldnt seem to wake adequately to actually try and do anything about it though, twisted and groaned and ground his teeth--they were at it again, had him pinned down and were crushing his foot, twisting, jabbing at it and were determined to break the leg, too, it seemed were going to cripple him so hed have little chance of getting away; he tried to crane his neck ever so slowly and get a look at them through slitted eyes, no sense letting them know Im awake if they dont already realize it, but it was dark, totally dark and he couldnt move his arms, couldnt seem to lift his head, either--jaw clamped shut against the words that wanted to come, any words, anything at all, just get them to stop, but he kept his silence--didnt even need to be awake to remember that he must do that--tears tracing unheeded down his face to dampen the pad of spruce needles beneath him. Sometime past midnight Einar woke at last, cold and trembling, knife in hand and muscles coiled in readiness, ears straining into the silence of the night. The moon had climbed higher, was piercing in its stark silver-whiteness through the spruces to splash across his face, and it took him a minute to figure out that he was seeing the good crisp nighttime brilliance of his own mountains, moon-sphere sharp and un-obscured by the humidity and the extra thousands of feet of atmosphere that would have turned its color and dulled its features in a different climate. Leg still hurt, foot throbbing and calf muscles, what little was left of them, knotted and worn out from all that cramping but he hardly minded it, knowing now its source--should have had that deer blood before trying to sleep--rolled over and shook his head at a sudden impulse to get up and find another place to sleep, curl up in one of the cold corners of shadow that lurked between sprucescattered moonbeams where he would be more hidden, where he wouldnt disturb Liz, or worse, if he woke again as he just had. Hed freeze out there, could feel it, was already stiff and chilled beneath their bed insulation with Lizs warmth there close at his side, but none of that mattered, and he struggled his head up off of the bed, started dragging himself forward. No. He stopped, pushed the notion aside, fought to breathe through an almost irresistible physical need to rise, run, distance himself--and won. At least for the moment. Didnt have to do it. Didnt have to go. He let out a long breath, tucked the knife away beneath him and buried his face against Lizs shoulder, slept. Liz, her body demanding that little Hildegard and her support system get some rest, had never even stirred during his struggle. That morning Einar was startled awake by the light sounds of a stick snapping, knife finding its way back into his hand as he eased his head up by a few inches, squinting into an overcast daylight in search of the sounds source. Which turned out to be a fox, a graceful silver-tipped creature that stood, nose in the air, testing the scent of the remaining rack of jerky that had been left to dry through the night. Moving so slowly that it took him a full minute to get his hand closed around one of the darts and breathing deeply in an attempt to control the cold-induced tremor that seemed to have a firm hold

on him that morning, Einar raised the atlatl, drew his arm back and was about to throw when the lithe little canine seemed to sense his presence, melted into the timber before Einar had time to act. Gone. Just as well. But looks like Ill have to get some snares out to protect the jerky, the camp in general. Ill work on that this afternoon, after getting a few more of those trees dragged in. Looks like its gonna rain before too many hours, anyway, so I may have lots of time for projects like that around camp today. Now whered Liz hang those hauling straps when she made off with them last evening? He scanned the camp, spotting the straps hanging from a nearby tree. Pretty sneaky of her Easing himself from the bed Einar rose, took a step and promptly fell to his knees at the first bit of weight he tried to put on his injured foot, knelt there for a moment with his head down before grabbing his boots and setting out at a crawl for the spring, stopping for the straps and at the jerky rack for a strip of mostly dried meat for which he suddenly found himself no longer hungry, but knew he must try and eat. Crawling was alright as long as he kept beneath the evergreens, but in crossing the tiny clearing that stood between their shelter and the spruces that guarded the spring he quickly discovered that a heavy dew had settled among the ferns and columbines and the stunted, fuzzy-leafed lupines, quickly driving him back to his feet lest he end up soaked through and colder than he already was. Which--he wrapped stiff arms around his middle, shuddering as a wind swept the trees--he really did not need, just then. The wool sweater, which Liz had refused to take from him that past evening as he usually insisted she do, was helping a good bit, but he knew that until he managed to get a bit more fat on him, just enough to protect critical organs and provide him a bit of a buffer, the regulation of body temperature would continue to be a constant struggle, even during the alpine summer. With the aid of his spear he made the rest of the distance on his feet, sat there beside the spring scooping up its icy water in his cupped hands and gulping down a good bit of it, pausing to retrieve the axe from its soaking spot an check its soundness. The handle seemed firmly attached, didnt budge when he tugged on it and though he knew hed have to actually try the axe out before he was sure it was ready--and he didnt want to make the test so close to camp lest he wake Liz and have to justify to her his intention to go start work on the shelter again--it seemed as though it would hold. Another swallow of spring water, a bite of the jerky and it was time to go, axe stuck in his belt. Despite his big plans, Einar had a problem that morning, couldnt seem to put the slightest bit of weight on his right foot without stabs of white-hot pain being sent splintering up the leg, knew that he was losing ground rapidly in his struggle to keep ahead of the progressing debility the foot was causing him, was eventually bound to reach a point where he could no longer compensate for it. Soon enough the foot would have to be dealt with, the consequences of doing so faced and got through as well as he was able, but still he was set on getting at least the frame of the shelter set up before that happened. And the hides tanned, because that was hard work, especially the stretching phase, and though Liz could certainly help with it, he wanted to be able to do his share. Just another day or two, please give me that much time to get things ready for her, and then Ill see what can be done about the foot. And, seemingly in answer to his prayer, a light drizzle began on the steeply-angled, green-brushed tundra in the cirque above their ledge, sweeping down from the jagged contours of the red ridge far above, its scent--

gentle rain on warmed rock--reaching Einar where he stood hunched over beside the first tree of the morning, a large aspen, wondering just how he was supposed to begin moving the thing. Einar welcomed the rain, knew the dampness would help the trees slide, allow the energy he expended to go further, and he stood there with his face upturned as the mist reached him, began dampening the forest. Helpful, but potentially dangerous, as well, if he didnt keep on top of things, and in an effort to do so he shrugged out of his sweater, rolled it up and stashed it beneath his fleece top with the intent of securing it up in the thoroughly sheltering branches of one of the evergreens that surrounded the cabin site, wanting to keep it dry for later use. Time to get started with the tree, then, and he hitched himself up, leaned forward and dug in with his feet until the thing started moving. The real downpour began late that morning--three trees later--and Liz, who had joined Einar after the second, bringing soup and insisting he stop long enough to eat it, retreated beneath a spruce and urged him to follow. Einar just squinted up at the sky, swiped the water from his face shouted at her over the racket to hurry back to camp and make sure the jerky was safe from the rain, keep herself dry and hed join her before long.

When after more than an hour, by her estimate, Einar had still not shown up at the camp Liz decided that she had better go out after him., make sure he hadnt run into any trouble and see if she could hopefully talk him into coming to the fire to dry out and get warm. She had been kept more than busy for her first while back at camp with securing the jerky, all dry, or nearly so by then, so the rain did not re-dampen and ruin it. Despite the heavy protection of the spruces overhead a fine mist was being blown in on the wind, and she had hurried to get all of the jerky into the burlap sack and hung in close to a spruce trunk where the moisture could not reach it. The stuff could, she supposed, be smoked over a fire that evening to ensure that any moisture that had reached it was removed before they found a better way to package it up, out of the weather. Einars bowstring, left to dry overnight suspended from a tree branch and weighted with a rock, also seemed in danger of being damaged by the weather--she could only imagine, based on what she had observed of the behavior of sinew when exposed to excessive moisture, that the rain would not be good for it--and she moved it, too, in closer where the fine spray was not reaching. Still hoping that Einar would show up on his own and spare them perhaps passing by each other unnoticed between the camp and the cabin site she went on waiting, preparing and coaxing to life a fire--there were going to be a lot of sodden clothes to dry, tea and soup to be made, and a scraggly, drowned rat of a human-critter to thaw out, if he doesnt get back here pretty soon! What is he thinking? Probably that logs slide better through the wet forest, which I guess is true--and covering the small hole most of the way with a rock to slow the blaze down and keep it smoldering for a good long while. Thinking that Einar, when he did come back, would likely be in serious need of some food and, if hed managed to get cold enough, might also benefit from the instant energy that would be provided him by something sweet to drink, she poured a few spoonfuls of the box elder syrup into some water, added a chunk from one of the cakes of mashed,

dried thimbleberries and set the jar on the rock slab that covered the firepit, hoping it might warm slightly while she was away. Warming herself over the plume of heat that escaped from the firepit despite the rock that nearly covered it--temperatures really had begun dropping quickly, it seemed, with the coming of that downpour--Liz stared out at the grey, dripping world around their little camp, decided it would be wise to wait no longer and took off into the storm, leaving a set of dry clothes carefully protected for use on her return. Keeping as well as she could beneath the spruces where the rain and wind were both less forceful Liz was nonetheless reminded in very short order of just how much wetter and colder a downpour can be than even the heaviest of snowstorms, her already-damp clothing doing little to protect her. A rain jacket or even a big garbage bag certainly would be incredibly, immeasurable valuable, right now But she didnt have much time to think about the discomfort, her entire focus soon consumed by trying to figure out where Einar had gone. There was no sign of him there at the site, no recent sign, at least, for she did count three more logs-two of them fairly small aspens, one a mid-sized spruce that she couldnt imagine how he had managed to budge--that he had retrieved in her absence, leaving her to wish that she had stayed with him, returned sooner, been there to help him, and she cast about anxiously in an attempt to determine which of his trails out of the area was the freshest. A task that proved rather beyond her limited tracking skill, and she huddled under a spruce, contemplated waiting there for him but hated to think that he might have been injured, got his foot stuck under a shifting tree, might have simply run out of energy as he frequently seemed to be doing of late and ended up lying out there somewhere in a puddle of icy rainwater as the heat--and life--left his body Einar wasnt, as it turned out, lying out there unconscious in the rain, though hed spent his fair share of time in that position, or close to it, over the past hour, had wakened once when--sitting for a brief rest on a rock, had to get the weight off of that foot--hed slumped forward and ended up toppling face-first into a little thicket of rain-soaked thimbleberry bushes. The berries had been, by that time, mostly consumed by squirrels and birds and other forest creatures, but lying there in a heap searching without success for the strength to rise and get back to work, back to camp, to do anything other than lie there and continue growing colder and less mobile, he had found a few of the remaining fruits, past ripe and shriveled, but providing enough of a boost to get him up and moving again. Hed stopped then for a minute, keeping scrupulously to his feet lest he find himself drifting off again, taken a bite of jerky--hed forgotten he had the stuff, quite honestly--and struggled out of his wool shirt, wringing the water from it and debating whether he would be better off simply looping it through his belt and carrying it along, rather than putting the sodden cloth back in contact with his skin. The wind, gusting and tearing down through the evergreens, soon gave him his answer; he knew the wool, even wet, would be better than nothing. Couldnt seem to work the buttons, though, much to his frustration, fingers stiff and clumsy, finally got a couple of them and left it at that. Had to get moving again, had to keep the blood flowing, or he wouldnt make it. Liz, searching, calling into the rain-lashed timber only to have her words ripped from her throat and swallowed up by the wind, found him at last, hitched up to yet another log, a

good-sized spruce, this time, straining forward for all he was worth to cover the final fifty yards over to the site and looking like hed had a good fall or two along the way, arms and face covered with scratches and smeared in places with the black, grainy mud of the area. It was no wonder, as slippery as things had become in that rain, and she hurried to him, put a hand on his arm--felt like ice, and didnt look much better--in case he had not yet realized she was there. Which by his reaction it appeared he might not have. After a brief, dull-eyed nod of acknowledgement from Einar, she freed the second strap from his shoulder where hed crossed it over in an apparent attempt to get a bit more purchase on the log, a bit more stability, and put it over her own shoulder, helping him to pull, and after what seemed an incredibly long, slow struggle up the slight grade to the site and over more than one old partially rotted windfall, they reached their destination. Working together they rolled the spruce--thing didnt roll very well at all, with all of those branchstubs sticking out of it--over beside Einars growing pile of logs, where it made number fifteen, best as Liz could tell through that rain. Einar stood stooped and swaying, balanced precariously on his good foot as he surveyed the rain-gleamed pile of logs with half-opened eyes, suddenly took a great breath and squared his shoulders, looked over at Liz, grinning triumphantly through his chattering teeth. Think weve got enough, here! Yep, this ought to do it. Need todo some work on these logs, chop some of them in half and maybe square some others just a little, gather a bunch of small stuff to go along with them and thenready to start.building this thing. At which pronouncement, it began to snow. High as they were, it was not terribly uncommon to have a summer rainstorm turn a bit slushy, sleety, and neither of them were particularly surprised when they began seeing a number of more solid, opaque clumps mix with the rain, slush balls and then flakes splashing and filtering down coldly to finish whitening Einars hair where he stood in the little clearing--might as well, soaking wet already--staring up at the sky and chuckling in a cracked, half-crazed voice, allowing the increasingly icy downpour to scour the mud from his face. He might have gone on like that for quite some time had not Liz grabbed his arm and dragged him forcefully beneath a tree, shaking the ice from his hair and wishing she had something dry to wrap him in. The movement, the inevitable weight hed had to put on his right foot in order to avoid toppling over at Lizs sudden action had served to shake Einar from his reverie, brought him rather solidly back to earth and left in place of his momentary euphoria only a crushing exhaustion and the cumulative effects of his hours of exposure to that cold, wet wind. Way past time to be getting back to camp, time for both of us to get into some dry clothes and start warming up. This was only going along alright because I was working so doggone hard, can tell Im way too cold to be standing still like this, and it looks like she is, too. Which, having been determined to get started with the axe, see how the new handle was working and how his improvised sharpening job had turned out, he found rather frustrating. Would have stayed and given it a try had he been there by himself, but knew that in reality there would have been little point. Doubted he could completely close his hands around the axe handle just then, mottled purple and white claws that they

were, let alone hang on tightly enough to successfully swing the thing. It would all have to wait, and--glancing back at the dripping pile of logs--at least he had managed to haul in a good bit of the lumber that would be required for the shelter he had in mind. A good thing, because as thoroughly as he would throw himself into the attempt if he decided it was necessary, he did not know that he could realistically expect to get another such days work out of himself, not before that foot was dealt with. That last log had taken him far too long, had involved too many stumbles and falls, and he couldnt quite picture doing the work on crutches. So. Back to camp. Seems shes determined to drag you there, anyway, if you dont get moving pretty soon, and thered be no sense in that. Even going willingly it took a good while for Einar to make his way back to camp, Liz--seeing that he wasnt at all far from sitting down and finding himself unable to rise again, and concerned also that he might take a notion to turn around and get started on another project at the cabin site--refusing to leave him even when he insisted that she go ahead and get into her dry clothes. The snow was still falling when they reached the camp, nearby evergreen slopes beginning to show a hint of white as the temperature dropped sufficiently to allow the stuff to begin sticking some, and Liz threw a handful of finely split sticks into the firepit, hurried to bring the glowing coals back to life and pull Einar away from the bighorn hide, which he seemed determined to start de-hairing, right then and there in his icy clothes-need to keep moving, the work will warm me--sitting him down beside the fire and snatching up her rabbit stick when he tried to rise. No, you dont. Dont even think about it. And she pressed the jar of sweetened liquid into his hands and helped him drink some when she saw that he couldnt keep his hold on it. A few minutes later, their clothes changed and a pot of tea--raspberry leaf and mint-steaming over the fire, Liz was starting to warm, Einar, also, doing a bit better, already eyeing the two hides that needed to be de-haired, brained, stretched, made ready before the foot could be dealt with.

By the time Einar had used a leaning aspen trunk to set up a scraping operation for the hides, removing the already-loose hair from the bighorn and starting on the deer--a job that took him several hours--the snow had mostly turned back to rain, and he was finally thoroughly warm again, or what passed for it, under current circumstances. It had taken a while, taken him a good bit of time, also, to begin regaining his dexterity, making him glad that he was using a bone scraper on the hide--a slightly modified scapula he had saved from the sheep--rather than his knife, which while an acceptable tool for the job, would have surely led to a number of nicks and scrapes in the hide, as unsteady as his hands had been. Which wouldnt do, because that hide was destined to become a dress for Liz. The one hed seen in all those dreams. Though he hadnt told her, yet. Done for the time with the hides, he was glad to note that, despite his hands being weary and trying to cramp up on him from the hours of cold work, they were fully functional once more, their shaking stilled. Just in time to head back out in the continuing drizzle

and see what he could get done at the cabin site, before dark. Still wanted to test out the axe. Rolling the hides back up to keep them moist for the braining, which he hoped to do in the morning, he stashed them back beneath their covering of needles and leaves, stopping briefly by Lizs fire for a few bites of stew before heading out. She had been busy also, collecting a pile of fresh usnea from the trees up beyond the spring and nesting it in the needles of branches near the fire to begin drying. The frequent dressing changes on Einars foot were consuming a good bit of the stuff, and she wanted a good supply built up against the time when they finally got around to doing the necessary work on the spot where his toes had been, knowing that even more bandaging materials would be required, after that. For many days. Liz was working also to dry their clothes, which she had hung on one of the jerky racks and set beside the firepit where it could be turned frequently, keeping the rack back far enough to prevent stray sparks from putting holes in the somewhat delicate fleece garments that Susan had given them. While great at retaining heat even when wet, they were not nearly as flame-durable as the wool. Not that she had any complaints at all. The mere fact that each of them had a spare pair of clothes--any clothes at all--was an enormous improvement over the situation that had existed that past winter, the almost unbearably long nights spent drying single sets of soaked clothing with the heat of a small fire or, occasionally, with body heat alone, and she sincerely hoped those days might be forever behind them. Wasnt sure exactly how they had managed to live through some of that. But, delight at their current bounty of clothing aside, she knew that as chilly as it was that day, Einar would have been better off wearing both layers, especially if sitting still, and was anxious to get the spares dry. Which they very nearly were, and it appeared just in time, too, because she could see even before he told her so that Einar was headed back out there, would soon be left with nothing dry to change into unless she finished those clothes drying. Scrubbing his hands with a scoop of the slushy remains of the snowstorm and drying them on his pants, Einar joined her at the little fire, accepted the pot of tea she was holding out to him, sat there for a minute breathing its steam--where does she come up with these wonderful mixtures? Stuff smells like afternoon sun on the meadow, or something like that, nothing like the simple spruce needle stuff I usually make--and could have easily, so very easily fallen into a blissful slumber right then and there with his head enveloped in that deliciously warm steam, but he shook his head, propped his eyes open and turned to Liz, his words slightly slow and muddled at first. Got the scraping done. Can do the braining tomorrowget started on it anyway, do the first step. May let you do some of it if you dont mind, guess you could use some more practice. Yes, Id like to do that. Ive never done it all from start to finish, mostly just stretched that deer hide for you way back last year at the Bulwarks, so maybe you can walk me through the process and let me get my hands messy. Thats the best way to learn things, anyway. Sure is. Now speaking of getting your hands messy, Im gonna head back over to the

cabin for a little while and try out that axe, see if itll be needing more work before I get real serious with it on some of those timbers. Figure you might as well stay here this time if youre agreeable, just because it would be awful helpful to have somebody to keep these clothes drying and tend the fire so it doesnt go out and we have to start all over on it, later. Sound Ok? Youre not going to be hauling any more of those logs? He shook his head, took a gulp of the half-scalding tea, which seemed to taste every bit as good as it smelled, and he wondered if she had sweetened it with something. Nah, got enough logs I think. Real good start, anyway. Told you this place isnt gonna be anything fancy, just a chopped in half a-frame sort of a structure, but those trees are good and stout, ought to keep out the critters and stand up to the weight of the snow just fine. All I want to do is test out the axe, maybe hunt around for a decent adze handle, because that thingll be pretty useful, too, and then head back here for the rest of the afternoon. Yes, Ill stay then and watch the fire, get us some supper going and maybe work on making sure all of that jerky got thoroughly dry. Your foot, though? Its still attached. But better change the dressings before I head out, if thats what you were asking about. Everythings wet down there, whole foots been trying to go numb on me this last hour or so. Both of them have. Which would be real welcome, actually, but the last thing the foot needs is less circulation than its already got, so I guess it had better be dealt with. I made some more berberine. Why dont you drink some, and then we can use the rest to wash it with. Which he did, shuddering at the bitterness but welcoming the fact that the shock of it left him feeling wide awake and ready for some action, in contrast to the almost irresistible head-drooping sleepiness that had come over him while enjoying that good warm tea. Ok. Get the boot offtheregoodgosh, this thing hurts Ok, now the sock and thenhad to close his eyes for a second, grab the aspen log on both sides of him to steady the sickening gyrations the earth seemed to undergo as the sock pulled with it one of the partially stuck usnea padsthen pour on a little of this berberine to loosen up the usnearight, you got it, dont drop that jar, now, but he almost had, and Liz took it from him, helped him finish the task of removing the old dressings and washing the foot, applying fresh pads of the soft, cushioning antiseptic lichen. The job finished and Liz carefully easing a dry sock and his boot back into place Einar leaned back and stared up at the thick nest of overlapping spruce branches above their heads, the firelight reflecting dimly off of them in the subdued light of the stormy day. There was no doubt now in his mind, if there had been before, that he was seeing exposed bone in there where the toes had been, in two separate places. Shook his head, took a long breath and swung his feet to the ground, bracing himself against that terrible jarring electrical impact when he first eased a bit of weight back onto the foot. It was always the worst; after that, he seemed to adjust a bit, to find ways to compensate, a careful, stilted gait that allowed him to spare the foot, something he was able to maintain until he got into the middle of a job of the sort hauling those trees had been, and thenwell, he guessed after a while his

body just reached the limit of what it was able to feel, to respond to, and started shutting down just a bit. Just enough. He had got it done. And now--he glanced down at the foot, swallowed hard--another even less pleasant task looming ahead of him, he knew he could not put it off much longer. Not if he wanted to go on living, which he supposed he did.

Making his way back over to the cabin site, Einar realized that with all the trips he and Liz had made back and forth between the camp and the site, they had created a pretty well-worn trail by that point, a fact that concerned him some, as he knew that such tended to be highly visible from the air, and knew, also, that the trails left by human activity tended to look quite different, to the trained eye, from those of the elk or deer or sheep that would be expected in the area. For the moment he was not too worried about the trail, as it would be mostly shielded from aerial observation by the heavy cover of evergreens, but he knew they would need to be cautious in the future not to leave the basin crisscrossed with sign that would betray a human presence to any who might end up looking. Pleased at the stack of logs that he and Liz had managed to amass there at the site Einar was anxious to try out the axe, hoped very much to get at least the skeleton of the shelter set up before night came. Back at camp Liz kept herself busy chopping up the meat of the bobcat they had snared two mornings ago, the portion of it, at least, that they had not turned into jerky, thinking it ought to make a good stew for that evening. She worked also, keeping the fire going, on drying a good bit of yarrow that she had collected earlier in the day, wanting to have a large supply of it on hand to help stop the bleeding in Einars foot, should that threaten to become a serious problem when they worked on it. An hour later, her work done and beginning to become a bit concerned for Einar she joined him, not intending to try and convince him to stop his work or come back, just wanting to share it with him, to help out if possible. Einar had found the axe to be quite serviceable, had used it to chop a number of the longer aspens in half, then even a number of the half-logs off so that they would be similar lengths, their dry, soft wood yielding easily before the hundred-plus year old blade, his sharpening job having proven quite effective. Choosing two eight foot sections of aspen, large and sturdy, both of them forked at the top, for the upright posts that would support the crosspiece, Einar moved them over to the area with Lizs help, kneeling there and working with sharp granite shards and a sheep scapula--the one he wasnt using for a hide-scraper--to begin digging holes to set them in. Seeing what he was doing Liz crouched beside him, watched for a minute before stepping over to the spot where he had scratched a shallow hole into the damp soil and driven a spruce stick in for a marker, digging. Somewhere along the way in his staring at the timbers and at the site and trying to picture just how the shelter would come together, Einars design had changed from his original concept of a half a-frame with one vertical wall and one that leaned against it, to a triangular tent like structure with two leaning walls of logs, one resting on the other, the higher sticking out a good foot or two on top and the bottom row of leaning logs supported by the crosspiece that he intended to mount across the two vertical posts. The

side walls, as he had them pictured, would be of upright logs, pole-house style, as he had intended with the a-frame. On the back would be a stove and stone chimney which, as he got the time and opportunity to construct it, would slowly replace the upright poles on the back, in one area. First, then, must come the two posts, and, finishing the holes, he got them set upright with Lizs help, jamming a number of stones into the holes to help secure the posts before replacing the dirt he had dug out, stomping and tamping it into place. Which did not go so well, considering that he had only one foot to work with; the idea of stomping with his bad foot was beyond what even he was willing to try, if there was any alternative, and he gratefully accepted Lizs help when she took on the task, herself. The posts in place, their forked ends at roughly the same height, Einar sorted through the remaining logs and chose one for the crosspiece, a slim but sturdy aspen that needed some shortening before it would be suitable for the job--the upright posts were approximately eight feet from each other, and while it seemed useful to allow the crosspiece to stick out a few feet on each side, he did not want that overlap to be excessive--and he did the work, rolling the prepared beam over to the posts and studying it for a minute from a weary crouch, trying to picture just exactly how he had supposed he was going to lift it approximately six and a half feet up into the forks of those posts. Well. This beam isnt so heavy as a lot of the larger diameter logsIll just slide it up. Liz can be on the inside, direct in and make sure it ends up settling in the other fork. Rolling another of the logs in between the posts to act as a stepping stool for Liz, who was a good seven or eight inches shorter than his height, he explained the next steps to her, got himself braced beneath the log and lifted, easing its end up into the first fork and letting his breath out in relief when the upright post did not shift or try to come out of the ground at the weight. Grunting and straining as he lifted the beams end and began sliding it forward--sure am thankful this is a good smooth aspen instead of one of those gnarly-branched spruces--he watched as Liz caught hold of the forward end and guided it fairly easily into the second fork. Another shove to help equalize the amount of spare beam that hung out on the front and back, and the task was finished, Einar sinking wearily to the ground and lowering his head in the hopes of reversing the growing dizziness that had seized him, the blackness welling up in hot, smothering waves from that horrid, hateful stump of a foot, trying to claim him. Couldnt have him, not yet, and after a moment he rose, accepted the water Liz was holding out to him and squinted at the start-of-a-shelter that stood there before them, awaiting the first row of leaning logs. Which, fortunately, he had already got chopped so that they were very similar in length, if not exactly the same. The first row, the lower one, needed to be pretty even on top, as the upper row would be resting on their ends for support, rather than on the crosspiece. The upper, overlapping layer of logs could be left wildly varying in length at their ends, if need be, because those ends would simply be sticking up into the sky. Time to start placing that bottom row, before it began getting dark. He could see already that he didnt have enough logs, would need to be collecting a good many more before hed be able to set up the sides of the shelter but he wasnt too concerned about that, knowing that those pole walls could be of far smaller diameter logs than the leaning roof-

slabs needed to be. He could drag those poles in one by one on his hands and knees if he had to, if that was what he was reduced to for a while after the work on his foot. But needed to get the heavy portion of the shelter finished. One by one he raised and placed the logs, having first rolled one of the heavier spruces in place where their ends would sit on the ground, knowing it would help hold them in place and keep from skidding and creeping outwards over time. The task of dragging in and propping the first set of leaning logs against the crosspiece went fairly quickly, Liz helping and Einar giving his entire focus to the work and even managing on occasion to laugh at himself--grinning dizzily up at the logs overhead from his sprawled-out position on the damp, muddy ground--when he fell in a crumpled heap over a poorly-timed step on the bad foot, and though Liz hardly thought it funny, she was glad to see the energy and enthusiasm that he seemed to be drawing from the project as it took shape before their eyes. The rain had not stopped, had, in fact, turned slushy again as the evening wore on, and Einar--having some time ago given up on stopping to wring the water from his sweater; it had become too difficult to get the thing back on, afterwards--knew that the effort of raising those logs was the only thing keeping him warm enough to continue being mobile, useful, keeping him from sinking to the ground in a hypothermic haze. But that could not last forever, could not be particularly good for Liz, either, who had consistently refused to leave his side and return to camp as the weather worsened, and who consequently appeared not to be a whole lot better off than he was. Einar made no objection, then, when sometime around dusk she suggested getting a fire started there at the shelter site and preparing some stew. Leaving his work he helped her, gathering firewood from the pile of broken branches he had amassed in scouring the drag paths of the logs he had hauled in and huddling dazedly there with her over the orange glow for a minute, after she got the fire going. Couldnt stop for long though, because he was starting to lose the light, and besides, what sense was there in getting dry when you knew youd just have to head back out into the icy rain again, immediately after? Liz left, then, making a quick trip back to the camp to round up some meat for a stew. The evening wore on as they worked together by rainy daylight and then, as the storm cleared and the cold descended sharp and biting on the basin, by the light of an almostfull moon, Liz tending the fire and steering Einar occasionally over to it, insisting that he sit for a minute and warm himself, giving him bites of stew from the pot she kept simmering on a flat rock. When finally he could barely keep on his feet any longer, stumbling and fumbling and frequently losing his grasp on the slippery logs he was trying to struggle up onto the second half of the triangle--had to complete the triangle, couldnt leave the thing half done--Einar reluctantly allowed Liz to lead him over to the fire, the two of them warming for a minute before extinguishing it and making the short walk back to camp, where she had kept their second fire smoldering along. Adding a quick handful of dry sticks to the coals she coaxed it back to life, hurried to get Einar into his dry clothes--hed refused to change into them when the rain had stopped, arguing that they would only get soaked again as he worked with the wet timbers, and she had seen the sense in that, had known that theyd be in serious trouble if sleep-time came and they

had nothing dry to put on--and rub some warmth into him before heating up the remains of the stew. While the stew heated Liz tended to Einars foot, talking him into gulping down half a jar of berberine solution, washing the foot with the remainder of the bright yellow liquid--the long day of work in the damp cold did not appear to have done it any good--and exchanging his sodden dressings and sock for fresh ones. He barely even reacted when she eased the fresh sock into place, stared glassy-eyed and shaking into the fire and, finished with the task--you cant go on like this, or youre going to lose the foot. Tomorrow, Einar, this must be dealt with if I have to tie you down and do it myself--Liz pressed a warm rock into his hands and left him, hurried to prepare the bed, wishing more than ever for the ewe hide, for the soft, warm yearling bear fur that had been lost to them when she was captured early that spring in the meadow. Numb, shivering and dead tired they lay pressed close together in their bed of spruce needles that night--kept mercifully dry there beneath the heavy canopy of boughs--the immense weariness of a long days work carried out under the constant buffeting of the wind and that icy, slushy rain quickly overcoming their discomfort, and they slept. Neither of them stirred until morning--not that they were aware of, anyway--Liz waking first and experiencing a brief moment of near-panic when she realized that Einar didnt appear to breathing, his skin blue-mottled and dead cold when she checked, face pressed into the ground and elbows pasted against his sides in what had apparently been a futile attempt to conserve warmth, right hand clamped in an iron grip around his knife. Much of the spruce insulation had fallen from him in the night, the result, she supposed, of his shivering and--scraping the scattered spruce needles over him, late, but she couldnt stand to see him lying uncovered there in the bitter morning chill--she was furious with herself for sleeping so soundly that she had failed to realize he was getting into trouble, for falling so quickly into an exhausted sleep instead of taking the time to stuff the burlap sack with additional insulation and put it over them for the night, Im so sorry Einar, please come back, please She shook him, tried to roll him over and took his hands in her own, attempting to warm then. At which her mind was quickly set at ease as to his status, her actions eliciting a quick reaction from him as he startled to wakefulness, freed his hands from her grasp and grabbed her wrists all in one swift motion, having believed she--someone--was trying to disarm him. A few seconds of tension followed during which Einar seemed to be confusedly contemplating just what to do with her--hopefully recognize me, for starters, because youve still got that knife--and then he grinned, released her and curled up in a chilled knot, knees against his chest, shaking, beginning to realize just how cold he had become in the night. You sure haveinteresting ways of waking a fellow up. Must bewanting tofeeling a need for someextra risk and excitement in your life, sneaking up and grabbing me like that. Diddid it work? Einar, you silly-- She curled up behind him, worked to knead some warmth into his chilled limbs. Im certainly not looking for any more excitement, and never would have done that to you, except that I had myself convinced you were dead, and was really, really anxious to prove myself wrongso yes, I guess it did work!

Dead? Well youre lucky Im so doggone stiff and creaky this morning, or one of us might well be dead after what you just did. Probably would be me, as slow as I seem to be moving this morning. Youd have clobbered me in the head with that war club before I had the chance to do anything I would have had to! Why do you think I usually throw things at you to wake you up, when I need to wake you up? From behind boulders. Out of atlatl range. An unintelligible growl from Einar in response, a sudden need to put some distance between himself and Liz but he was terribly stiff, muscles feeling tight and on the verge of cramping whenever he tired to move--come on now, wasnt that much work you did yesterday. Youll be fine once youa grunt as he tried but failed to raise himself on his armsonce you get moving, get a little blood flowing--and he rolled to his back, lay there squinting up at the brightness of the morning. Sun would soon be up, was showing as a thin rim of gold up on the ragged red-rock edge of the ridge, and he had a shelter to finish. Liz had left the bed, had sensed his need for some space and realized, also, that he would prefer to be alone with his struggle to get coordinated and rise, would find it easier if she wasnt there watching him. All of which was true, and Einar was immensely grateful to her for recognizing it, or would have been, had he not at the moment been so thoroughly engrossed in trying to get to his feet. And then to push through his reluctance to use the bad foot, ease some weight onto it. He had to, knew that there was no way hed be able to do the tasks that awaited him that day at the cabin site, hopping around on one foot. He made it, eventually, stood there for a minute on two feet getting his breath and fighting to suppress a rather powerful urge to snarl and snap at anything and anyone he might happen to come into contact with, hobbled over to join Liz at the fire, which was just then beginning to crackle and hiss with renewed life. Wood sounded a little wet. No surprise, after all that rain. Even the stuff theyd protected beneath the spruces would have tended to absorb some humidity. Good to have a fire going. Thanks. It was a cold night. Yeah. Another day or two, and well have those hides to cover up with at night. Thatll help a lot. Oh--it sure will! Hey, speaking of hides and furs and keeping warm, I didnt get around to checking the snares yesterday morning, so I was thinking Id better go pretty soon here and get that done. Or the coyotes will end up eating anything we caught. Yep, they will. Id come with you, but figure Id better head over to the shelter and get right to work on that this morning. We got an awful lot done yesterday, but theres still a good bit to do before that thingll be readyhmmyou did at least half the work so far, Im thinking. And kept me going with all those stew breaks. Id have just gone until I dropped, pretty sure, and sometimes that doesnt work so well when its as cold and wet

as things were yesterday. Thanks. She smiled, handed him the stew pot, reheated bobcat and thimbleberry from the night before. Eat! And whatever you dont finish goes with you so youll hopefully remember to keep eating as you work. Liz gone on her snare run, Einar made his way over to the cabin, face splitting into a wide grin when he saw just how much they had got done. Those last few evening hours were a little hazy in his memory. The entire lower slanted wall was up, several of the timbers for the top wall having been rolled up into place, also. The shelter was really taking shape. And, much to his relief, it appeared that he would have enough of the larger timbers to finish, at least, the roof. Walls would have to come later, as would plastering them with a mixture of mud and spruce needles to keep out the sharp winds, but that would not be the hard part. Hard part lay ahead of him, still, and he knelt there looking over the scene, leaning hard on his spear for support. Give me the strength. Keep me on my feet until this is done. And he stood. One by one Einar rolled and struggled the long, heavy lengths of spruce and aspen up to rest at an angled lean on the tops of the lower layer, three, four, a brief rest and a hasty gulp of water from the jar Liz had sent with him, bitter with berberine against the thing they both knew was coming, drive the dizziness away with a bite of that stew--dont come back out, stew, stay where I put youneed you there--and then back to work. Another timber, almost losing control of it at one point when weight and momentum conspired against his frustratingly weak and awkward arms but he kept his hold on the thing, used his entire body to wrestle it into place and thus spare himself having to lift it again, staggered, after that, over to the tree where his water jar waited for him, dizzy and half blind with the pain of so heavily weighting that foot. Couldnt find the water, wasnt even certain he had the right tree, looked up in the hopes of getting his bearings and saw that the trees were swaying as in a violent wind, undulating, twisting, closing in on him, their tops growing nearer and nearer in a weird defiance of the natural order and, falling, he grabbed for them, seeking support in their encroaching boughs, but they crumbled like ash between his fingers, left him to sprawl painfully on his back in the rocky clearing, everything going momentarily black. When he managed to get his eyes open again it was to a number of badly bruised ribs and the realization that the trees had returned to their accustomed places, had stopped moving and stood still and straight, reaching up for the unbelievably blue, impossibly far vault of the sky. Interesting, Einar. Now back on your feet. Two timbers, that was all he had left, and he meant to finish the job. Liz showed up just as he was beginning to lift the last log, a half-length of heavy spruce, helped him, taking as much of the weight as he would allow her and working with him to roll it up into place, pushing, shoving, finally seeing it settle in. Einar stepped back then, numb, nodding, it is finished Sank to the ground beside the remains of the log pile, picked up the two foot long small diameter aspen piece he had earlier cut, deliberately, almost ceremoniously balancing it in his palm for a moment, carving at it, narrowing one end down to fit his hand. Liz lowered herself to the ground beside him.

What are you making? For a while he worked in silence, finishing the rough handle and giving the log an experimental swing. Club. Club? Exactly what--or who--are you planning to club with it? Should I be worried? Well he turned the knife over in his hand, stag handle and good steel, gift from Susan--and her late husband--admiring it, I sure dont want to go bashing the top of this fine blade with a rock like I did with that folder the last time, so I thought Another swing of the newly finished club, and Liz understood. Your foot? Youre ready to take care of the foot? Ready as Ill ever be, I guess. Wanted to get those hides done first, the bow--well, bows done, really, I just need to string it for you, make a few arrowsgot the heads done, theyre in that little rawhide pouch in my pack and youve seen how I put the things together, sinew wrap on a split-ended willow shaft, little smear of pitch to waterproof it, wrap some bits of feather onto the end with more sinew, you can do that if you need to-butthis things getting awful bad. Gonna start poisoning me pretty soon here. And the shelters finished, the heavy part of it, anyway. Its time. Which it was, past time, actually, but Einar seemed to Liz a bit reluctant to leave the place, kept finding reasons to stay, little things that needed tending to. She helped him as he placed a few poles along the outside of the shelter, beginning work on the front wall. He saw that it was going to work, wouldnt be too difficult to complete, and he could already picture the row of baskets and rawhide bags that would hang from that crosspiece --the rafter?--in the cabin, stuffed full of jerky, dried lily and spring beauty roots, chokecherries, yarrow and mullein and Oregon grape root for their winter usewould be a good place for her. And the little one. Real good place. Liz had taken his arm, was urging him to follow her back to camp, and he went. Back at camp Liz added some wood to the fire and set another jar of water to simmer for berberine solution. She had made two jars of the stuff that morning after returning from her check of the snares, but wanted to have a third ready, knowing that a lot of rinsing would be required in the operation on the foot, and thinking it would be better to use the antiseptic solution than plain water. Einar had gone off by himself, was crouching against a rock near the sharp dropoff at the edge of their little plateau. staring out at the meadow, the peaks beyond. As he appeared quite lost in his own thoughts Liz let him be, filled one of the cooking pots from the spring and got it heating, as well, in case they should have a need of more water. Everything was set, it seemed, the three jars of berberine, her large stash of dried yarrow and a good bit of fresh, too, that she had gathered that morning, knowing how useful it had proven in the past to help stop serious bleeding, deerhide strip and a short stick for the tourniquet, a good-sized heap of dry usnea harvested from the surrounding spruces for use in packing the foot and creating

dressings. She wished they had a supply of hounds tongue leaves, its comfrey-like qualities helping promote the growth of healthy new tissue while acting to reduce chances of infection. It would be good for me to have a bunch of that set aside for washing with in the days after the baby comes, too, I would think. It was one Susan mentioned in her note. But I havent seen any up this high, and there isnt time for a side trip down to a lower elevation before taking care of this foot. Maybe afterwards, in a day or two, if I can leave him aloneI could very quickly head down to the valley while Im out checking the snares one morning, and maybe come up with some. I guess it wouldnt be the thing to use today, anyway, because Ive heard that it can cause new cells to grow so quickly that you can trap dirt or infection in a wound, if youre not completely sure its cleaned out and ready to start healing over. He cant have willow bark, either, because of the way it thins your blood, but in the past when we were cleaning the foot he would clamp a peeled willow stick in his teeth--maybe it was enough to help just a tiny bit--so Ill run down and get him a willow stick before we get started, and She glanced up, saw that Einar had left his vigil by the cliffs, was using the spear to aid his slow hobble back into camp, and he paused by their meat-hanging tree to admire the two rabbits she had found in the snares that morning. Glad you went down there. Wed have lost these to coyotes over night, for sure. You know, there are bound to be beavers and muskrats down in the big valley that we first looked down into when I led us over the wrong little pass, trying to come here. Remember it? Long and narrow with little pools and ponds and green, swampy stuff as far as you could see? Yeah, thatll be the place to go this winter if you want to take beaver and muskrat. No sense trying it right now because the summer furs arent all that good, but starting in October, Novemberreal good furs, good meat, too. The little onewell, I know hes coming about that time, too, but if you make him a basket, a cradleboard-type thing like the Utes and a lot of others used--ahI was gonna make that for you, was gonna get started on it pretty soon here, too--line it with rabbit furs or marten or whatever youve got around, add a lot of this usnea for padding and extra insulation, make sure hes got a real good warm hood or hat or something to cover his head, and itll keep warm so you can carry him along with you while you do those snares, hang that cradleboard in a tree when youre doing stuff in the water and dont want him near it, and hell be just fine. Grow up watching you do all that, be working along side you before you know it, doing his share. Ive seen him, hell do just fine, both of you will. Itll be a heavy load, carrying the critters you take, and the little one, all up and down that valley, and you may even find it best to make camp down there for a few weeks at a time, live off the meat while you take care of the hides and then after a while head back up to the cabinyou know how to do the hides, theyll be just like that ermine you took care of all by yourself back in the bear cave, only larger, warmer, too, good thick rich fur. Between that source of meat and all the stuff youll have set aside up here the winter ought to go pretty well for you, all this jerky and of course youll be able to save a good bit of it, as long as youre able to get out and check snares.

Something else I was thinkingwell, down there in the valley we came up through, the one below the waterfallI saw some little clumps of scrub oak down there, kinda the upper end of their range but I was thinking in the fall, September or so--I know youre keeping track of the days--it might pay to head down there and see what kind of a year it is for acorns, maybe even venture down a little lower if it seems there are gonna be a good many. Lot of protein and fat in acorns. They were a real significant food source for some of the tribes around here, shell em and crunch them up a little and leach them in the creek, save yourself the trouble of boiling to get the tannin out. Some of them wont be real bitter but most will need some treatment, to be much good to eat. They get real sweet after a week or so in a real cold mountain creek like ours up here, less time than that if the waters warmer, then you dry out that paste and grind it further, use it as flour for baking or just leave it as-is in larger chunks, cook it up and eat like hot cerealcould really stretch your meat supplies. Chokecherries will be ready about the same time, been seeing them all over up here and of course about half of those bushes we were pushing our way through on the climb up to the waterfall and beyond were chokecherries, so no shortage of them, it looks like. Just remember to watch out for the bears, they love chokecherries too, andwell, you helped me process chokecherries last fall up at the Bulwarks, so you ought to remember how to do that. Have to make sure you dont eat a lot of the pits fresh because of the cyanide, but dried theyre fine for you, they add some oil to the berries and make them a better source of calories Liz watched him sadly as he spoke, his back to a spruce and one arm wrapped through its boughs to prevent him sprawling on the ground, recognizing the sense of urgency in his voice and seeing little point in trying to stop the flood of information that he appeared intent on loosing--it almost seemed she ought to be taking notes; this was more talking than hed done in a long time--but finally she went to him, took his arm and led him over to the fire. Heyyou dont have to tell me all of this right now. Ill learn it alongside you this year, all of it, the way Ive been doing. Youll be here. Yes I will, but you should know it anywaygot to know it anyway. Now. Better not put this off any longer. Guess its time for you to go wait somewherecabin, if you like, or She shook her head insistently, took a seat in front of the thoroughly-scrubbed slab of smooth white aspen bark that she had prepared for the purpose. Einar, Im going to help you with this one. Itll be easier for me to see whats going on, to see where to cut than it would be for you, and if you start bleeding, I want to be here to help with that, too. You remember the last time No. Its too dangerous. Listen, I know you didnt ask me to be here, Im choosing to do this for you. With you. If there are risks, its my choice to accept them.

You can make that choice for yourself, but the baby? Shouldnt he have some say in it? The baby? I hardly think youll do anything that would endanger the baby. He was quiet for a minute, eyes dark, distant, unreadable. Go.

Liz rose, prepared to leave as Einar was insisting--shed done it the last time, had let him go off on his own when the time had come to deal with those last two toes; it had nearly ended in disaster when hed started bleeding seriously, but she had respected his need to be alone for the task--but stopped herself after the first few steps, retrieved a willow stick from her pack--the cut and peeled end from one of the atlatl darts he had made several days ago, which she had salvaged and saved--and sat back down beside him. He didnt appear particularly surprised, did not, in fact, even acknowledge her presence but went right on with the removal of his boot, slowly and deliberately loosening the laces as if embarked on a course of action whose every detail he had been planning and reviewing for quite some time. Which, she knew, was probably the case. Hoping he wouldnt object to her presence, she began making preparations alongside of him, laying out yarrow, usnea, the boiled cloth strips, torn from the liner of her jacket--without telling him; she knew he would have objected--that were to serve as wrappings to keep the usnea pads in place, but he stopped in his work, looked up at her and didnt even need to say anything for her to hear his questions. Why havent you gone yet? What are you still doing here? Well, she had an answer, was prepared to give it to him but took a moment first in silent prayer, please let him hear me, turn his heart so that he can accept this Listenthis needs to go right the first time, because I know youre going to be terribly anxious to get back on your feet afterwards, and it seems its a lot more likely to go well with two of us here to help each other than if I walk away right now and leave you to do the whole thing by yourself. Let me stay, even if just to He was shaking his head, holding up an arm as if to ward her off, to deflect her words, perhaps, so he wouldnt have to consider them, but she continued. I know youre concerned about how you may react when you find yourself in the middle of this thing with somebody who isnt you cutting on your foot, but heres an idea: if something goes wrong and you come after me, Ill just knock you out with this rabbit stick. That way we get this over with more quickly, and everybodys safer. So. Have we got a deal? He shrugged, you certainly are just about as stubborn and insistent a human-critter as Ive ever had dealings with, and Im not too quick on my feet--ha!--right nowknew she was right about the operation likely going better if he had some help--could hardly see straight the way the thing was gnawing at him, let alone keep his hands steady for very long at a time, though he hoped the urgency of the situation--and a detail he had planned but had not mentioned to her--might steady him out some, once he got started. Would have to. He couldnt let her stay. No way. That was the bottom line. Couldnt forget

that time last winter when shes been changing the bandages on his toes, and hed mistaken her forwell, for someone else, leaving the entire thing to very nearly end in disaster--and that had been a simple dressing change. Tell her. Convince her that she cant do this. No, might not work, Im quicker than you. Especially when I happen to see somebody coming at me with a weapon Oh, I wouldnt count on that! Are you forgetting just how many times Ive managed to get you with this thing? And she swung the rabbit stick, nearly hitting Einar in the head and leaving him to restrain himself and remain still only with the greatest effort. A growled response, a shake of his head and she could see that he still wasnt convinced. Well, if youre that concerned about it I could just tie you upId be safe enough, then. Ha! No! No, I think that would be a very bad idea, very bad indeed. Youd be better off just clubbing me in the head with that rabbit stick right now and repeating the procedure every time I showed the slightest sign of life Should I? What? Knock you out and then deal with the foot. Just get it over with. Thats a pretty inexact science, repeatedly knocking somebody in the head like that. And I do believe it would take repeated applications You might just do me in, without even meaning to. Id rather you didnt. Besides, there are better ways, if you just want to render a person unconscious for a while. Less messy ways. But it doesnt matter, because Ive got to stay awake. Better ways? Tell menot for this time of course, but in case its something I need to know in the future Oh, I dont think so! I see what youre trying to do And he was laughing, or very close to it, shoulders shaking and the corners of his eyes crinkled up hilariously, a hint of a twisted smile lighting his face, leaving Liz to stare incredulously at him for a second before scooting closer, meaning to take full advantage of the lighter moment, however short-lived it might prove to be, to hopefully find a way in, some means by which to persuade him that she ought to be allowed to stay. The momentary respite was to be far too short-lived for any such maneuvering, though. In the instant Einar got a look at that foot--two days of heavy construction on the cabin had done it no good at all; he could now clearly see the broken points of bone protruding in two places from the shriveled and stinking flesh of the foot--the reality of the situation returned full-force to leave him grave and white-faced, glancing up at Liz with steady, dead-serious eyes. Time for you to go now. This ought to take me maybe thirty, forty minutesyou can come back and check then, if you want to. There was a cold finality in his voice, a solid, tangible force

that she did not know how to counter, and, though it went against every instinct in her, she rose to go, but he caught her hand. Lizzie, Ithanks. She left, then, retreating through the screen of firs and spruces that shielded their camp but not going very far, keeping him within sight as she knelt behind the ruins of a massive, long-fallen spruce, rotted, returning to the soil, sick, pleading, tell me if Im supposed to go back out there, show meI want to help him but dont want to make things worse by trying and not understanding when she saw Einar rise, take his spear and the uncovered remains of his foot and hobble over to the spot where the fast-flowing runoff creek left the spring and cascaded down over a terraced spillway of mossy granite towards the basin below. He disappeared from her view then, down behind the rocks that bordered the little creek, and Liz supposed that he might simply have decided he needed a drink of good fresh spring water before getting started--he has to stay hydrated, glad hes thinking of that, since he wont let me be there to remind him--but when after a good ten minutes he hadnt shown back up, she began growing concerned--maybe he decided to do it down there for some reason?--and she stood, seeing to her dismay that while the knife appeared to have gone with him, he hadnt taken the tourniquet, yarrow, usnea or bandages. What are you doing, Einar?

For a good quarter hour more Liz stayed there behind the dead tree, praying, giving Einar time, the space he had demanded of her, but she was growing more and more concerned, having neither heard nor seen anything of him since he had walked away from camp. Not that she expected to hear anything, butsomething had to be wrong. No way, she told herself, would he simply forget all of the bandaging materials, the tourniquet, the yarrowEinar, you could bleed to death if you try it without those things and her decision was made, rising, hurrying to the fire and adding a few sticks to keep it going, rounding up the supplies and heading off in the direction where she had seen Einar disappear. He might not like it, the intrusion, but she could not simply stand by while he allowed himself to bleed out down behind some lichen-speckled rock. Not even--which she doubted, but one really never can be sure--if it was what he wanted. Their child deserved better than that. Approaching cautiously, relieved to discover that Einar had not simply disappeared into the timber with his bad foot and that knife, Liz found him sitting in the creek that flowed from the area just below the spring, submerged up to his waist in the icy water--it appeared that he must have used rocks and mud to hastily and crudely dam up the creek and cause it to pool a bit--shaking, eyes closed and hands clasped tightly together under his chin as if in an attempt to keep them warm, mobile, useful. She went to him, crouched on the rocks beside the water--forgive me, Einar, but I cant just leave you like this--and spoke to him, seeing the greyish pallor of his face and fearing the worst. He was awake though, conscious and quite lucid, if appearing rather distressed when he opened his eyes and looked up at her. Wanted tokeep down the bleeding, maybe dull things just a little before cutting, but

my handsIve always been able to stop the shaking, just breathe it away for a while if I really had to but Ive tried, and its not working. Kind of in a fix, here. She nodded, saw plainly that he seemed not even to be capable of getting himself up out of the water, though he was definitely trying, got behind and helped haul him out. He couldnt get his good leg under him, had been in that water so long that both legs had gone numb, white and bloodless--exactly what he had been aiming for, but the treatment had perhaps been a bit too effective; what little was left of his legs had become chilled through quite quickly--and she helped him back over to the area near the fire where they had set up for the operation. For a few moments Einar sat there staring at his hands and concentrating hard, breathing, striving but failing to halt their cold-induced tremor--a task hed always been able to manage when necessary, even when much more thoroughly chilled than he was at the moment, but it seemed everything was falling apart, he was falling apart, losing abilities he had taken for granted even at the worst of times--and growing a bit agitated at his lack of success, as he didnt want to let too much warmth--and circulation--return to his leg before starting on the task. Liz saw what was happening, pressed his hands between hers, held them until he eased his grip on the knife and then she took it, pulled him back against the bench-log so that it could serve as something of a backrest, and eased his bad foot onto the aspen bark cutting board. He was starting to shake harder in the chilly breeze that swept down along the basin wall and through the timber and Liz wanted to get his soaked pants off, trade his sweater, which was damp along its bottom half from the creek, for her dry one, but he insisted that they stay, saying they would help his legs remain cold and further reduce the bleeding. She nodded her understanding, thought it sounded to her like a bad idea for him to go into something as harrowing as the operation was bound to be as badly chilled as he was, but she understood his point about the cold reducing his bleeding--and probably pain, too, to some extent--was glad that he had possessed the presence of mind to think ahead like that. Really wished she had a blanket, though, to wrap around his top half, but when she said something to that effect he just shook his head, insisting that he wanted his core temperature to remain lowered, to keep heading in that direction, for the moment, as it would naturally cause his body to constrict the blood vessels in his extremities in an attempt to concentrate his blood--and remaining warmth--around the vital organs. The trouble with constricting blood vessels in the extremities--while useful to reduce bleeding--is that it doesnt lend itself well at all to preserving manual dexterity, a fact which Einar, try as he might, could not seem to overcome that day, despite his past success at deliberately maintaining blood flow in his hands, through intense concentration. It just wasnt happening. When Liz sat down beside him, pressed her ankle over his shin to keep his foot still and, knife in one hand and a jar of berberine solution in the other, looked up at him with a question in her eyes, he nodded, clamped the willow stick between his teeth and shoved his hands in his armpits, took a deep breath. Numb as his leg really was--the bleeding was surprisingly minimal as Liz made the preliminary cuts, trying to move aside the damaged flesh and expose the offending areas of bone, get a look and decide how best to handle repairing the area--it was nowhere near enough to keep Einar from feeling quite acutely the sickening wet crunch as the ligament

was severed to free the remaining bone of one of the toes at the joint--for this, his newlymade club came into use, along with the carefully-positioned knife blade--the white hot splinters of pain that flew up in an audible explosion to crush the breath out of him and leave his face contorted in a silent scream of agony as she inadvertently cut a nerve that remained viable in the battered and rotting flesh near where his middle toe had been. After that he barely felt the subsequent tugging and pulling and manipulation as she tried to save what was salvageable of the muscle in the area, pausing to cauterize a persistent oozing of blood and trying to find enough remaining flesh to pad the bone that was left behind the joint, but having to remove more than she would have liked, in the knowledge that leaving already devitalized tissue would serve no useful purpose, would lead only to infection and the need for more work. Einar sat there through it all with that willow stick clamped in his jaw, hands pressed together and head down, devoting all of his focus and strength to remaining still, trying to breathe through the pain, to keep breathing, at all, couldnt, really, and he knew why, knew it was the way they had him tied, could suddenly feel--seemed he was growing somewhat numbed to the other feelings, supposed he was going into shock and knew hed better fight it if he wanted to stay alive--the hard ridges of the bamboo floor there beneath his ribs, could feel that stench rising to further smother himrancid human waste from the water below the hut and from inside it and the appalling fetor of his own rotting flesh, death, imminent, his own, staring him in the face, and then they must have grabbed him and rolled him over onto his back, unbound his feet, because his breathing was suddenly a bit less strained but they were cutting on his foot again, jabbing, prying, twisting and he opened his eyes, just the narrowest slits, wouldnt do to have them realize he was still conscious, would only prolong things, and there in front of him was a man with a knife--his own knife, he saw, a fine bit of irony; guess they must find some humor in that--but when he saw that his tormentor was a single man, alone, his brown wrists fine and narrow like a womans, something way back in the recesses of his pain-addled mind smiled a little, grinned, a twisted, wolfish grin that might have transferred to his exterior had he not been keeping himself so carefully in check, a bit of light returning to his eyes. Studying the man, he knew he could take that knife, could have it with easeif only his own wrists werent bound so terribly tightly behind him, and he wriggled his fingers, strained and stretched against the cords and finally felt them loosen, part; to his amazement, he was free. Could have that knife before the little man knew what had hit him, could be out of there before anyone else showed up, and he was about to do it, you hesitate, you die, but something was wrong, the man was no longer clad in the accustomed baggy black garments, but jeans and a wool plaid shirt, and his hat was gone .what is this, Einar, cause its sure not what it seemsillusion, its all an illusion, theyre messing with you, dont fall for it, now before its too late--the knifeand his eyes glowed with pent up energy, the readiness to act, but he didnt make that lunge--it would have only taken the one, he already had all the moves planned out, calculated--something held him back, and the next time he looked up it was to recognize that the person who was tearing at his foot--inexplicably, but life is full of mysteries--was the one who mattered most to him in all the world, the only one who mattered--well, both of the ones who did, to be more exact--and he kept his eyes open, raised his head a little and watched

her, the wrinkles of care and intense concentration that lined her forehead as she focused on her task, dark hair swept back in a tight coil at the base of her neck and held in place with a sharpened willow stick, leaving her to smell of willow, and somehow that scent reminded him, took him back--or forward? What meaning, really, can time possibly have right now?--to another time when he had stood watching her, the sweet tang of willow clinging to his own garments from the creek-side thicket of twisted little alpine willows he had just pushed his way though, the heavily laden climb up through bands of fallgilded aspen and spruce, deer quarter slung over his shoulder, that first glimpse--good, achingly, unbelievably good--of home when he topped out on the plateau, rough cabin backed up to the rock wall there in the tiny clearing, faintest wisp of smoke curling up from the chimney--she is careful, she has learned well--and then he saw her, she was there, standing there beside the open door to welcome him with her hair pulled back and held with that willow stick and the little one in her arms, barefoot, buckskin-clad and squirming so that she could barely keep her hold on him, which she didnt, for long, turning him loose to totter squealing and laughing across the narrow patch of alpine tundra to greet his father Liz saw his tears, which were running freely and unchecked for the first time since the operation had begun, told him she was sorry for hurting him so, to hang on, because she was nearly done, just another minute, and she never would have guessed them to be tears of joy

Reading Einars tears to mean that the hurt must be growing close to overwhelming him, must be becoming more than he could take--for which she certainly couldnt blame him, seriously doubted she would have been able to keep still and quiet as he had, if someone was severing her toes at the joint and carving at the remaining flesh with a knife--Liz concentrated on her work, quickly and efficiently finishing her removal of the remaining dead tissue and--as hed insisted before--going a bit further to insure that only healthy flesh was left. Then, bones padded as well as possible, she pulled the skin flaps down over the wounds as well as she could, realizing that there wasnt going to be enough to fully close them in all areas, as a good bit of the skin had been dry and shriveled, itself, in very bad shape. Finished, having done as well as she knew to do, she poured more berberine overtop to further disinfect the entire area and prepared to bandage it up, concerned about several areas that seemed insistent on continuing to ooze blood at a rate that she knew could eventually become a problem for him, if it wasnt checked. Already he had begun losing blood at a steady rate as his leg began warming some, leaving her to stop periodically in her work and press pads of yarrow to the wounds to help reduce its flow, the plants coagulating properties fairly quickly having the desired effect. The bleeding concerned her, seemed a bit excessive considering the circumstances, but between the yarrow and some pressure, she was confident that it could be kept under control. Liz wondered about suturing the wounds, thought maybe the foot would heal up more quickly and be better protected from the damage his untimely movements were likely to

inflict on it if she could at least partially seal the wounds, but when she tried to think of materials that could be used--horsehair, she knew, had been a common source of external sutures in the past, but she certainly hadnt seen any horses around--she came up short. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the fact--historical tidbit, its context lost, but she supposed she must have read it somewhere--that the long, strong tendon found in a kangaroos tail was frequently split fine and used for sutures around the turn of the previous century, and with that remembrance her eyes strayed to Einars sheep sinew bowstring, to the bundle of unused leg and backstrap sinew fibers that hung protected beneath the boughs of a spruce, and she wondered But even if they could be properly sterilized by immersion in boiling berberine water, which she supposed was a possibility--though it seemed such treatment would turn the stuff too slimy and soft to be used, right away--she realized that she had nothing to use for a needle, the bone needles that they had used for clothing repair far too coarse for such a purpose. I ought to have planned ahead better on this aspect of it, for sure but when she asked Einar whether she should try to shave one of those needles down finer and give it a try--took him a minute to realize he was being spoken to, at which he spit out the willow stick that had saved his teeth during the operation--his answer was emphatic, if a bit slurred, speech coming slow and labored between shivers. Nono! Just wrap it real tight. Ithink with what weve gotbe a big mistake to try and close it. Ok, Ill wrap it. Just as soon as we get you out of these wet clothes. I think theyve done their job, and then some, and besides, I dont want to have to be pulling your pants off over the bandages and disturbing them. With which he agreed, but couldnt seem to get the words out, nodded, head drooping and face starting to feel terribly numb, distant, not quite a part of him, helped as well as he could as she eased his wet garments off and guided his clumsy, uncoordinated limbs into dry ones. Liz, seeing that he appeared about to pass out, eased his head down onto the ground. The change of position revived him a little, let him get his eyes open again, and he again tried to focus on his breathing as he felt her pad and wrap the foot, sensing that the pain was on the verge of getting away with him, soon would, if he didnt go on working with it. Suddenly, lying there, he found himself overwhelmed with a need to sleep, a need so awfully, terribly powerful and immediate that the resisting of it hurt very nearly as badly as his battered foot but it seemed that he ought to fight it, so he did, lifting his head and watching Liz as she finished wrapping his foot tightly with bandage strips of some sort of shiny black synthetic cloth--wonder where she got those?--holding the usnea pads in place, gently easing the foot up onto a log to keep it elevated. She was saying something and he struggled to focus on her words, something about getting the fire built up so he could begin to warm, and he wanted to tell her--wasnt even aware of his shivering at that point, of the purple tinge to his lips and hands that had her so concerned--that he wasnt feeling particularly cold, would be just fine with the dry clothes and maybe the bear hide, if she could spare it, but that didnt seem right somehow, so he kept his mouth shut and let her work on the fire. Flames climbing happily up through the bounty of good dry sticks that Liz had added to the pit, she eased Einar closer to it--he sat up, insisted on helping, a tremendous wave of dizziness coming over him upon rising--covered him with her jacket

and talked him into taking a sip of berberine water, telling him to rest, that shed be right back to make him some broth. Which was the last thing Einar was to remember hearing for a good while, his head rolling to the side, out cold. Already running for a nearby cluster of firs, Liz did not notice the change, her own mission pretty urgent as she dived behind the trees and vomited, the calm deliberation that she had maintained throughout the operation having suddenly fallen apart just a bit now that it could, now that she was done with the immediate and pressing bits, and she crouched there for a few minutes sobbing quietly, shaking, forehead pressed against the smooth grey bark of one of the evergreens, finally getting ahold of herself, wiping her eyes and feeling a bit abashed for allowing her emotions to gain such a strong, if temporary, hold on her. All right, now that youve got that out of the way youd better get back to him, before he finds some energy somewhere and decides he absolutely must crawl off into the woods, or strap on his pack and move camp all on his own, or somethinghe needs a bunch of broth, good iron-rich broth with something sweet in it and a lot of nettles for the chlorophyll to help keep him from bleeding too much, hes just too depleted right now and Im afraid he might not be clotting very well, the way things were starting to go there near the end At which she scrambled back to her feet and hurried to him. Einar had not moved, somewhat to her surprise, lay flat on his back with his foot up where she had left him, and, wanting to give him some water, she found him nearly impossible to wake. Succeeding finally in getting a slight response she gave him a sip of box elder syrup-sweetened water, held his head up lest he choke on the stuff, as out of it as he appeared, and left him to rest while she prepared a broth of rabbit and nettles, more nettle than rabbit, as she knew its iron and chlorophyll would do him a lot of good. As would the warm liquid. Einar was shivering terribly still, despite the fire and the fact that the day had warmed significantly. Sitting down beside him after a while with a bit of broth, thinking he could work on it while the stew finished cooking, she found that his face had gone all waxy grey, beaded with sweat despite his obvious chill, breath coming fast and shallow and his mouth open in a contorted grimace, teeth showing, a horrible sight, really, and looking, she thought with a shudder, far too reminiscent of a skeleton. He opened his eyes at her touch, didnt seem to be seeing her but mumbled something about being awfully thirsty, gulping the broth that she held to his lips. Briefly rallying at the introduction of the liquid he raised his head, got an arm under it in an attempt to keep himself awake, his words coming thick and slow. Cant seem todidnt think I lost that much blood butbetter check bandages Which she did, the blood draining from her own face at what she discovered.

Einars layers of yarrow and usnea dressings had soaked through, blood pooling up on the log beneath and beginning to run down his leg, Liz seeing and immediately putting pressure on the front of his foot, jarring him rather suddenly out of his half-stupor. The

bulky dressings were soaked like sponges, could literally have been wrung out, and her first impulse was to rip them off, try to see what was wrong and fix it, but she knew the best thing was probably to simply go on applying pressure for a while, see if she could get the bleeding to stop. Not that she would necessarily be able to tell, and that scared her, but she kept at it anyway, speaking sharply to Einar when he tried to sit up--lie down, youre bleeding!--and getting the foot up into her lap, raising it as high as she could and feeling with her other hand across the top of his foot where it met the leg, looking for the artery. Finding the spot, feeling his pulse, weak, fast--she had used the technique a time or two with success, briefly, when the bleeding had started to become scary during the operation--she pressed hard, hoping to slow the blood flow but after a minute or so she could tell that it just wasnt doing enough, a fresh ooze of blood continuing to creep around her fingers and soak the new usnea pads where she was applying pressure. Einar seemed to be losing a dangerous amount of blood, dangerous to him, at least, in his present condition, and she was about to use the tourniquet, but then--really not wanting to employ it unless absolutely necessary, as the last thing he needed, aside, of course, from bleeding to death, was to risk further damage his foot by having its circulation cut off--she remembered an artery at the back of the knee, a pressure point that could be used to slow bleeding in the leg and foot, gave it a try, finally saw some slowing in the soaking of the additional usnea sponges. For another fifteen minutes Liz sat there keeping pressure on his toe area, afraid to let go lest he start bleeding again, periodically compressing the artery behind his knee and then, when that stopped seeming necessary, the one at the top of the foot, wishing desperately that she had extra hands so she could be getting some fluid into him at the same time, as he really looked like he could use it. The pot of broth was within his reach and he had been making periodic efforts--realizing his peril--to take sips from it, but he was dizzy, hands numb and awkward, and to his great frustration he ended up spilling more of the stuff down the side of his face than into his mouth, finally stopped trying lest he waste all of their soup, drifting somewhere near sleep despite Lizs continual efforts to engage him in conversation, wanting some way to gauge how he was doing, how well he was managing to hold his own. Finally, the oozing seeming to have ended, she carefully wrapped the new dressings in place with bandage strips and eased the foot down onto the log. Einar wasnt looking too lively by that point, eyes closed and face a sickly grey, teeth rattling with chill, but he stirred when she lifted his head, looked up at her and grinned--hed been dreaming again, incredibly real, vivid scenes, future, not past, and shed been in them--looked around confusedly in search of the child for a moment before noticing the bloody mess on the aspen log beneath his bandaged foot, and returning things to their proper context and timeframe. Liz was leaning over him looking worried, exhausted, and he put a hand to her cheek, wiped off a smear of blood, wanting to tell her that shed done just great, that he was going to be fine, but his throat was too dry to get the words out, so he just coughed, instead. Which did not appear to reassure her much, for some reason. Ought to have, he thought, as it demonstrated, at least, that he was still breathingwhich is always a real good start. But the cough did lead to her retrieving the soup pot, a very good thing, as he was horribly thirsty and had met with little success in his attempts to get the

stuff where it needed to go. Here, drink some of this. Its sweet and full of iron, and itll do you a lot of good. Which it did, Einar managing to slowly get a good cup or two of the stuff down, starting to feel nauseous halfway through--the foot was throbbing terribly, his head splitting--but keeping at it, knowing he was going to be in a very bad way if he didnt manage to get himself hydrated, after the way it appeared he had bled. Finishing the broth he wanted to sit up, struggled to do it but Liz held him down, insisting that he needed to keep the rest of his body lower than that foot, at least for a while. Which, he had to admit, was probably a very good idea, and he seemed to be about out of energy, anyway, so he stopped fighting her, felt that icy blackness creeping up the back of his neck again and hurried to get some words out before it reached his head. Soup was good. Thanks. You didyou really didgood job with the foot. She didnt answer right away, being occupied with fishing warm rocks out of the fire, wrapping them in socks and placing them around him, against his sides, underarms, knowing that he probably would have protested their necessity had she asked, but worried that he hadnt seemed to have begun warming up much at all. You started bleeding again and I think its alright now, but I dont really understand whats happening, because it seemed to be under controlI remember how we used cattail pollen and hounds tongue to help slow the bleeding after you got stabbed, the internal bleeding, but I havent seen either of those around here. Is there anything else I should be giving you? He smiled, shook his head, took a few slow breaths, driving back the darkness and managing with difficulty to stay awake. What youve done is real good. Pressure adding new dressings on top of the old ones instead of tearing the old ones off and risking breaking up whatever clot might be starting to form. You did right. The problems all minelet myself get too run down, starved, after a while things can stop responding quite the way they should, and that applies to theblood, too. Doesnt clot like it should. Something about not enough protein in the blood, I think, lack of vitamin K, all sorts of factors, but that seems to be whats going on. YouI thought I saw you heat the knife a couple of times and seal off bleeders in there, but we may have to do it again, if this keeps up. Or I could go on leaking like this for days, and He shook his head, tried to find the breath to get a few more words out. Something that might helpslowly, but itll helpis for me to eat a bunch of greenslambs quarters or nettlesyeah, nettles would be best I thinkfor the chlorophyll. Help me clot better, start to build my blood back up. Lots of nettles around the creek down there just below the plateau. Cant eat them raw, althoughha!might help take my mind off the foot if I didbut cant cook them too long, either, or itll destroy some of the chlorophyll. You know when you cook any green vegetable, lambs quarter, broccoli, green beans, anything like that, how if you cook it too long it goes from bright green to kind of a dull yellowish-green, but if you only cook it for a minute, dip it in boiling water, steam it a little, it gets brighter green than it was to start with? Well, thats the heat interacting with the chlorophyll. Just a little heat, and more of it is released, made available for your body, but too much heat for too long, and itsyouve got less ofuh

Ok, ok, its alright, she tried to quiet him, seeing that he was badly out of breath and wondering what ever would possess him to give her an entire lesson on the workings of chlorophyll at a time like that when he could barely catch his breath or keep his eyes open, instead of simply saying, please dont cook the nettles very long, like anyone else would have, but it was certainly like him, and she was glad to see him feeling enough like himself to carry on like that. Doubted it could last, though, I definitely get the idea about the chlorophyll. Ill go get your nettles in just a minute, here. First, before leaving--she hesitated to go at all, but knew there was a good sized patch of nettles very nearly within sight of the camp--she tucked her jacket back in around his torso, added a few warm rocks to the ones already doing their job beneath it, and did her best to sop up the blood that had dampened the right leg of his pants, knowing that the last thing he needed just then was to be lying there in damp clothes. Wishing she could get him out into the sun--the day was warm, but a good bit warmer out there in the clearing, and he still appeared dangerously cold, which did not surprise her, considering his time in the icy creek and then the significant blood loss--she considered the feasibility of it, deciding that as priority had to be given to preventing further bleeding, he had better stay right where he was, for a while. And she doubted he would have consented to being hauled out into the sun, anyway, as limited as his mobility was at the moment. He wouldnt like the idea that he might fall asleep out there and fail to hear an approaching aircraft in time, she was pretty sure. The past several days had been unusually quiet as far as air traffic was concerned, but she knew that was not likely to last forever. You stay here then, Einar. The warm rocks will help. I just wish those hides were done, instead of being soaking wet and waiting for brainingbut thats a job that is going to take me a couple days to finish. I sure dont know how were going to keep you warm enough tonight after the sun goes down, not without any sort of blanket or robejust have to keep the fire going I guess, stay close togetherI really would like to get you over to the cabin where--once I lean some of those poles up for side walls--youd be out of the wind and warmer She shook her head, gave him another sip of broth, checked the bandages for further signs of bleeding--didnt think she saw any, but it was terribly difficult to tell for sure, as saturated as the lower layers remained--and left to collect the nettles. Bringing a pot of water up to a simmer and adding several hands full of nettle leaves, Liz carefully cooked them until they turned a bright, almost unbelievable green, testing one herself to make sure the tiny, stinging spines had been neutralized--which they had-before taking the pot to Einar. He seemed a good bit less excited about eating his chlorophyll soup than he had been when detailing to her the process of making it, staring at her with dull, distant eyes when she sat down beside him and tried to talk him into eating, drinking the broth, anything to get him started on the stuff. Unable to get much response from him she set down the pot, checked his bandages and found the outer layers soaked through again, his bleeding clearly still not entirely under control. More usnea pads, another few solid wraps of bandaging cloth and she sat there for a minute putting pressure on the artery at the back of his knee, wanting to slow the bleeding and give the wounds time to start clotting up again, but it just didnt seem to be happening, and, needing a better idea of just what was happening, she finally removed his sodden

dressings, carefully easing layer after layer aside and exposing the foot. The problem was immediately obvious in a persistent oozing from several areas--he just didnt seem to be clotting well, at all--along with a steady if small flow from what she took to be an artery that had fed one of the lost toes. It had been a problem from the start and shed done her best to cauterize it, touching the tip of her fire-heated knife to it but that had not, apparently, been enough, and though the blood wasnt gushing frighteningly as it would have been with a larger artery, the continuing loss was certainly enough to pose a danger to Einar. Pressing a usnea pad hard against the offending area she wondered about cauterizing it again--had not, apparently, been enough the first time around--she decided that something more had better be done, the only idea that came to her involving tying off the bleeder. Not enough hands, she did not have enough hands, pulled Einar upright and pressed another pad of usnea into his hand, quickly placed it over her own. Press, Einar. Youre bleeding again and Im working on stopping it but I need both my hands for a minute. Come on, youve got to press harder than that. I know youre dizzyhere. Lean further forward, rest your head on your knees if you have to, but keep pressure on this foot, Ok? He nodded, shaky and a bit nauseated with the effects of the blood loss and at the additional pain brought him by the pressure on the foot, but managing to hold the pressure while Liz ran over to the tree where they had hung the lengths of prepared deer sinew and that from the recent bighorn find. She chose a fairly short, stout piece consisting of several strands of the strong, nearly clear stuff, hurried over to the pot of water she was boiling for tea and submerged the sinew, holding onto one end as the bulk of the strand softened and heated in the bubbling water. Ok, got to take it out before it turns to mush, or glue or whatever it would turn into, right here in my hand, dont know how Im supposed to hold onto it well enough to tie a knot as it is, but I just hope its been sterilized well enough not to do him any further harm She took the limp, thoroughly boiled length of sinew, relieved Einar of the task of holding pressure on his foot but grabbed his arm when he tried, dizzy and having trouble getting enough breath, to flop back to the ground. Not yet. I need your help. Now put your hand around the back of your leg here just above the kneeright, like that, just like you showed me, remember? Now you keep pressing there while I take care of the foot, Ok? A weary nod from Einar and Liz got to work, struggling with the thin, slippery snake of sinew, finally getting a loop in it and using one of Einars bone awls, hastily dipped into the pot of boiling water, to manipulate the small, troublesome artery into the loop and beginning to tighten it, only to lose her grip on the slick sinew. She needed tools, something to help maintain her hold on the stuff but had nothing, took one end in her teeth and tried again, succeeded, quickly put another loop in the knot to help keep it from slipping, looping the sinew again and again until she had a series of three double knots sitting there side by side on the tiny blood vessel, not standard procedure, she was sure, but the bleeding had stopped, so it would have to doif only it would hold. Looked like it would, and she bandaged the foot back up, wanting to get pressure pack on it and slow

the persistent oozing that still came from other areas of the foot. Einar was still grimly maintaining pressure on the back of his knee, head down, not, apparently, realizing that she was finished and he could quit, and Liz took his hands, loosened his grip and helped him lie back down. Got your nettles here, cooked to perfection just like you described. Have a taste. Which he did, nauseated and not the least bit hungry but knowing that he had better be doing what he could to reverse his ongoing tendency to bleed dangerously instead of clotting, and begin building his remaining blood up, at the same time. The gently stewed nettles were good, just what he needed, and, terribly thirsty, he got a good portion of the bright green broth down, struggling with the leaves but having an easier time when Liz mashed them in a bit of broth and gave him the resulting pulp. She left him to rest, then, piling the spruce needles back around him and covering the heap with her jacket in the hopes of getting it to stay in place, but he was shaking again, and she knew the needles would soon be scattered. Liz was worried. Couldnt seem to keep him warm and wasnt terribly surprised, knowing that he had gone into the operation on his foot badly--if deliberately--chilled from his time in the creek, a condition that had only been worsened by the blood loss, which while not necessarily disastrous had certainly been significant. The ultimate answer, she knew--aside from hopefully remedying the cause of the bleeding and getting his strength built back up--was finish those two hides so they would have something to cover up in, some way to keep the wind out and the warmth in, while he was recovering. The work of finishing the hides, though, would take a day or two, and though Einar was repeatedly insisting that he was alright--or would be in a little while-she was growing increasingly concerned about him making it through that little while in his present condition, without some better way of keeping warm. The only good way-other than somehow moving him to the cabin, a task which seemed almost insurmountable, at the moment--that she could think of involved her lying there with him to share her warmth, prepare and place a continuous supply of hot rocks and make sure the insulation stayed in place, and she crept in close to him, prepared to do it but knowing that as long as she was there, nothing would be getting done on those hides. After a few minutes--Einar appeared to be sleeping soundly, his face still twisted up with pain but weariness apparently having got the better of him--she got back up, those half-finished hides calling her, tucked a few hot rocks in around Einar, still sleeping, and went to work. By the time Liz got done with the next step on the hides, getting both of them brained, wrung and soaking for the second time, just over an hours work, Einar was so cold and unresponsive that she knew she would have to get him some better shelter before what was promising to be a rather cold night finished descending on the basin. He seemed not to have bled too much more, the outer layers of usnea remaining dry, but she could not seem to wake him, her careful examination of his foot eliciting a low groan but nothing further. For a good while she lay there with him working to get him warm, wishing he would wake so she could give him some more nettles, some hot tea, but he didnt, and she knew she was going to have to take matters into her own hands. The cabin, it seemed, was the best alternative for the night, could be further weather proofed by the addition of a few more upright poles and bark chunks along the side walls and heated with a small fire near the front or with strategically-placed piles of hot rocks if she

decided to let the fire go, but Einar clearly wasnt making the walk--she wouldnt let him even if he wanted to try it, which he didnt appear to, at the moment--and if she ended up moving him, she knew it had to be done in a way that wouldnt cause the foot to start bleeding again. It wasnt too far over to the cabin, just around the corner a bit, they had a pretty good trail picked out and worn in from all their trips back and forth, and she wonderedhe wasnt all that heavy, probably weighed less than she did--which certainly shouldnt be the case, but it is--and she knew that, given time, she could get him there on a travois, could pull himif he would allow it. Well, hes not got much say in it right now, so I think Id better go ahead and build this travois. The device Liz had in mind was very simple, two long, light trunks from small dead aspens laid parallel to each other at approximately the width of Einars body, crosspieces lashed to it at intervals of six or eight inches and fir boughs set on it to pad him a bit. Shed have to secure him with some cordage--his backpack straps came to mind--to prevent his sliding or rolling off of the thing when going over uneven terrain, and while she certainly did not look forward to having anything to do with attempting to tie him down, she doubted he would make much objection, in his current condition. Finding the appropriate aspen trunks--very light, as dry as they were--and dragging them over near the fire she worked at lashing crosspieces into place, finally finishing the rough travois to her satisfaction--it would do, for the short trip, and again trying unsuccessfully to wake Einar in the hopes that he could be talked onto the thing. He had grown badly chilled again as she worked, seemed incapable of producing enough heat, on his own, and she gently rolled him to the side, crossing his upper leg over the lower one to help roll him, eased the travois--padded with fir boughs--beneath him and pulled him over onto it. He still hadnt stirred. Einar in position on the rough sled, lying on his back with the injured foot carefully propped on a rolled up and tied bundle of flexible evergreen shoots, Liz was securing his shoulders with a rawhide strap--having already done his ankles and waist--when he woke. Waking with a vague but pressing sense of dread, a need to get someplace dark and hidden where he could sit and watch for a while, Einar tried to rise, only to find his legs somehow immobilized. Holding himself rigidly still against a wild impulse to fight his way to his feet and take off--dont do it, cant let them know youre awake, mustnt move until youre sure of the situation--he glanced down and discovered the source of the trouble, feet bound at the ankles, waist firmly tied, but hands--his face remained still, expressionless, but inwardly he smiled, a dark, humorless thing, grim, predatory--hands were still free; seemed they must have thought him too near death to put up much resistance; there can be advantages to that, definite advantages, though the way he felt, it seemed they might actually be right, this time. Well. No accounting for such things, and as he was still breathing at the moment, his course was clear. Find a weapon. Resist. Looking up he saw the figure hovering over him with an additional strap, easing it into position, apparently ready to complete his entrapment--oh, no you dont!--his cold, deadly calm eyes staring into hers, body coiled for action. Liz knew immediately that she was in trouble, recognized that look in his eyes and knew that she had a fraction of a second in which to grab that rabbit stick, no more, and make her move, was about to do it but stopped, kept still--please let this work--met his wild-eyed gaze and spoke with

authority, all but shouting. Einar! Einar, you look at me, she inched closer, reaching slowly for the pot that he had set aside before falling asleep. Your nettles. You need to finish them. Youre right here in camp with me--Liz--and youve lost a lot of blood from that foot. You need to eat your nettles now. A flash of recognition at the sight of those nettles and he glanced at his foot, remembered, looked up again and this time he knew her, knew her voice and, a bit more slowly, her face, relaxed a little, shivering and grinning in confusion as he studied the straps that held him firmly to the hastily improvised travois. Whatwhatsidea here? Dont know if I like this very much Liz let her breath out in a rush--it worked! Oh, gosh, it worked. I thought for a second there I was going to die, thought one of us was--smiled and sat down beside him. No, I dont expect you do. I only did it because I didnt want you to fall off. Fall off? He sat up, braced himself dizzily against the side timbers of the travois, blinking slowly at the setup and shaking his head, chuckling. Still not quite understanding whatha!what youre up to, but I dont think this is the time forwell, Im thinking youd better untie me pretty quick, here, cause Im starting to get a little He shuddered, put a hand on his knife and glanced furtively at the dimming woods around them, shook his head and got to work on the strap that held his waist, prying with awkward, numbed fingers at the thoroughly tightened knots, his need to be up and moving suddenly reaching the critical level and threatening to crush the breath out of him if he did not act. Liz saw that he was growing increasingly agitated, took his hands and tried to rub some warmth into them, hoping to calm him and divert his attention just a bit but it wasnt working, and she quickly untied him, glad when he seemed content to sink back onto the travois, after that. Please wait, Einar. Dont go anywhere. I wont try to tie you up again, but I need you to stay where you are, and hold on. Weve got to move to the cabin. Feels like its going to get pretty cold tonight, and itll be easier to keep warm over there. You just relax for a couple minutes, hold onto the sides, there, and well be done. For a moment he squinted at her, realizing finally what she had intended, sat up again and shook his head. Now you know Im not gonna have you and little Hildegard hauling me all over the mountain like that. Youre already carrying one human-critter around with you, no way Id ask you to carry two Got a bad foot, is all. Im not completely helpless. Can still hop, crawl, make my way over there somehow, if youre so determined to move. Just give me a minute toto get at which he ran out of words, or breath, or perhaps both, collapsing dizzily onto his back to lie grey-faced and panting until Liz helped him take a drink of the nettle broth. I know you can make it there on your own, but please let me help, just this time. Youve

lost a lot of blood already, and it wont do to have that foot start bleeding again. But he was already up, balancing shakily on hands and knees, damaged foot held up well clear of the ground, jaw set and eyes fixed straight ahead. Sighing, shaking her head, Liz saw that short of knocking him out with the rabbit stick and physically restraining him on the travois--she was just frustrated enough to do it, and might have, had she not known what such an act would do to the trust that finally seemed to be growing between them-she wasnt going to be able to get him to remain on it for the journey. Well. Good thing the journey is such a very short one, then. And she got under him, lifted, draping his arm across her shoulder and around her neck, holding it when he seemed unable to grip very tightly, supporting him as he stood there swaying and trembling on one foot, already exhausted with the effort of getting himself upright and close to blacking out as the blood drained from his head. Not a great start, and things only became more difficult when they actually began moving, Einar dizzy, unsteady, struggling to avoid putting too much of his weight on Liz and at the same time keep his right foot elevated, out of contact with the ground, hopping, maintaining a death grip on his spear as he tried to use it like a second leg. Or perhaps a third. Twenty yards of that and they had to stop, Liz feeling him go limp and easing him to the ground, unconscious, just before he fell. Its no wonder, you silly guy, with all the blood you just lost. What were you thinking? She was about to head back and get the travois when Einar stirred, grunted and got back to his knees, grinning apologetically and squinting hard against the blackness that billowed up at him upon raising his head. Been steadier than this, for surebut were gonna make it. Not far now. Which they werent, fortunately, having covered well over half the distance already, and though it pained her to see him exert himself like that, Liz knew Einar would, indeed, make the remainder of the journey, helped him back up. By the time they stepped out into the tiny clearing in front of the cabin Einar was slipping again, the world going dark around him, and he managed to summon up just enough strength to haul himself up against the rough logs of one outside wall and vomit into the surrounding tangle of serviceberry bushes before collapsing again. Wellhere we are, Einar. I guess that went as well as could have been expected, and now Id better try and fix you up some sort of a bed in there, then check your foot. Double layers of fir boughs hastily laid on the ground at the back of the cabin to serve as a mattress, she returned to Einar, found him half awake and sitting up against the cabin wall, fumbling with a little pile of sticks as if trying to break and split them for kindling, which was exactly his intent, and he would have managed it, too, had he been alone. Would have had to. He was freezing. He wasnt alone, though, and Liz took him under the arms and gently dragged him into the cabin--less wind in here, have to get you out of this wind--rolled him onto the mattress and propped his foot up on a log, breathing a silent prayer of thanks at the discovery that the dressings, while showing some sign of renewed bleeding, had not entirely soaked through. Which, she thought, probably meant that her repair on the little artery had held. A tremendous relief, because other than sit there with him all day and keep pressure behind his knee or at the top of the foot, she had been out of other ideas when it came to stopping that bleeding. Unless--and it had almost got to that point--they were to resort to a tourniquet. An almost certain recipe for further damage to the remainder of his foot. Einar was cold, had started

shaking again with the cessation of movement, and she took the little pile of kindling hed been working on, added to it and dragged over a heap of dry branches from the stack he had made beneath an evergreen as he worked on the cabin. Positioning the fire just outside the front of the cabin where she hoped most of the smoke might find its way out but the heat would still be reflected off of the back wall as soon as I lean some more poles up there to finish the back wall she soon had it going, ran back to the camp for the remainder of the nettles and that mornings soup, and got them heating. Einar was drifting, struggling without much success to stay awake, wanting to help Liz, to tell her to sit down and take a break, eat something, feed little Hildegard, but he couldnt seem to get the words out, couldnt force them past the awful, breath-robbing, world-crushing hurt that was increasingly pulsing up from his foot as the shock finally began wearing off, and, everything going dim and indistinct around him, he slept. Leaving Einar to his rest, Liz walked around camp collecting leftover lengths of aspen and spruce from Einars cabin building project, leaning them up vertically to finish forming the back wall of the cabin. She left, near the peak of the roof, a space between upright poles and roof timbers, wanting to give the smoke a way to escape. They might, it seemed, want to move the fire inside at some point that evening, to better heat the place. The back wall largely completed--she supposed Einar probably had a particular way he would have wanted to do it, some order to things, but it could be redone later, if so--she checked on him, found him still sleeping, or unconscious, she wasnt sure which, and make a quick trip back to the camp to retrieve more of their possessions. Some things she left, suspended safely from tree branches, for later moving; the two camps were very close to each other. Back at the cabin after three trips back and forth ferrying gear, Liz added wood to the fire, stepped inside and was pleased to find that, despite the lack of a front wall of any sort, the air in the cabin was already a good bit warmer than the air outside. Einar still didnt look too good though, cold, face all grayish-purple and his breath seeming to come fast, hard, and she lay down beside him, suddenly feeling pretty worn out, herself. Einar stirred, opened his eyes and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows at the sight of her. No, rest, everythings Ok. Ive just been moving some things here, here to our new home. And she went to the fire, retrieved the simmering nettle broth and soup pot, brought them to him. Einar wasnt hungry, took a sip or two of the broth at her urging, swallowing the nausea that tried to creep up his throat at the taste of it. A good taste, normally, a favorite of his, but nothing was sounding too good, at the moment. Leaning back against the wall, he watched Liz with half closed eyes, studied her face as she took some of the broth, hands looking strangely puffy and swollen and face appearing somewhat the same, and he sat up straighter, put a hand on her arm. Looks like you need to eat. Your hands, face Been working too hard, havent had enough protein. For the little one. That swellings from not getting enough protein, could be a sign of trouble if you dont Here. Why dont you He rolled to his side with a grunt, propping himself on one elbow and retrieved the remains of the stew shed heated, handed her the pot. You just sit here for a minute and get some of this stew in you, focus on the meat. Rabbits a real good source of at which he collapsed face

down on the bed of fir boughs, mumbling something unintelligible and waving a hand towards the stew before he passed out again. She set down the soup pot, untangled his limbs and helped roll him to what looked like a more comfortable position, spoke, even though he didnt appear likely to hear. Oh, no, Im alright. Just a little tired. But, come to think of it, her hands were swollen, enough so, actually, that she couldnt touch her thumb to the base of her little finger anymore, something she had never experienced before, and she supposed he was probably right about the protein, remembered Susan emphasizing to her the importance of getting enough while pregnant, and at frequent enough intervals, so she ate, picking most of the rabbit chunks out of the stew and feeling far steadier afterwards, her head clearer. Have to put more of an effort into getting protein at regular intervals, as things progress. Now if only I could get him to do the same But Einar showed no sign of waking, no indication of awareness, at all, other than the occasional grimace of pain as he twisted his leg to one side or another in an unconscious attempt to get some relief for the foot. Taking the empty pot and breaking up several Oregon grapes into it, she added water, set the pot to simmer by the fire and began carefully removing the dressings from Einars foot, meaning to change them while he was out, if possible. He had bled significantly, soaking all but the outer layer of usnea, and she eased the used dressings free, cautiously exposing the foot and breathing a sigh of relief when she saw, that her sinew-lashing had held. The bleeding, it seemed, had come in the form of a general oozing from all of the wounds, rather than a catastrophic leak from any one area, the result, she supposed, of whatever was keeping him from clotting as he should. A problem that she hoped could be remedied with the consumption of enough of those nettles. Speaking of which, she had better try and wake him soon, get him to drink some more of the rich, bright green broth, but not before she finished with the foot, and she checked the berberine solution that sat on a flat rock by the fire, just beyond boiling distance to prevent it being overheated, found it to be ready. Washing the dried blood from the foot--the area where his middle toe had been looked red, inflamed, and it worried her some--she padded it with fresh usnea, wrapping the freshly cleaned, boiled and dried bandage strips in place to hold the dressings. Einar had not wakened, had tried several times to twist away from her as she dealt with the foot, but she had held his leg firmly, and he had not put up too much of a struggle. Not a very good sign, as far as Liz was concerned, and when she put a hand to his face, she was not terribly surprised to find that despite his continued shaking, the chill had left him; he was burning up. She had known it must be coming, the fever, the illness, it had seemed inevitable, as much work as had been necessary on the foot and she knew he would do his best to fight his way through it as he always had in the past, but the prospect of helping see him though the next few days scared her some, more because of how he had reacted in the past during such episodes--getting it fixed in his mind that he must flee at all costs out into the forest, must leave without delayand then doing it--than of the physical danger posed him by the infection. Which, in his present condition, she knew was considerable. Einar, waking, feeling the pressing heaviness in his head, the slow wheeling of his thoughts and the way his eyes seemed reluctant to move in their sockets, did not share Lizs concerns, not all of them, anyway, lay watching the undulating movements of the

logs overhead, smiling despite the agonizing, unending throb in his foot that rose and fell with his breathing and with the crazily fast pounding of his heart, smothering him, seeming, when he didnt focus hard on driving it back with his breath, to consume his entire being. So he breathed, smiled, kept watching the logs of the ceiling overhead, heaving, rolling, floating as if trapped in a current, and he riding on them, trying to keep them in order, hard enough with two feet, but with onenearly impossible, slipping, struggling, lumberjack on the river, water beneath his feet, all that water and he couldnt reach it to get a drink. Not a drop. But wasnt that the way it always went? Needed a drink awfully badly, come to think of it, guessed hed just have to wait--days, it might be days, a week, more, you never know--and he closed his mouth in anticipation of that wait, shut his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, impossible task, must conserve moisture--for the rain to find its way in through the bars. Boughs. Whatever they were But--opened his eyes again, stared up at the good solid logs above him, their movement temporarily stilled--it was alright, all of it, because they were home, he had built the place, or got a very good start on doing so, as he had intended, before allowing himself to end up flat on his back as he currently was, and the knowledge provided him a bit of consolation, a hint of acceptance where normally there would have been only struggle, strife, an irresistible drive to get himself back up on his feet and squeeze out whatever ounce or two of waning energy remained in his battered body. A drive and determination which, while they had carried him faithfully through things that might have quickly sapped the will and ultimately taken the life of someone with less dedication, were certainly not helping much, when it came to allowing that foot to heal.

The fugitive was playing with them, appearing first one place to set fire to a seemingly well-secured row of storage trailers within the fenced, floodlit confines of their base down in the valley, and then, inexplicably but undeniably--the tracks had been his, the prints, the strand of hair caught haphazardly in the roof rack--showing up just two days later to booby trap an agents vehicle while he was paying a late-night visit to a bar in Clear Springs. The trap had proven essentially harmless, little more than a rather sophisticated childs prank, but its message had been clear. Im watching you. I can come and go as I please, and the next time They had tightened security after that-again--and had extended the rule forbidding agents to travel alone and unaccompanied from the backcountry where it had first been instituted, down into town. Much to the displeasure of certain agents, particularly the ones who had taken to flocking to Clear Springs to enjoy the night life while off duty. The added tension was palpable when one walked into the compound, on the faces of the agents as they attended to their business around town. The Culver Falls assignment was, as the summer went on, becoming even less desirable than it had been before, a place you might find yourself sent when you were on the outs with the hierarchy for one reason or another, a place of exile. Along with the increased number of incidents and even sightings down around town and near the compound had come yet another reduction in the by-then almost nonexistent air search, as resources were concentrated in the valley. Despite the prevailing attitude of apprehension at the compound, the Agent in Charge had

a different take on the recent spate of activity. The acts did not seem to fit Asmundsons profile, did not match the strategy of evasion they had come to expect of him throughout the search--avoiding contact at all cost, taking swift and deadly action as soon as such contact appeared inevitable for one reason or another--and this led him, and a few others, to wonder if the man was perhaps tiring, beginning to wish for an end to the whole thing and, in his own way, seeking it through his actions. He was too smart to have simply grown that reckless all of a sudden, especially as his acts had little or nothing to do with ensuring a mans ongoing survival--he wasnt hijacking grocery trucks, raiding local pharmacies, things of that nature; he was simply toying with them, taking enormous risks where there was little apparent reward to be gained, and the AIC read these actions as those of a man who had very likely ceased to care. Which was a very good place for the subject of their search to be, as far as he was concerned, and he wondered at it, wondered what had changed, and in examining the possibilities, kept returning to the thought that something must have happened to the girl. She had been something of an enigma throughout the search, suspected collaborator at first and then alleged kidnap victim hed never really fallen for that one, but others had; shed played the role quite convincingly, and had she stuck around at that point and her case somehow ended up in front of a jury, he had little doubt that she would have got off without serving any time. Not anymore, though, as she had turned openly hostile during their recent interrogations of her, providing, after they rescued her from the backcountry, information that had proven to be blatantly false before presumably disappearing with him once again. There had, as far as anyone had been able to determine, been no prior association between the two of them, no contact before the search began, and the nature of their relationship remained one of the lesser-understood aspects of the investigation, officially, at least. To the AIC and others it had been clear for some time that, for whatever reason, the fierce loner had taken to her in one way or another; hed killed to protect her, risked himself for her in ways that appeared most anomalous in light of his past behavior, and, as was detailed in a conversation between the AIC and one of the profilers working with the agency on the case, her untimely death would provide one possible explanation for the suddenly erratic and risky behavior on the part of their subject. Whatever the reason, the AIC was glad--assuming the situation proved to be as it seemed, and he was definitely making no such assumption, just yet--to see the change, as he knew that it would, given time, lead to Asmundsons capture. It was to be another two weeks before a discovery one night would lead the focus of the search to shift once more, air assets again becoming vital to the ongoing effort...

Einar, of course, had no idea of the feats he had been accomplishing down in the valley, though he would have found himself rather anxious to participate, had he been informed of their transpiring. That federal compound had been on his mind ever since Liz had returned temporarily blinded and trying so hard to be brave about it after their latest interrogation of her, there, the incident having painted the place with an undeniably clear target in his mind, and had it not been for the immediate need to get her, and their child, to safety and out of their reach for good, combined with his own recent physical

difficulties, there was little chance the place would still be standing. He had dreamt of it more than once, of going back there and taking care of things, his mind going over in detail what he knew of the place, what he had observed of its fortifications, the comings and goings of the agents, planning, but no such intricacies filled his mind that evening as he lay shaking with fever and--despite Lizs best efforts--with cold, there in the halffinished cabin as the light faded outside. That evening, he was doing well just to get his eyes open now and then, manage the little sips of broth that Liz kept offering and remind himself--seemed to be taking a lot of reminding, just then--where he was, and why. Liz, sitting beside the fire, tending it, preparing them a good pot of sheep stew for supper, could see his struggle, the occasional confusion in his eyes upon waking, and she tried to help him, telling him about the improvements she had made to the cabin, the rows of poles she had leaned up to cover the back wall, just as he had described initially when laying out the design to her, showing him how she had partially covered the front, also, before she had run low on logs and darkness had begun closing in. But it wont take many more to finish the place, and I can already see that its going to be incredibly cozy this winter. Maybe even more than that bear cave, and certainly roomier! Look. Right, look up! See how Ive got some of the jerky hanging up there already along that beam? It seemed like a good place for it, keep it out of the reach of weasels if they happen to get in, protect it from the weather Einar nodded, tried to sit up but found himself too dizzy. Wanted to tell her something, the details of his plan for insulating the place, as he could not remember mentioning that to her before, and it was suddenly seeming rather important that she understand. Wasnt entirely sure he would be able to communicate the information to her, but had to try. He sat up, using the cabins rear support post to lean against and bracing himself against the dizziness that inevitably came with the movement. Walls look real good, just what I had in mind. Was thinkingseems like it might make sense to pile a bunch of duff, dry grass and pinecones against these outer walls, create some dead air space to help insulate things before winter comes again. Build a little halfwall to hold them in place, could be logs, or even willows stuck into the ground at short intervals and more woven in between them almost like a great big basketseen it done that way before. Then on the inside, we could plaster the walls with a mixture of mud and spruce needles, maybe some chopped-up dry grass and ash in there, too, to keep down the drafts and fill in some of these cracks thatre between the logs. A lot we can do. No sense putting that plaster on the outside because the snowd just soften it, ruin it, Im pretty sure, but on the inside, it could really be a lot of help. Thats all stuff we can work on as we get the chanceweve got the bulk of the structure up, and thats whats really important He had been sinking as he spoke, drooping back towards the floor and, finishing, found himself flat on his back again, neck at an odd angle against the support post, rolled at Lizs encouragement to his side and let her prop up his bad foot, near sleep again. Had more to say, had intended to remind her about getting plenty of protein, make certain she had been doing so that evening, but it would, apparently, just have to wait. All of it.

Neither of them stirred much during the early part of night as temperatures dropped outside and the coals of the little fire, along with the good-sized piles of hot rocks Liz had arranged around their sleeping area kept them reasonably warm, Liz sleeping soundly out of sheer exhaustion after the work of the day and Einar drifting in and out of consciousness. Knowing they were reasonably safe there, he did not fight the darkness as strongly as he otherwise might have, welcoming the black, empty spaces, almost, for the cessation they brought in the relentless gnawing and twisting of his foot. When he was conscious he tended to be wide awake, lying there in the orange glow of the dying fire with Liz nestled close at his side for warmth, staring at the logs overhead, studying them, counting them in an attempt to get his mind off the foot--if only theyd have held still for a moment, stopped the maddening swaying and boiling that made them dance before his eyes, he might have been able to get an accurate count--and wishing he could rouse himself sufficiently to roll over and get a drink of water, but never quite managing it. Never quite slept, either, foot hurting too much to allow for it and, considering the images that tried to creep in around the corners of his mind every time he got close--not going there, cant do it, not right now--not trying particularly hard to remedy the situation, edging away from Liz in the hopes that his shaking and tossing would not wake her. Liz soon joined him in his wakefulness, though, the night chill creeping into the cabin sufficiently to pry its way in through the heaviness of her sleep, and she rolled towards him, found him and was alarmed at the speed with which the chill had seemed to have grabbed hold of him--hed been too feverish, off and on, to give the cold much notice, but it was there, its slow, inexorable force conspiring with his blood loss to create a rather dangerous situation--as the night went on. Rising, adding sticks to the fire and helping him closer to it, she checked his dressings to ensure he hadnt begun bleeding seriously once again, sought to restore some circulation to numbed hands and aching legs, but all Einar could think of was his parched throat, the terrible dry clicking sounds made by his eyeballs as they moved in their sockets, and he finally managed to communicate the need to Liz. She wouldnt help him, though, refused to give him a drink--he could see the jar, two thirds full of water, sitting just on the other side of the fire, just out of his reach--until hed had a swallow or two of berberine, and he didnt want it, knew his stomach would turn on him if he took in any quantity of the stuff, snarled angrily at her and rolled over. Didnt need any help, could reach that water, himself. And then could find his way right out the door. Only, he couldnt. Woke a few moments later with his face pressed into the dust of the floor where he had fallen, coughing and choking on the dryness of his own throat and seeing with dismay--and a brief flash of rage that might have proven dangerous, had he possessed the strength to act on it--that Liz seemed to have hidden the water jar, replacing it with the one that contained the berberine. Poison. They were trying to poison him, trying to force him to do it to himselfjust like them, no surprise, thereleaving him no choice but to drink that poisoned water, eventually, or die of thirst, and he could end it all by talking to them, telling them what they wanted to know, knew that was their intention, but he mustnt, wouldntand he glanced around in search of them, any of them, meaning to act while he still could--assuming he still could--get his hands on one of his captors and fix things so

the man had no choice but to give him access to some waterbut his eyes, darting, desperate, came to rest on her, and he paused, knew her, clung with all his might to the reality of her presence as his mind worked very hard to convince him that she was an illusion, cruel, thirst-induced hallucination, scheme of the enemy--they had so many--that he must act quickly while he still could. No. No He shook his head, lay there panting for breath as she brought the jar to him, helped him roll onto his back, propped up his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his face, never even realizing You can have all the water you want, but first weve got to get some of this into you. The foots looking inflamed, and with this feverwell, you know we cant let that get away from us. Come on now, its not so bad She moistened his lips, held the jar to them, and, his thirst finally winning out, he gulped several mouths full of the scaldingly bitter stuff, rolling to his side and holding his stomach in a desperate attempt to keep the liquid from coming back up again. Unpleasant for everyone, but it worked, and as soon as the berberine had settled some and he was able to lift his head again, Liz rewarded him with a good long swallow of that blessedly cool water from the jar hed been staring at, slightly sweetened with box elder syrup and tasting to him like life, itself. Thank you thank you And, much to Lizs relief, Einar lay his head down, gave up, for the time, on his unrelenting crawl for the door, and slept. Adding a few sticks to the fire and wrapping herself around him for warmth, Liz, too, was once more asleep. They woke in the hour just before sunrise, stiff with cold but very much alive, Einars fever for the moment greatly reduced and his eyes looking clear and alert, if immensely weary, when he turned to greet Liz, pulling her gently back down beside him when she tried to rise and tend the fire. Wait. Wait here a minute. Which she did, staying with him as the treeline visible just beyond the cabin entrance to the east grew brighter with approaching day, spiny black spruce-tops suddenly standing out starkly against a sea of molten gold, swaying, sparkling, sunlight spilling in brilliant splendor through the door to brush their faces, bathing them in warmth and smoothing away the cares of the night. Brief as it had been brilliant, the display soon ended with the climbing sun obscured behind the screen of trees that largely shielded the cabin from aerial view, Liz, freeing herself from Einars grasp and bringing the fire back to life, knowing that they--he, especially--would need its warmth for a time yet, that morning, would greatly benefit from a hot breakfast of the past nights soup and perhaps some tea. As Liz worked on the breakfast, Einar got himself propped up against the front support near the door of the cabin, leaning back and trying to get a glimpse of the sky. Clear. Another sunny day coming, it looked like. Which meant he ought to be out there scouting for elk, sheep, setting more snares and perhaps pausing for an hour or so here and there to pick any thimbleberries that might remain in the damp thickets along the creek, dig a pound or two of avalanche lily roots and set in his mind the best spots for that coming falls chokecherry harvest. Buthe flexed his foot, squinted and clenched his jaw at the sharp stabs of hurt that radiated up

from the toe areaLiz would never allow it, not so soon, and neither, if he had any sense--and any choice--should he. Let the thing heal. Give it a day or two more, at least. Which he doubted would happen, not at all likely, knew hed not be inclined to sit still for that long. But perhaps it does not hurt to set goals Einar, as it happened, was to have little choice in the amount of rest he got that morning, his first attempt at getting carefully to his feet for a brief trip outside ending rather inauspiciously as he collapsed in a heap on the ground, the effects of his blood loss remaining too pronounced to support such a quick change in position. He tried again, of course, grabbing that upright support beam and attempting to haul himself to his feet, made it, hung there for a few seconds, grinning triumphantly and trying without success to get his breath before passing out and crumpling back to the ground. Liz shook her head, piled spruce needles around him and went on with the breakfast preparations, expecting that the soup-smells would wake him again, soon enough. Breakfast, though, was eaten alone by Liz that morning, Einar failing to respond to her numerous attempts to wake him and she finally deciding that, as hed had a good bit to drink earlier that morning and appeared to be doing alright, fever lowered if not gone, it might be best to simply let him sleep. Which he did, showing no sign of waking as she cleaned up after breakfast, hung the leftovers in a tree--the cabin was still open in places to the outside, and she didnt want Einar waking later to find a bear or a bobcat standing over him, trying to reach the stew pot that shed hung from one of the roof beams--and heading over to the old camp to retrieve the partially tanned hides. She hurried, not wanting him to wake alone in her absence and perhaps take a notion that he must go out looking for her, or, worse, must take advantage of the opportunity and disappear, but found him right where shed left him when she returned to the cabin, loaded down with the heavy, wet hides. Another trip back to camp, then, after the pot of once-used brain solution, smelling anything but appetizing after having sat for two days, but she had no intention of consuming it, setting it instead on a flat rock beside the fire to heat. One more soak in the brain solution, and the hides would be ready for stretching, a major task, but, to her relief, the final step in getting them soft, pliable and ready to use. Aside from the smoking, that was, but as long as they didnt get the hides wet in the meantime--much easier to accomplish, now that they had the cabin--the smoking could take place whenever it best worked out, its main purpose being to treat the hides so that they didnt become hard and require stretching again to soften them, if exposed to water. Liz hummed as she stirred the rancid-smelling brain solution; they were only a day or so away from having two fully usable hides, deer and bighorn--the small one was off limits, it was for the baby--at their disposal for nighttime protection from the cold.

Liz, when the brain solution was finished heating, added some water to increase its volume, distributing it between two pots and bringing it back to a simmer before stretching first one hide and then the other out on the smooth, clean grass in front of the cabin, rubbing the solution into them. Ideal, according to what Einar had shown her,

would have been to allow the hides to actually soak in the solution, fully submerged, but they had no container that large, and he had demonstrated the method she was currently using with a small bobcat hide, once, so she hoped it would work with those of the deer and sheep, as well. After all three hides had been thoroughly saturated and allowed to sit, rolled up, that way for a good half hour, she placed a smooth, stout barkless spruce stick between two trees, putting her own weight on it for a moment to make sure it would hold, before rolling up the first of the hides, the deer, into a neat tube, looping it up over the branch. Taking another smooth stick and inserting it through the hanging portion of the loop she began twisting, keeping at it until the hide was all coiled up and wound tight, squeezing, straining, putting all of her strength into wringing the excess brain solution out of that hide. While she worked on the first hide, the other two sat in the cool shade of the evergreens, rolled up and soaking in their portion of brain solution, protected from drying by a heavy covering of wide, sheltering thimbleberry leaves. The deer hide finally wrung as thoroughly as Liz was able, she sat down for a brief rest and a gulp of water, got back to work. Taking one of their few remaining lengths of paracord, she tied it tautly between two close-growing aspens, throwing the wrung and partially-dried hide up over it and settling in for the long and strenuous task of stretching and softening the hide as it finished drying. Pulling on first one side and then the other, using, at many times, her entire weight to stretch the thing, she worked the hide as it dried, a process that she knew could take several hours to complete. Einar, as she saw whenever she paused to glance into the cabin and check on him, had not moved from the position she had eased him into after he had last fallen, and as the morning wore on she began growing more and more concerned for him. It had grown fairly warm out there in the partial sun of the aspen grove where she worked, especially considering the strenuous exercise she was doing, but even with the constant work her hands and arms were chilled and somewhat numb where the solution had been running down them, and she worried that Einar, lying immobile in the deep shade of the cabin, would be freezing. Which, when she cleaned up a bit and went to check, proved to be the case, his weakened body having a terrible time maintaining anything close to a normal temperature. Again she tried without success to wake him, speaking, shaking him, even moving the foot a bit in the hopes of getting his attention, but receiving only a sleepy grimace for her trouble. Well, just sleep, then, but I sure cant leave you here to freeze like this all day. It might help control the infection in your foot for a while, but sure wont help with your circulation, any, and thats really important when it comes to healingand to staying alive, in the first place! Have to get you warm. Its nice out there in the sunwhat do you say? Want to lie in the sun for a while, thaw out a little? No response from Einar-she had not expected one, but had felt it right to ask, nonetheless--and she grabbed him under the arms, began gently easing him towards the door, out into the grass and over to a spot where the sun fell in rich, golden patches through a generous gap in the evergreens, kicking up a good pad of dry spruce needles and hauling him up onto it, propping up his bad foot on an aspen log. After than she sat for a time with him, sipping water and catching her own breath as she watched the suns warmth begin to relax him a bit, ease the convulsive shivering that had come over him there in the cabin and gradually send

him into a deeper sleep. There, thats better. Im sure you wouldnt have wanted to spend the whole day lying around in the cabin, anyway. The sunlight will be good for youI hope. Liz was a bit mystified, actually, at his seeming inability to wake, couldnt understand why he was so thoroughly wiped out, that morning. It seemed disproportionate to the work that had been done on his foot, to the moderate blood loss and what seemed that morning to be a rather low-grade fever. Studying him, she supposed the effects of his exhaustion and extended lack of food must simply have caught up with him, finally, the foot being the final straw that pushed him over the edge and forced his body to shut down and attempt to repair itself. Shed seen it happen to him before, his ability to push himself beyond all semblance of normal limits finally giving way to a forced rest when he had used up every resource available to him, and sometimes morehed always come through it alright, in the past, but still it scared her some, and she wished there was more she could be doing for him. Which probably isnt the way to look at it, I know. Youre doing for him what he needs most right now, just making sure he keeps still and rests. Keep Your hand on him, help him heal Which was exactly what appeared to be happening, and Liz rose, breathing a sigh of relief at the apparent improvement in his condition, the color that was slowly returning to his pinched features. She made sure his head was shaded--wouldnt do to have him getting dehydrated, again--and left him to sleep, returning to her work with the hides. Einars undisturbed rest was not to last for long, a small plane droning over the basin and accomplishing what Liz had not been able to, jarring him awake to roll quickly into the shaded protection of the nearby spruce-shadows where he lay panting on his stomach, relieved when he glanced up and saw that Liz had paused in her work to take similar refuge. For several minutes they stayed where they were, unmoving, Liz glad that the fire had long since been allowed to die out, but the plane never came directly overhead, passing over at a distance and going on its way, a definite reminder to them that that the quiet days could not last forever, that they must maintain their diligence. The plane gone, Einar hauled himself deeper into the brush--we better designate an outhouse location, scratch a little hole in the ground pretty soon if we intend to stay around this place for as long as I hope we do--managing with difficulty to take care of his bathroom duties without passing out, again. Felt like hed been asleep for an awfully long time, his head fuzzy and mouth dry, but from the position of the sun he figured that hed only been out for a few hours. Unless hed been a lot worse off than hed realized, had slept an entire day away and awakened the next morning. Didnt think so. Surely hed have been aware of that However long he had or had not been asleep, it was clear to him that he had come to need water awfully badly--a hint of memory returned to him at that thought, the only remembrance he seemed able to come up with from the past night and morning, a dark, ugly thing that made him shudder and stare gratefully up at the good, honest sprucetops that swayed and danced above his head--and, realizing after a quick test that he would pass out again if he attempted to stand, he began a slow crawl over to Liz, and water. Liz was overjoyed to see him finally awake, even considering that the cause of his awakening had been the small plane, waited for him to reappear from the brush and got him settled in against the front support post of the cabin where a bit of sun was finding its way through the evergreens, brought him soup and more berberine. This time, he willingly drank the allotted portion of berberine--whew! Wide awake, now!--before

taking a few quick bites of soup to help dull the taste. Eating, he took in the changes Liz had brought to the camp, the additional pile of firewood she had gathered and stacked against one of the front cabin walls, the hung and partially softened deer hide between the two aspens. Oh, youve been real busy. Should have just kicked me when I didnt get up to help with this Well, I all but did kick you, then shook you and dragged you out into the sun, but you were pretty sleepy, I think. He grunted, swiped a sleeve across his eyes, feeling all muddled and confused and not liking it one bit, took another swallow of the berberine. Mustve been. Awake now, and looks like Id better get started on one of those other hides I see sitting over there But she had been ready for him, shook her head and disappeared into the cabin, returning with an armload of the dry nettle stalks he had collected a week before, dumping them in his lap. Were almost out of cordage again. Ruefully eyeing the nettles--not that he minded such work in the least, would have been spending a significant amount of time keeping himself in cordage, if out there on his own, but he didnt like the implication that the task might be the only one he was really up to, when there were hides to be stretched and softened--he set them aside, got to his knees and clung to a small aspen as he struggled to pull himself to his feet, made it, holding his breath and straining against the heaviness that tried to drag him back to the earth. Succeeded, but saw that he was in serious trouble, as Liz had taken a step closer, raising her rabbit stick instead of holding out a helping hand. Didnt much matter. He was too dizzy to go anywhere. Sat back down in a hurry, just ahead of the inevitable fall, making no protest when Liz once again loaded him up with nettles and pressed a jar of broth into his hands. Ive got the hides under control, you just make us some cordage, Ok? A reluctant nod from Einar, a flurry of activity as he began pounding and stripping the nettle stalks, freeing up the fibers and working furiously at turning them into cordage, needing to keep his hands busy despite their obvious lack of nimbleness. For a good while he made decent headway at the task, watching Liz out of the corner of his eye--she definitely knew what she was doing, had learned well--and occasionally dozing when the pain of the foot backed off enough to allow it, but finally, unable to sit still and watch her do all the work anymore, he waited until she left for a bathroom break, and took action.

Hed risen as quietly as he was able, leaning heavily on the spear and holding his breath, pushing against the powerful onslaught of vertigo and faintness that assailed him on standing, glanced around to make sure Liz wasnt yet on her way back, and leaned against a tree as he shrugged out of his sweater. Dropping it where hed been lying,

filling his hat with spruce needles and setting it atop the sweater, he pushed and kicked spruce needles over the entire area, creating a rough but passable facsimile of the sleeping human skeleton which had previously occupied the spot. Good. Now get moving. Lizs deer hide was nearly finished when, moving as quickly as he was able for hopping on one foot, Einar reached and checked it, and he let it be, knowing that she would want to finish what she had started. Remaining were the ewe hide and that of the little lamb, and he chose the ewe, using his spear to retrieve and lift it--crouching or bending down was very risky business at the moment, as he was finding himself fighting impending unconsciousness every time he stood back up--throwing it over his shoulder and choosing a nearby tree. Barely made it to the tree, leaning on his spear, hopping and panting and generally making very slow progress, before the dizziness became too much for him and he had to ease himself to the ground, ending up on his knees, forehead resting on the tree from which he had intended to hang the hide. Not good. Get ahold of yourself here, Einar. Take a breath or two, get back to your feet, youre gonna be Ok. Whats not Ok is this tree you picked out, though. Too close to hers. Shell see you, and thenwhack! End of project. On his feet--foot--again he squinted at the surrounding woods, choosing a little stand of firs as suitable cover to shield him from Lizs view, hurried to them and promptly crumpled to the ground, nauseous and light-headed. Ok, good, getting farther and farther with each trythis is gonna work. Now. Dont need to be going any further at this point, just need a tree to hang this thing from, like yep, this fir will do. Hang it here, get a hold on it with both hands, and start stretching. No matter that I cant really stand up, all Ive got to do here is a series of half-controlled falls, and itll start stretching out. Long as I can keep my grip on the thing, it, and I, will be just fine. Making three small holes near the upper edge of the hide--the tail end, as the neck end always needed more stretching, anyway--Einar wove a piece of paracord through them, tossing it up over a stout branch on the fir and tying the two ends to form a loop. Wrapping an arm up in the damp, slightly slimy hide and tentatively weighting the branch he saw that it was going to hold with ease, allowed his full weight to fall on the hide, stretching it as he sagged towards the ground. Yep, gonna work. As he had anticipated, the biggest challenge--aside from keeping his grip on the hide with partially numbed and prickling hands--came in standing back up again after each fall. He was beset by a rather distinct feeling that if he allowed things to get even slightly out of balance by trying to remain standing for too long he might well lose altogether the rather tenuous connection he was maintaining with reality, with consciousness, and he found the situation somewhat fascinating, wished, curious creature that he was, to probe the edges of those limits, find out just where they might be, but he had work to do, and could spare energy on no such experiment, just then. Had to keep going if he could, and he did, managed it over and over again, bracing his good leg against a rock and hauling himself upright with his arms, hard work, exhausting, he kept at it, mustnt stop, falling after a while into a rhythm that he was able to maintain, fall, breathe, pull, balance for a dizzy, swaying second or two, breathe again, push back at the blackness before falling again, no choice, do it now or risk actually passing out and losing your grip

Despite the intense concentration required to maintain the lurching, half-controlled pattern, Einar soon found himself singing silently, words said under his breath, verse after verse as he stretched that hide, getting the job done. Liz was back at her work, he could hear her, knew she was bound to go check on him--or his last known position--before long, and then the game would be up, but for the moment, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. As much as was possible, anyway, with his foot throbbing the way it was, and that icy, sticky, inexorable blackness rushing up to meet him every time he hauled himself back upright. It was exactly what he had needed, brain--what portions of it were operational at the moment--and body working together to anticipate the blackness, meet and challenge it, find ways to stay afloat, and though the thought passed through his mind a time or two that perhaps he ought to stop, check on the foot and make sure he wasnt doing it any harm, but he knew that once he lost that rhythm, hed never get it back again. Not that day, anyway. And the foot looked fine, no blood seeping through the dressingsbesides, Id know if I was jarring the thing, itd let me know, for sure, and it hasnt been, soanother fall, the recovery, on and on, stretching, singing, alive, and going to stay that way. Unless Liz caved his skull in with her war club, that was, and, pausing to move the cord that held up the ewe hide, meaning to unstring it and attach it in a different place to facilitate further stretching, he saw that he was about to be in immediate danger of having his head cracked in just such a manner. She had paused in her work, taken the water jar and headed over to the heap of clothing and spruce needles where he had been lying, apparently to offer him a drink, and Einar tightened his grip on the hide, glanced around for the nearest bit of cover, which he found in a ground-hugging stand of tough, scraggly alpine willows. Started for it--she had discovered his absence, didnt seem to be finding any humor in the ruse hed left--carrying the hastily-freed hide, so it didnt remain behind to serve as a beacon of his presence, but didnt get very far, blacking out on the third step and throwing himself, in his last act before entirely losing consciousness, up under the willows. Where she found him, but not until a good fifteen minutes later, after thoroughly searching the cabin, the area behind it, and running back to the old camp with the thought that he might have decided there was something back there that he urgently needed. Finding no sign of him either in the cabin or at the old camp--she doubted he could have made it that far, as weak as hed seemed that morning, but she had learned the foolishness of underestimating his capacity for sheer inhuman stubbornness-she began searching closer to home, discovering, at last, a series of dragging, hopping tracks that soon led brought her to a place from which she could see the cord from which Einar had hung the ewe hide. The hide itself was gone, but as soon as she pushed her way through the screen of firs that had protected Einars hanging-tree, she saw him, scraped him up off the damp ground beneath the willows--tangled, he had somehow managed to get himself all wound up and trapped in the tough, twisted branches--and pulled him out into the sun, dragging the partially stretched hide along with him. He was cold, clothes damp from the willow-moisture in which he had been lying, Liz shaking her head in dismay at the sight of him. Einar--hed been dreaming, willow-scent all around him as he lay with face pressed into the damp ground beneath the thicket, of Liz in her white buckskin dress, the one that he was to make her from the half-finished hide that presently lay crumpled beneath him in the mud--woke with a start when the sunlight hit

his face, sitting bolt upright. His mind returning to Lizs earlier threat--incongruous assault on the senses, after the serenity of that dream, but it was reality, and was staring him in the face--seizing her rabbit stick before she had a chance to jerk it out of the way. A standoff ensued, moments of tension during which they stared at each other, weighing options, Einars taut features finally relaxing a bit around the eyes, crinkling up, face splitting into a dizzy, goofy, slightly cross-eyed grin that set her to laughing, and then they were both laughing, hilariously, uproariously, draped over one another and struggling--especially Einar--to catch their breath. Liz finally got ahold of herself, dried her eyes and grabbed Einar--whose hilarity had at some point dissolved into a series of silent laugh-sobs that had him doubled over clutching his stomach and gasping for air--by the shoulders. Hey! What were you doing over here, anyway? I thought youd gone back to the old camp, or wandered off into the woods No, didnt wandervery far. Just--ha! Not very far, at all--made it to these trees here, decided todo one of the hides but he shrugged, grinned, wiped a smear of mud from his cheek and handed her the partially stretched and softened hide. guess this is as far as I got. Far enough, I should say. Definitely far enough. Nowwill you come back to the cabin with me? Id like to check on your foot, and its time for both of us to have some lunch, too. Which Einar easily agreed to, what little strength hed possessed having been thoroughly used in the stretching of that hide, his need for food a pressing, looming thing that demanded to be addressed. Avoiding any more near-misses with Lizs war club, Einar was fairly content to spend the remainder of the day sticking close to the cabin and working on cordage, dozing from time to time until the sun dipped down behind the trees, at which point, seeing that Liz was still fully engrossed in working the last of the hides, he crawled over to the firepit and got the evenings blaze going. By the time Liz stopped work and joined him for supper, she had finished all three hides, getting them ready for smoking. As the evening had turned sharply cold with sunset, colder, even, than the previous one, the decision was made to use the hides as sleep coverings that night, and begin the smoking process the following day. A good thing, because they were going to need the rest Feds said to be closing in on Asmundson Fugitive leaving clues, growing careless in latest campaign of harassment against his pursuers. Culver Falls--After a weeks-long campaign of harassment and terrorism on the part of a fugitive grown uncharacteristically bold and reckless, an unidentified source within the Federal Bureau of Investigation tells our reporter this morning that they believe they are

close to bringing the nearly two and a half-year long search to an end. Believed to be the costliest manhunt in the Bureaus history--both in terms of dollars spent and lives lost-the handling of the ongoing search has been a source of much controversy, with local residents and law enforcement officials often finding themselves at odds with the hundreds of federal agents who all but occupied the small mountain town of Culver Falls at the height of the investigation, last summer. The most recent spate of incidents, coming after weeks without a confirmed sighting of the fugitive, began with the discovery of tracks--later confirmed to be Asmundsons--in the vicinity of the federal command center just outside of town. This discovery was quickly followed by a series of threats against federal employees in and around Culver Falls and the surrounding area, including a dummy explosive device left in the personal vehicle of and FBI agent during a visit to Clear Springs. Last week the situation escalated with the late-night destruction of portions of the fence that shielded the federal compound, making possible firebombing and complete destruction of three equipment storage trailers. Our source refused to comment on what, exactly, finally got them on the fugitives trail after weeks of such actions on his part, but he did say that it seemed Asmundson had been growing increasingly bold, less cautious, leaving more and more clues for them to follow. Clues which, perhaps, included the trail that led them to the mines where he is currently believed to be hiding. It looks to us like hes grown tired of the chase, tired of living out there like an animal month after month, probably not eating too well and likely in poor healthit cant be much of an existence, really. We knew this time would come, eventually, and if hes as ready to end this as his recent actions would indicatewere more than ready to see that he is brought to swift and decisive justice! Asmundson is currently believed to be holed up in a complex of remote and longabandoned mine tunnels somewhere in the extremely rugged National Forest wilderness some ten miles south of town, where sources say federal agents have been seeing infrared heat signatures and other signs of human habitation for days. It is unknown at this time whether the fugitive is alone, or accompanied by Culver Falls resident Elizabeth Riddle, who a Justice Department official, speaking on condition of anonymity, told us last week is believed to have been traveling with him for the past several months. Federal antiterrorism indictments, he said, are currently pending against her for the role she allegedly played in supplying the fugitive and helping him evade capture on more than one occasion. Riddle, discovered by federal search teams in a snow-covered meadow miles outside town early this spring, wearing primitive-looking fur pants and armed with weapons similar to those allegedly used by Asmundson to take the lives of more than thirty of the agents who have sought him, was brought in for questioning at that time. Our sources say she was uncooperative, refusing to answer questions about her alleged pregnancy and providing them false information about the fugitives death and then disappearing before they could finish questioning her, presumably to rejoin Asmundson on the run. All questions that may soon have answers, as it appears that the search may finally, after many false alarms and daring escapes on the part of this one-time quiet and reclusive mountain man who has become known as the Most Wanted Man in America, be

nearing its end.

Having filled up on Einars big pot of sheep stew--hollow and hungry from his hard work with the ewe hide, hed managed to eat a larger portion than had been possible for him since the work on the foot--the two of them slept soundly that night, curled up under the soft, supple, freshly-finished hides, which, though fairly thin, seemed to go a long way towards holding the heat in. The spruce needles theyd been huddling down in for the past nights, while warm and insulating, had been difficult at times to keep in place, scattering during the night to leave them cold and unprotected, and they both had to admit that there was a lot to be said for having something to wrap up in while sleeping. Einar slept so quietly and soundly that night--a very rare thing, of late--that Liz woke more than once with a start, aware of his stillness and fearing that he might have stopped breathing but relieved each time to find him simply sleeping. Finally she settled in with an ear pressed against his back where she would be able to easily keep track of his breathing and reassure herself that all was well, rejoining him in sleep. Morning came early for the resting pair, the predawn rumble of a large helicopter, distant but clearly audible in the sharp, chilly stillness jarring Einar from his sleep. Feeling greatly restored after the longest interval of real sleep--as opposed to the occasional shadowy, involuntary half-consciousness that had been forced on his by his blood loss-he scrambled out of the cabin and got to his feet, dismayed to find that the dizziness was still with him, the need to move slowly when rising. No matter. He wasnt going anywhere. Just wanted to get out of the cabin and into the trees for a minute to listen. Which he did, Liz following, bringing along the ewe hide and throwing it around his shoulders. The chopper, as they crouched there listening, seemed to be a good many miles away, never got close enough to be seen, even, but its presence after so many quiet days concerned Einar, led him inevitably wonder, as it made pass after pass over the distant ridges, up and down valleys and seemed to hover for a good while in one spot, what brought it to the area. When the sound finally died away and stayed that way he rose, stood scrutinizing the cabin, shook his head. This things hidden pretty well, backed up real good to the rocks and tucked under thee spruces, but I dont like the roof. Sharp contours like that, the shadows theyll create at certain times of the daygot to find a way to hide it better. Dont know what that choppers up to, but if he ends up spending the kind of time over this way that he just did to the eastwell, this just wont do. Neither will that trail weve created in all our trips back and forth from here to the old camp. Doesnt look like much from down here on the ground, I know, not even as pronounced as a lot of the elk and sheep trails that crisscross these slopes, but from up there shook his head again, limped back to the cabin and sat down heavily on the aspen log theyd left in front of it as a bench, let his head droop in the hopes of clearing his vision, some. Whew. That didnt take long. On my feet for two or three minutes, and already feeling like I got to sit down real quick before I fall. Just one more reason to do some real quick work on better hiding this place. If we got spotted and had to take off right now, as slow as I amwell, shed be better off just bashing my

skull in with that war club and heading off on her own. Wed both be better off, I guess. Cause my preference would be to stay behind here with the bow and atlatl and as many darts and arrows as I could get made, slow them down some and make a good end to it all, but shed never go for it. Ha! Girl can be every bit as stubborn a I can, at times so. Got to hide this place. And cant tear up the foot too bad doing it, if theres any way around that. Which would mean enlisting Lizs help in collecting the materials he had in mind. We need to turn this place into a chunk of forest floor, Liz. A lot of its gonna involve stuffing the cracks on the roof with usnea, grass, weatherproofing the place like we need to do anyway, to keep the rain out, and later the snow, but then we need to go out and find a lot of aspen bark, the inner bark of fallen, half-rotted trees like we used last year for basket making cordage, tear it off in big strips and use those like shingles to cover this place. On top of that we an pile moss, spruce needles, all sorts of things. Thisll keep the snow from sliding as easily off the roof, of course, but its sturdy, can take a lot of load, and well be here to tend to it, anyway, when that time comes. Primary concern right now is concealment.

As the sun climbed higher and the distant rumble continued to sound, never getting much closer but also, to Einars dismay, never disappearing for long, either, the two of them worked on the roof, stripping armloads of usnea from the spruces that populated the rough, boulder-studded steepness above the cabin and stuffing it into cracks to chink them. Einar, at first, restless and uneasy as he sat listening to the endless mutterings and grumbles of whatever unknown aerial activity was taking place there in the distance, insisted on helping Liz with the gathering, slinging one of the hides over his shoulder to act as a bag and hobbling dizzily up through the spruces, bracing his good leg and leaning his back against the nearest tree for support whenever he found an area worth harvesting, but he was tiring quickly, weaving and stumbling and having an increasingly difficult time maintaining his hold on consciousness--not good, got to stay awake and try to sort out whats going on over there, be listening for any changes--stopping after retrieving his second load for a brief rest and a gulp of water. Liz, returning with her own small bundle of the soft, pale green lichen, found him there, restrained herself from tearing into him about what hed done to himself--and probably to the foot, too--with all that untimely activity, would only be counterproductive, she figured, send him scrambling back to his feet to do it all again, instead giving him a drink and part of a cake of mashed, dried thimbleberries. It looks like weve got a good start on gathering the roof chinking! Youve done this sort of thing before, and I really havent, so how about if you get started stuffing it into place while I go after a bunch of the aspen bark thats going to go overtop everything. That, I have done, and I saw several pretty good sized fallen aspens back up there where I got my last load of usnea from Einar glared at her for a brief moment, shook his head and smiled, knowing exactly what

she was about but lacking the strength to contest the matter. And besides, she was right. About both the things shed said, and the ones she had been quietly thinking. Theyd both be better off with her gathering the loads of roofing materials, and him staying down there assembling the thing. Which is what they did, Einar waiting until Liz had disappeared back up into the timber--didnt really want her seeing what an effort it had become for him to get back to his feet--to haul himself upright and get situated against one leaning roof-side of the shelter, stuffing the cracks with soft, springy pads of usnea and wadded up clumps of dry grass and leaves. Resting whenever he could keep himself going no longer--ridiculous, Einar, this isnt even hard work--he would simply rest his forehead on the timbers and pass out for a few seconds, a minute, he was never quite sure, struggling awake again as soon as possible with the knowledge that Liz would soon be returning, helped back to alertness by the constant but ever varying vibrations that rolled ominously through the earth beneath him, reminders of the urgency of his task.

Bud Kilgore had finally gone home after his week-long fishing vacation amongst the plethora of gold medal streams and rivers up around Culver Falls, a week which hed extended by a few days to work with Bob, get him up to speed on his tracking and antitracking techniques. Back up on his Arizona mountainside amongst the hushed whispering of a thousand softly brilliant-leafed early summer aspens, he had tried to settle back into his usual routine--work for a few days in the garden and around the place, spend a couple wandering the hills, head down the valley to teach a class or two at the tracking school which he had co-founded and with which he still maintained a loose association--but without much success. Kilgore had been restless, glum, pacing his wide wrap-around porch and staring off into the distance, scanning the peaks, smoke-blue already with the drifting haze of a recently-ignited California wildfire, studying the deep grey, half-obscured folds of the intervening evergreen-carpeted hills and half expecting to hear the approaching rumble of a helicopter. Hed shaken his head, gone inside and tried to give his attention to one of the many projects he always had going to keep himself busy--reloading, compiling and refining his notes for a tracking text that he was coauthoring with one of his former associates, one of the men who had come to visit him after their short and frustrating stint assisting the feds in the Asmundson search--but he couldnt seem to concentrate on anything, soon found himself back up on the deck again, pacing and staring. Bob had learned well and quickly, his background as a hunter, poacher and participant in one underground trade or another having prepared him well and given him the foundation of wariness and keen observational skills that were necessary prerequisites to becoming an excellent tracker, and Bud had enjoyed working with him, had enjoyed, especially, the successful mission in which the two of them had acted together to gain entry to the federal compound and do some creative demolition on a series of storage trailershis grim features softened a bit at the thoughtthe outing having served as a sort of final test for Bob, Kilgore being quite confident in his ability to carry on the ruse alone, after its successful completion. Which was good, but it wasnt enough. Bud wanted to be there, be part of it, do what he could to keep the pressure off of Asmundson, though he knew

that by working with Bob to create the diversions in and around town, leaving clear, undisputable physical evidence of the fugitives presence, hed already done a good bit. Ought to just let the matter go, return to his projects, his life, knew it, but couldnt quite seem to do so. Ever since hed spent a good two weeks tracking the fugitive down that previous summer, reading in his trail something of the character of the man, pieces, perhaps, of his soul-Kilgore always came to feel that way when tracking, whether his prey happened to be man or animal--hed possessed a certain wary admiration for the man, a respect not only for his skill but for his heart, his determination, the single-minded intensity with which he pursued his commitment to remaining free, a dedication that now appeared equaled in his mind by a duty to the wife whose company he reluctantly but--clearly, after watching the two of them together--joyfully accepted, and to their child. It was an intensity he had seen before, many years before, when hed had occasion to cross paths with the man, once--while on rotation there teaching battlefield medicine to the new arrivals--spending a week at the operational base where Asmundson was temporarily stationed. Though they had never really met, Kilgore remembered Asmundson as a quiet, lanky kid whose air of single-minded purpose and weirdly intense blue eyes had been somewhat striking, even back then, real serious kid who--unlike some of the others, who appeared to be dozing after the first few minutes instruction--had given his full attention to the material being covered, taking meticulous notes and asking questions, the type who tended to spend his spare time reading Sun Tzu and studying ballistics tables rather than heading into town for a drink with his buddies when circumstances allowed, and that had been even before...well, Asmundson had been through some pretty rough stuff, from what hed heard, some two and a half years after their brief association, the capture, interrogation-theyd nearly killed him, trying to get him to talk--that three week evasion through the jungle while seriously injured and, at times, closely pursued, before finding his way back to safety Theyd been surprised he made it at all, from what Kilgore had heard in talking to a few of his associates who had been closer to the situation, had not really expected him to pull through, that first day or two after he was back, let alone be on his feet and petitioning to be allowed to return to his unit after less than a week at the 8th Field Hospital, but he had done it. Kilgore had thought a lot of him for that, for wanting to stay, but had also understood the decision on the part of the medical board to send him home, had wondered about him from time to time, after that, and had been very glad to bump into the kid again two years later at the RLI barracks in Salisbury. Small world. Asmundson appeared to have aged considerably over the course of those two years back in the States, had not seemed to recognize him, which, Kilgore supposed at the time, had probably been for the best, anyway Sitting there on the deck of his mountain retreat several days after returning from the search area hed stood, shaken his head at the memories, gone inside to pack his bags. Headed back to the airport. That had been two weeks ago and now, having re-connected with Bob and made a plan--several of them, but a person can only act on one at a time, really--he was holed up, alone, in a mine high above town and a good twenty miles from

the spot where hed parted ways with Asmundson. The feds--he squinted skyward, grinned as the rumble of another chopper slowly became audible, echoing through the sunlit mine entrance and tumbling around inside the long, low tunnel--had found the trail, were obviously taking the baitand he was having more fun than hed remembered possible.

Finally finishing the chinking of one side of the leaning roof to his satisfaction--shouldnt leak once he got done, hed roofed shelters in a similar way before--Einar began choosing and placing shingles from the pile of aspen inner bark strips Liz had been bringing him, cutting some of the long strips shorter so he got two or three shingles out of them and leaving others at their full length to go overtop the rows of shorter ones. Starting at the bottom of the roof, he slowly worked his way up, pausing only briefly to greet Liz and take the water she held out to him on each of her return trips with more roofing materials, he made fairly quick progress, getting himself after a time into a rhythm which he seemed able to maintain, all but eliminating the breaks that had been all too frequent at first, the minutes-long naps and periods of unconsciousness when his body had been shutting itself down and demanding that he rest. While the elimination of these breaks allowed him to get more done and was greatly to his liking--the involuntary bits of sleep had been alarming him, not so much because of their implications for his current state of health and energy level; he already knew that, knew what he was working with, and was making the best of it, but because they meant he might miss a change in the course of the repeated helicopter flights that had continued throughout the morning--their absence also meant that he was able to more thoroughly exhaust what meager resources he possessed at the moment, not, as he was to find out, necessarily a good thing. His first warning of real trouble was in a pronounced slowing in the pace at which he seemed able to work, no longer nearly using up all of Lizs shingles strips by the time she brought a new load, as he had been, and though at first he tried to dismiss the change, telling himself that it was because he was simply having to do more crouching down and standing back up as he worked higher and higher on the roof, he knew there was more to it. Including a heaviness in his head, a muddled, hot feeling that he knew well and dreaded somewhat, fought with all he had as he worked, but to no avail. Hands were growing clumsy, eyes heavy, and his thirstwell, it was so awful that once, dry-mouthed and choking on his own tongue, he stopped work long enough to crawl over to the water jar for a drink, unable to wait for Lizs return to share with her the customary water break. Not that his effort did him much good, because--clumsy fool--he fumbled with the water jar, couldnt seem to keep his grip on it and it fell, shattering on the rock below. He fell to the ground, then, flat on his stomach as he tried desperately to salvage the water-silly, because he would have known, had he stopped to think about it, that the spring was nearby, a brief two minute walk, for those who could walk, with its limitless supply of good cold clean water, but he wasnt thinking of that--clutching at the ground with frantic fingers and inhaling the little puddles and pools of remaining water from the cupped centers of the occasional fallen aspen leaf and there! wonderfully, blessedly, from the hollowed out bowl of a granite concavity where nearly half a pint had been trapped.

Heedless of the shattered glass and of the cuts it gave his chin and neck--nothing too serious, but they bled, some--he finished as much of the water as he could get access to, mourning the remainder as he lay there listening to it seep and soak into the earth, fizzles and pops as the ground swallowed it up, and he rolled to his side, tried to rise but staggered dizzily, ending up back on the good cool ground--merciful, merciful coolness, for he was on fire, and he dug into it with his hands, plastered the chill earth against his face, neck, dumped it down his shirt, nearly weeping at the relief it brought him, though terribly temporary--damp now with the spilled water and with his own blood from the glass-cuts. For some time he lay there, feeling as though he absolutely must sleep, couldnt wait another second to do so, or hed surely die of sheer weariness, but his foot hurt, its gnawing tying his stomach in knots and leaving him to lie staring up at the winddanced aspens overhead with furrowed brow and clenched teeth, just trying to breathe, to keep breathing, on and on, wanting to sleep and wanting even more to be able to get up, get back to work, but finding himself quite unable to do either. Liz, heading down the slope with her sixth load of aspen bark, realized that they hadnt had breakfast--her body wasnt letting her forget such things for long, those days, the nausea starting to set in pretty quickly if she didnt get a fair amount of protein on a regular basis, and that morning was no exception--and she hurried back down to the cabin, meaning to get out, at the least, a few strips of jerky and another thimbleberry cake to share with Einar, who she knew must be needing the nourishment every bit as badly as she and little Hildegard, even if he didnt realize it. A fire would have been nice, some stew to start the day, a bit pot of tea, raspberry leaf with a touch of box elder syrup, perhaps, but she doubted Einar would stand for any such thing, not with that unrelenting rumbling way off there in the distance. Well. She doubted the choppers had anything to do with them, this time--they were too far away, and not coming any closer--and she could only hope theyd soon get done with whatever it was they were doing, and leave them in peace. Which she knew Einar would have little of, as long as he could hear that sound, and the knowledge angered her for his sake, made her wish she had a way to ground the abominable aircraft, return to them the blessed silence that they had been enjoying for so many days. But she hadnt, so, for the moment, they would simply have to settle for some breakfast and a continuation of the roofing work which seemed to be reassuring Einar some about their future safety from the potential for airborne detection. Which was good. Gave him something to do, a task which could be accomplished very close to home and with minimal damage to the foot, and Liz found herself cheerful, silently singing as she trudged down into the grove of spruces that guarded the cabin. Only to have the song catch and die in her throat at the sight of Einar lying there smeared with dirt and the remnants of his own bleeding where the glass had cut him, awake but not appearing terribly aware. She went to him, saw the source of the bleeding in the shards of broken glass in which he lay, got him rolled over out of the worst of it and set about cleaning up his face. Which was when she discovered that he was terribly hot, burning up, the result, she expected, of renewed inflammation and infection in the foot, nearly inevitable, but still she had hoped that after that first round, he might be done with it.

That was the end of the shingling project for the moment, of Einars part in it, at least, Liz easing him into the cabin and giving him water, which he half sat up and gulped like a man who had been journeying through the desert, grabbing Lizs wrists--she held the jar for him, hoping to prevent losing another one to breakage--and staring up at her as he drank with bright, grateful eyes, fever-glazed and a bit wild, before slumping back down on the bed. For hours Einar stayed there in the cool shade of the cabin as Liz worked outside to complete the chinking and shingling as he had started them, stopping frequently to give him water and encourage him to eat--he wouldnt, or couldnt, and this scared her, as he had so little left to lose, and she determined to make him some broth, just as soon as that rumbling ended and she could have a fire--and once changing the dressings on his foot, bathing it in berberine and re-dressing it, seeing that it was, indeed, the source of his fever. Didnt look good at all, and she could only hope and pray that the berberine that she was washing it with and that which she urged on him every time he was awake, lifting his head so he could swallow, would be enough to allow him to fight off the infection. Though immensely glad for the cabin and the shelter it afforded him, she could tell he was miserable in there that day, in a lot of pain and struggling hard to keep his hold on reality and fight back delirium as the fever came and went, and it seemed to her that some sunlight and a bit of wind in his face might do him a lot of good. That afternoon, the sun bright and warm and that incessant rumbling in the distance finally--almost miraculously, it seemed at the time--stilled, she helped him up and out of the cabin, all but carrying him to a spot where they could sit together near the edge of the cliff where the plateau opened up and allowed a good clear view of the basin down below, got him situated against a big aspen log for a backrest and sat there with him in the sunlight and took in the sight of the meadow down below, impossibly, brilliantly green, patches of lupine dappling it with a gentle haze of purple, wind in the grass, bending it as waves on the sea, white-capped and reflective where the grass lay bent under the weight of the wind, only to spring back the next moment, rippling, undulating, alive. Beyond the meadow, up past the place where protective rings of aspens and then of spruces climbed the basin walls and petered out into the short, wind-twisted mats of high alpine evergreen growth that slowly and deliberately flourished at those heights, stood the peaks that ringed their high refuge, green carpeted lower slopes heaving up and giving way to the high starkness of bare granite, still streaked heavily with snow banks and bands and what might have appeared to some observers to be small glaciers--though they werent really, as they mostly disappeared, on towards autumn--that would slowly melt over the course of the summer, feeding the plethora of icy, crystal-clear little creeks that tumbled and cascaded down from those heights. Studying the meadow, Einar spotted an area where the elk had bedded down, white depressions in the sea of gently rippling green, unmistakable, promising future feasting to those ready to take advantage of it, which the two of them certainly were, just let me get my feet back under me, head down there with the new bowand then he was asleep, head resting on Lizs shoulder and a dream of elk--sleek, healthy, feeding on the grass and on the tender new aspen leaves that tipped the branches, plentiful, unwary as they enjoyed the bounty of the basin, offering a continuation of life to the two of themthree of them--easing the pinched, pained whiteness of his face, bringing a smile to his lips, and

Liz watched him, heart full The ptarmigan, fully decked out in its summer plumage of brown and black, would hardly have been visible to her but for its movements, soft, subtle motions as the bird left its roost among the rocks and made its way up the soft, mossy slope beyond, looking for seeds, insects, a late afternoon snack, but Liz saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, slowly turned her head to get a better look. Spotting the bird no more than eighteen feet from where they sat Liz eased Einars head to the ground, pillowing it on the rolled up ewe hide, moving slowly so as not to alarm either the bird or Einar, succeeding, stalking a good eight feet closer before balancing the rabbit stick in her hand, focusing on the bird and letting it fly. A good solid hit, the bird letting out a single distressed squawk and falling silent, Liz rushing in to pounce on the chance that she had merely stunned it. The bird was dead though, well and thoroughly, the clatter and squawk of its passing having awakened Einar, and he crawled over to join Liz on the slope where it had come to rest. Good throw! Guess I slept right through that one. Too busy dreaming about elk to notice that tonights supper was right over there within reach Sure glad one of us was paying attention and he shook his head, tipped dizzily to one side and allowed himself to flop over, sprawling out on his stomach, head resting on the soft, damp moss. Sorry. Got a littlehaving some trouble with he laughed, shrugged, closed his eyes, suddenly finding himself wracked by a chill so violent that it prevented him from finishing his sentence. Yes. I know. She covered him with the deer hide, wanted to get him back out into the sun but supposed shed better wait until the spell had passed. Youve got quite a fever going right now, guess the foots trying to act up again but I washed it with berberine a while ago. Youre gonna be alright, but youd better keep drinking this berberine, Ok? Teeth still rattling he grinned at her, hauled himself up into something like a sitting position, squinted dizzily at her and returned to admiring the ptarmigan, studying its feathers and weighing it in one hand--heavy little critter--soon appearing to lose his focus on the bird, craning his neck to look around behind them, staring intently at the rocks that reared up above the cabin. Liz watched him for a moment as his eyes, despite his best efforts, began drifting closed, head drooping. Einar, hey, did you hear me? He jumped, looked her in the eye for a moment before returning his gaze to the cliffs. Ohyeah, heard you. Berberine. Ill drink your berberine, but you know, weve got to be thinking about those rocks. They could ambush us from up in those rocks. Been herewhata week? Seems like about a week, and Ive never even climbed been up there to see what the terrains like, whats going onfor all we know, they could already have surveillance set up on top of those rocks, might be watching us right now, waiting for one of us to turn so they have a better angle for the shot, and

Einar! Yeah? You hear something? His tone was hushed, urgent as he dropped back to his stomach, pulling Liz with him and pressing her into the ground with a strength that surprised her, creeping forward, pulling her, until a fallen aspen lay between their position and the suddenly threatening visage of the granite escarpment above the cabin. Stay here. You stay right here with my atlatl while I work my way in above them, and if you hear anythingwell, you follow where that little line of creeping firs trails along the depression in the ground, crawl down through that and go over the cliffit isnt vertical right there, you can work your way down and get away, get little Hildegard out of this messI should have known they were setting up something like this, should have paid more attention to those choppers he rolled to his side and Liz saw that he already had his knife in hand, eyes saying that he was ready to scurry up into those rocks and take care of business, yep, those choppers must have been a diversion, sent in to keep our attention on that area way over there where they were hovering, convince us that any sense of warning we might feel was a result of their presence, a ruse, and a pretty good one, too, while all the time, the enemy Stop it! And she rose, stepped out in front of the log and stood there in full view of anyone who might be up in the rocks, intending to demonstrate to Einar that there was no real threat, jar him back to his senses, and though it didnt work quite the way she had intended, it got a response from him, alright, sent him scrambling to his feet to launch himself at her, meaning to knock her back to the ground and clear of danger, but instead getting him a hard whack in the side of the head with her war club, her reactions having become very nearly as quick as his. At least in his current state. Which state, much to Lizs dismay, now involved him lying in a crumpled, motionless heap on the ground, having been rendered quite thoroughly unconscious by the blow from her war club. Quickly checking to make sure he was still breathing--which he was, breaths coming shallow and rapid with fever--she grabbed him under the shoulders and headed back for the cabin, being as gentle as she could, but anxious to get him inside before he woke and started looking around again for threats. Which she managed, but just barely, Einar coming round just as she hauled him through the door opening and wearily deposited him on the bed, his eyes coming open as he tried but failed to sit up, flopping back down lifelessly onto his pad of fir boughs at the effort. Thats right, you stay there for a while, stay, and dont you move! You just need toshe was sobbing silently as she rearranged dead-limp arms and legs into some semblance of a more natural position, covered him--shivering--with the ewe hide, need to keep still, sleep for a while, let that fever burn itself out, and hopefully when you wake again, youll have a better idea of whats going on, because Im telling youif you dont, Im just going to have to slide some more logs over that opening, secure them from the outside and keep you shut in here until you come to your senses, because youll quit literally kill yourself climbing up in those rocks if you try it right now, and Im not going to have it. Just not going to have it! And she didnt realize that she had said those last words aloud, quite loud, as a matter of fact, shouting them, until Einar opened his eyes and

looked at her, slightly cross-eyed and wincing as he put a hand to the side of his head, his voice sounding sleepy and not particularly clear. Not gonna have what? Rest of the stew? Because if youre not gonna have it, maybe I can, cause Im awful hungry right now, just dont know how much longer I can keep working on that roof today without a little bite or two to eat So. Let me have it? Oh, Einar, Im afraid Ive already let you have it, and now Id better take a look at your head if youll let metheregoodjust let me get some usnea on that, a few yarrow leaves maybe, because its bleeding pretty good, and she quickly snatched up a few of the small, fernlike yarrow leaves that grew just outside the cabin, wadding them up and pressing them to the small but freely bleeding wound on the side of Einars head, placing his hand over them and instructing him to press, which he did, shaking his head in the hopes of clearing it some and staring at her in confusion as she threw herself into plucking the ptarmigan for that nights stew. Only later as they sat together sharing that stew would he remember just how he had come to be back in the cabin...

Still slightly feverish--it was on the downswing at the moment, leaving him feeling drained and terribly cold, but had not left him entirely, and he knew it would be back-and not finding himself terribly hungry, Einar was nonetheless tempted by the smell of Lizs ptarmigan soup that evening--she had managed to find some wild onions or garlic out there somewhere while walking the woods for aspen bark, had added them, along with a handful of spring beauty potatoes, to the mix--and he took the jar she offered him, dutifully sipping at the broth. Still couldnt seem to make much sense of the last part of the afternoon, remembered sitting with Liz overlooking the basin, seeing the whitish, mashed-down spots where elk had slept and then dreaming of elk, dozing in the sunperhaps the entire thing had been a dream, fever-induced frolic taken by his brain as the rest of him worked furiously on the shingling project, but he sure didnt think so, had seemed quite real, and then--its shadow so chill and tangible that he shivered--the image of those looming rocks above the cabin returned to him, menacing in the uncertainty that they held, unsecured high point from which they could be watched, ambushed, taken, and--it all came back to him suddenly--he nearly choked on the remembrance of an action demanded but not completed, his mission to skirt around behind the rocks and take the scouts stationed in them, giving Liz and the little one a chance to get away having been cut short byhuh! He snorted, put his hand to the side of his head where the wound was just beginning to crust over, remembered, winced at the splinters of pain that radiated from it at the pressure--pretty near cracked your skull with that one, feels like--and glared at Liz. You did this? Yes. He nodded, went on eating his stew, silent, stony-faced--she would have feared him at

that moment, had she not known him so well--the timbers overhead beginning to feel a bit oppressive, confining as he thought of the enemy he had been convinced must be up in the rocks, waiting, planning, no reason to think so, really, youre just thinking too much, need to quit that, but the fever was coming back, he could feel it, feel himself drifting and tipping and beginning to lose his tenuous hold on reality again, fought it, wished he could simply go to sleep until it passed, but the thought of doing so seemed to him at the moment ominous, terrifying, a major threat to their continued existence, so he sat wide-eyed and staring, flexing his damaged foot in an attempt to keep himself that way. Worked. Wasnt the least bit sleepy after that, but neither could he eat anything more, handed Liz the remaining stew and sat with his back against one of the rear cabin supports, sharpening his knife and then sorting through his supply of atlatl darts, the bone arrowheads he had been working on, thinking that hed better assemble them soon, so Liz could start carrying, and training with, the bow. Needed it for her own protection when she was off on her own in the basin as she often was, those days, and needed also to become proficient in its use so that their chances of being able to take another sheep or perhaps even an elk before too long would be increased. Had to be working on that. Could make it through the summer subsisting on rabbits and ptarmigan and supplementing their diet with the dried meat of the dead sheep theyd found, but they would never get ahead while doing that, either as far as setting food aside for the tough months that were coming, or building themselves up, either, putting on the weight that Liz needed for a healthy pregnancy and he needed--realistically, knew it was true, though he didnt want to admit it--simply to go on living. No, they really needed to take some larger game if they were to build up any reserves, needed, also, to be out there every day taking advantage of the seasonal resources on hand--lily and spring beauty roots, for one thing, which theyd so far gathered no significant quantity of that year and which, with the dying back of their vegetation as summer went on, would become increasingly difficult to locate and dig--foraging and drying and setting aside good quantities of foodstuff for the coming of the snowand of the baby. They should, he knew, really be ranging far from the basin, spending a week here, a week there in search of acorns, fish, following the food, harvesting and preserving as almost all primitive peoples had, rather than attempting to make it on the limited resources of a fixed location, hauling things back up to the cabin and stashing them securely before heading out again He shook his head, stared ruefully at his bad foot and swallowed the urge to head out right that minute into the gathering dark of the night and scrounge in the dirt for lily roots. Would be fairly pointless, he knew, especially with that fever coming and going again as it seemed determined to do. Hed probably end up creeping around out there on his hands and knees all night digging lupine roots---plentiful, but inedible--by mistake, freezing himself half to death and having nothing to show for it, come morning. Wont do. Get some sleep, let her take care of the foot so youll have some chance of making it through the next couple of days, then in the morning find yourself a spot to sit and dig, get as much done as you can. This would be the time to finish gathering those roots, for sure, if you can get yourself down to where they are. Which ought to be possible with the spear to lean on, if only this doggone dizziness would go down, some. At which he looked up, saw that Liz was watching him and realized she had probably been sitting there all that time thinking he was mad at her for cracking him in the head with the war

club--which he wasnt, really, had served him right, he supposed--guessed hed better try and let her know that, before the fever went any further and he quit making sense, even to himself. Staring at the ceiling and gathering his words, it was a long time before Einar spoke. You know, I really do need to get up in those rocks above us, see what its like up there, what kind of a view it gives us, not good to leave the place unexplored. Dont have to do it tonight, though. Guess we might as well both stay in here, for the night Which was a tremendous relief to Liz, as was the fact that the sky remained quiet, no distant rumble intervening to disrupt their dinner; there was at least some hope for a good, restful night.

Bud Kilgore stood motionless at the entrance to the mine, listening, wondering, finding it odd that hovering rumble of the Blackhawk and the whine of what he believed--he hadnt got a look at it, yet--to be a smaller Kiowa observation bird had ceased, the search apparently abandoned for the time. Thoughtfully, rubbing inaction-chilled fingers together and letting a hand drop to his 1911 he pondered the matter, came to no conclusion but wondered if the sudden end to the aerial activity might mean that they had decided the time had come to commit to a ground assault on his position. Didnt make a lot of sense, though, because surely theyd want air support for such an advance, unless, of course, the pullback was simply meant to put their target at ease, get him to let his guard down and perhaps even sleep, after several days and nights of exhausting waiting. Which wasnt working with Bud and, he was beyond certain, wouldnt have fooled the real Einar, either. Something was going on, though, something had changed, and Bud, knowing that it was going to be critical to read every clue correctly if he wanted to successfully pull off his plan, needed more information. Which he was, fortunately, equipped to obtain. Stepping outside the tunnel mouth--warily, listening, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling a bit, he scrambled up beneath the heavy cover of the dozens of small, close growing black timber spruces that stood sentry above the mine keeping to their areas of heaviest growth in the knowledge that he could very well, by that time, be under surveillance by high-flying drone or even, if they believed themselves certain enough about their targets location--which they sure ought to have been, as much trouble as hed gone to in setting everything up, leaving a trail plain enough to follow while still remaining subtle enough to have been made by a man intent on evading detection and capture--satellite. Theyd certainly have had enough time to re-task one; hed been there at the mine for three days, already. Up there in the rocks, Kilgore brushed away the heavy covering of spruce needles that covered a thirty caliber ammo can, which had been nestled down in amongst the chips and chunks of granite, its seal keeping the weather from damaging the contents, which turned out to handheld scanner, compact but powerful, and able--he knew, having thoroughly tested the system a number of times--to easily track the trunked

communications used on the ground by the Bureau. A small solar panel hung from one of the nearby trees, positioned to catch several hours of afternoon rays as they found their way in through a gap in the timber, wired to a simple charger protected in a heavy plastic bag that was strapped to the trees trunk. A simple setup, but quite adequate, and after ten or fifteen minutes of listening, Kilgore had become convinced that no ground assault was imminent, the Blackhawk having been temporarily been grounded due to maintenance concerns--engine problems of some sort, it sounded like--and Bureau decision makers thinking it a very unwise idea, indeed, for the lighter observation chopper to remain in the area without some backup. Bud chuckled, put away the radio. Smart thinking. Ya just never know when some mountain man out there might see fit to arm himself with ballistic-tipped atlatl darts, and go duck huntinghas been known to happen! Ok. Looks like Ive got some more time here, which is good, because Ive still got to put the finishing touches on this thing And he rose, picked his way down the rocks and ducked into the mine entrance, picked up a fire-charred, sharp-tipped stick and went back to sketching on the smooth rock of the wall immediately inside the mine. Almost finished

Despite the quiet skies Einar was in for a rough night battling round after round of that fever, and at first he tried very hard to keep it from Liz, to keep still, maintain, through a very deliberate set of exercises, an awareness of their current situation and his place in it, refrain from alarming her as he certainly would have done had he acted on an at times almost overpowering urge to go dashing out into the night and conceal himself in the thickest brush he could find. His efforts were for the most part successful, but they were terribly taxing on his already exhausted mind and body, and finally the fever got the best of him, left him squirming carefully--mustnt wake them, and he didnt--out from beneath the smothering heaviness of the ewe and deer hides that Liz had tucked around the two of them--trapped, and he couldnt stand it any more--and rolling over onto the bare ground of the cabin, creeping urgently on his stomach away from the bed, struggling out of his shirt and digging hands and face into the good damp coolness of the earth, safe here, cant find me herefinally sleeping. Only to wake freezing and shivering some time later, legs cramping and fingers numb, hardly believing that he could have been foolish enough to fall asleep on the bare, damp ground like that, lamenting his lack of clothing and wondering how he was ever going to make it through the chill of the night in such a state. Wanted a fire, wanted to get up and exercise to warm himself, but, the memory of the past days rumbling skies fresher in his mind that a lot of other things, the first option was out, as was the second when his initial attempt at getting to his feet resulted only in a quick and painful return to the ground. Not going anywhere. Just didnt seem to have the strength to get up, and besides, something seemed to be terribly wrong with his foot What, then? Curl up. You could start by curling up. Just thinkbasic principlesgot to be losing heat awful fast all sprawled out like this. Which made sense, and he acted on it, didnt know what else to do, short of crawling out into the night and hopefully stumbling across some sleeping elk or deer whose hide he could take or, if unable to remove the hide from said creature, a strong likelihood, he had to admit, at least startling it from its sleeping spot and taking advantage of its lingering body heat to

hopefully keep his own body and soul together, through the night. A fine idea he thought, but it never got past the planning stage, a fortunate thing, Einar pulling his knees with some difficulty up to his chest and tucking chilled hands in beneath his chin, soon passing again into an uneasy sleep. It was thus that Liz found him later in the night when she woke and noticed his absence, feeling around the interior of the cabin in search of him and meeting against the far wall a bony shoulder that felt nearly as cold as stone, couldnt rouse him and hurried to get the ewe hide over him and light the stub of one of their remaining candles. The light reached Einar, brought him slowly to wakefulness, left him, as Liz gathered sticks for a fire, grabbing gratefully at the hide--miraculous appearance, answer to the desperate, unspoken prayer of a man freezing in his sleep--and rolling so that it lay between him and the terrible aching iciness of the ground. Might just see morning, after all. Saw something else first, though, the rising glow of Lizs fire soon illuminating the cabin, highlighting her face, and he got shakily to hands and knees, apprehensive about the fire but grinning at the sight of her, joined her there beside it and accepted her gentle insistence as she rubbed some warmth back into his chilled limbs, got him back into his sweater and unwound the bandage strips on his foot, bathing it in a strong solution of willow bark, warmed to body temperature over the flames. He hadnt even realized the degree to which the foots hurting had been affecting him that night, not, that is, until Lizs willow solution began easing things a bit. Seeing the improvement she pressed the jar into his hands, urging him to drink some. Just a little, just give it a try. Maybe itll help you sleep, will definitely help the fever, if not the foot Einar shook his head, wanted to drink but couldnt, knew he couldnt at all afford to start bleeding again as might happen if he thinned his blood by taking that willow internally in the quantities that would be necessary to have any impact on the pack of hungry coyotes that had taken to gnawing on the foot, explained the problem to Liz and accepted the reheated ptarmigan she urged on him at the realization that he wasnt going to take any of the willow, took a few swallows. Oh, thats warmreal good, Lizzie. Thanks. And he closed his eyes, leaning back against the cabin support and half dozing as she, seeing that the foot showed no sign of bleeding and thinking it therefore reasonably safe to bathe it again in the remaining willow solution, did so. Finishing with berberine to help keep the area disinfected and gently bandaging the foot, she helped Einar back into the bed and let the fire die down, drifting off to sleep with her arms firmly around him lest he start wandering again. Please, please just let us sleepwhich they did, morning finally brightening outside, the first rays of sun finally finding their way through the spruces and in through the door opening to wake them. Einar was up first, his fever greatly lessened, foot feeling less inflamed, rolling free of Lizs grasp and leaving her to sleep while he crept outside to listen to the morning, having heard in his dreams the morning song of what sounded like dozens of pipits, waking to the thought of the small brown and tan-striped sparrow-like birds and of the eggs that he had found on occasion in seeking out their small, ground-built nests. He was

hungry, found the soup pot empty--Liz must have had more of an appetite than he, during their waking time that past night--and contented himself with a strip of sheep jerky and a few gulps of water. The thought of those eggs, grey with heavy brown speckling and usually found five or six to a nest, as he recollected, would not leave him, and knowing that the time of year was just about right for finding them, he was greatly tempted to try and make his way down to the damp willow marsh ground surrounding the little lake in the lower meadow, and see how many he could come up with. Experimentally hauling himself to his feet and balancing precariously as the expected wave of dizziness came rushing up at him he rode it out, blinking, breathing, clinging to the support post and rejoicing that he had managed to stay upright through the worst of it. Didnt gain him much in the end, though, because as soon as he tried to take a step it was back again, frustrating but undeniable, and he sank back to the ground--hot all of a sudden, so much for the fever being gone, and he shrugged out of his sweater, threw it haphazardly up into the branches of the nearest tree; seemed like the thing to do, just then--lay there watching as the sun crept through the evergreen tops to further illuminate the area around the cabin. Well. Morning. If you cant go after those eggs, you can at least get to work digging some avalanche lily and spring beauty roots like we talked about yesterday, get that going before the leaves all die back and theyre too hard to find. Would be good for us to have twenty, thirty pounds or more of the dried bulbs set aside for winter, make a good addition to stew, stretch whatever meat and berries were living on a lot furtherso. Head for the clearing. Which he did, crawling, head down to ward off the dizziness, pausing now and then and raising his head like a grazing deer to scan for danger and going on that way until he reached the open, grassy area just beyond the trees that shielded the cabin. Already the lily leaves were beginning to wilt some, being a plant that did most of its living in the spring just after the snow melted off, but the spring beauty was still going strong, and would, he knew, for another few weeks, continuing to bloom and store up energy in their corms. Setting his hat out for a receptacle he began digging, snacking on leaves as he went and soon building up quite a little pile of the small potatolike corms, an equally large heap of sweet white lily roots, a few of which he ate raw even though he knew more of their nutrition would be accessible to him once cooked. Speaking of cooking, he could see that Liz was up and had got the fire going, must be starting on breakfast, and after a few minutes more of digging he took his hat--it was full, anyway; he was going to need a larger container before he went much further with his work--he started back for the cabin, wanting to give her some of the roots to add to whatever she was cooking up for breakfast. Einar hadnt even made it halfway back to the cabin before Liz spotted him and came hurrying through the trees, carrying his cast-off sweater and looking like she wanted to say something about his having abandoned it again, but refraining. Not that he could have found himself disagreeing too strongly if she had commented, as he was freezing again in the early morning breeze--you sure cant seem to think more than a minute or two ahead right now, can you?--more than ready to have the garment back. Wrinkling up her nose as she helped him into the sweater and wrapped the ewe hide around it to help keep the heat it, Liz decided it was way past time to do some laundry, supposed baths would do them each a lot of good, too. Einar, it seems todays laundry day. How about

if you give me your sweater back, and wool shirt, too, one of the pairs of pants, and Ill go down to the creek and do some washing. You can stay here and watch the breakfast while Im gone, heat some water, and well each have a little bath when I get back, maybe even wash our hair. Einar squinted, shrugged and crossed his arms as if to prevent her taking the sweater. Well, why dont I save you the trouble, and just go roll myself into the creek over there where I sat to numb up before the foot operation? That little dam I made ought to still be operational, ought to be creating a little pool behind it, at least. Should be sufficient for a bathfor me, and the clothes. Can just lie down in it to get my hair clean. She shivered at the thought, tucked the hide in more closely around him. You crazy guyyoud really do that, wouldnt you, fever and bad foot and all? Is that what youd do if you were here by yourself? Probably. That, or Id have crawled down to that little lake in the basin and spent some time in there, by now. I tend to do my laundry and bathing all at the same time, most often. And he chuckled, seeming to find the matter quite humorous for some reason unknown to Liz, it usually seems to happen when I dont have another set of clothes to change into, also. Nothing like having to hurry to get your clothes off before they freeze on you, then beating them--stiff as boards--against rocks to get some of the ice out, dancing and jumping and hopping all the while, just hoping to get yourself warm enough to start a fire. Get some circulation going. Whew! Yep, seems I end up in the water on a pretty regular basis, when Im by myself. Yes, so Ive heard. I do seem to remember finding you in the river more than once Ha! Yeah, guess you have, and not under the best circumstances, a couple of those times. Often as not I seem to end up in the water when I dont want to be there, but this will be alright cause itll be deliberate. And besides, its summer. Well have a fire all ready to go before we get in--you are joining me, arent you?--and well be real sure and climb out before were frozen soliditll do us a lot of good. Got to start preparing for winter, you know! Only a few months left until winter At which she rolled her eyes, struck playfully at him with the rabbit stick and went back to her cooking, the subject of bathing temporarily abandoned. As were all other subjects the next moment when Einar, heading for the creek despite Lizs lack of enthusiasm for the idea of bathing there, stopped rigidly still, listening, heard it, no doubt, and then so did she. Bud Kilgore heard it, too, that distant rumble, yawned, stretched for a leisurely minute-getting a little old to be sleeping on this hard ground, should have brought that foam pad, after all--and got to his feet. By then, the rumbling had grown insistent, near, joined by the whine of a smaller craft and, he thought, an approaching hum that signaled the presence of a small fixed wing or two. Getting ready for some action, are we? Well, you

boys are right on schedule Kilgore had enjoyed a quiet night, sleeping inside the mine so as to be protected from visual observation but not so far from the entrance as to prevent some body heat from escaping out into the thin, chilly night air where it would be observable by any who might be watching. Had to make sure they didnt lose interest. Radio cradled in the crook of one arm--improvised antenna trailing out of the opening and up into a tree--and pistol on his chest he had dozed, waking occasionally for a few minutes when the radio crackled to life, listening, going back to sleep, nothing yet, nothing until morning, it sounds like And now here it was morning, and they were out there, coming, presumably, and he was ready, made another cursory inspection of the wiring, the connections, touched up the images hed spent so many hours sketching there in the mouth of the mine, their protected alcove location carefully and deliberately chosen as a spot that ought to remain intact to tell the story.

Einar crouched there beneath the trees listening to the distant but approaching thunder of at least one large helicopter, breathing a tenuous sigh of relief when he realized that the beasts seemed to be coming no nearer than they had been that past evening. Liz--good going!--had dashed over to the fire and shoved a pile of loose dirt into the shallow pit, pushing a flat rock, kept close as a cooking surface, over the entire thing and sealing in any smoke that might have still tried to escape. When it became clear to Einar that the threat seemed to have stopped gaining on them he rejoined Liz at the cabin, glancing around warily as he ducked into the door opening, the shadow of his previous evenings thoughts about the possibility of the rocks above being used to stage an ambush not far from the surface in his mind. Had to get up there, take a look and claim that ground as their own, but not that day, not unless he wanted to send Liz to do it. Which he did not, especially, seeing that she appeared to have plans already for that morning, was getting her pack ready, and he sat down beside her, wondering what her intention might be. Laundry, probably, as she had already mentioned that to him. You going somewhere? I thought after breakfast Id head over to the creek and wash clothes like we talked about, then do the trapline. Its been a couple of days, again. Yeah, it sure has. Ive been thinking about that, and we really need to be careful about the trail were leaving--well, youre leaving, at the moment--as we visit those snares. If we dont take care, its gonna become just a visible and pronounced as the one between the cabin and campsite probably already is, from the air, and while elk and deer critters might conceivably walk back and forth from an overlook like the one at camp to a little clearing of this sortwell, they certainly arent known for walking a regular circuit like that trapline might show up as, from up above. Got to try and vary your route some, stick to the rocks when you can, scree fields, boulders where you can step from one to the other, and even there, you got to vary things some. Youd be surprised how few trips it takes over a scree field along the same route before you start leaving a real visible trail. Your feet mash the rocks down, align them, if theyre small enough to move even a little

under your boots, with the direction your feet are pressing, and pretty soon you have something that looks white and clear as day from the air, or even overlooking it from a nearby ridge or peak. Yes, Ive seen that! Elk or sheep trails right through the rock, looking all white and flat exactly like youre describing. Ill be careful, make sure not to walk the same place twice, if I can help it. Except right in front of the snares themselves, of course, have to walk there each time Right. Can be harder than you think, though, never walking the same route twice. The human brain--some of them, at least; I know mine works this way--just naturally wants to send you over familiar territory, does it entirely without your awareness sometimes-youll just look up and find yourself walking the exact same path you took on the last swing through an area, just starts happening, when you spend enough time out in the hills. Which we definitely have been Some instinct weve got, Im guessing, to help us find our way and avoid getting lost, and its usually a great thing, especially if you should find yourself needing to retrace your steps for whatever reason, but in this case it works against us, and weve got to try real hard and counteract it. Ok? Sure. I see how that could create problems, especially if whatever theyre doing with those helicopters ends up over here in our area. Ill be very careful. For the moment, though, the soup was done--had been for some time, but Liz had shoved it aside and wrapped the pot in the deer hide to keep its contents warm when she killed the fire--boiled ptarmigan bones, sheep jerky, nettles and a few of Einars spring beauty potatoes, and no one was going anywhere until it was gone. Which, both of them quite hungry that morning, it soon was, Liz preparing to get into her pack and Einar, much to her dismay, appearing ready to head out, also, taking with him the burlap sack that had acted for a time as a pack, a digging stick and a varied array of weapons. An interesting project, to be sure, whatever it might be, but she wished he would hold off a day or two on it, give himself some more time. It was clear that, despite what appeared to be some improvement overnight--surprising, considering that hed spent half of it half naked and freezing on the dirt floor in his feverish delirium, but true, nonetheless-- it was all he could do to remain sitting while they ate, the dizziness and confusion at times quite apparent in his eyes when he looked at her. Not that shed likely be able to convince him that such were adequate justification for keeping close to camp, but its always worth a try Where are you going? Dig more roots. Got some good big patches of spring beauty and avalanche lily here on the slope below the cabin where it opens up under the aspens, and I figure if Im careful not to disturb the ground too much and make it obvious from the air that a human has been digging here, I ought to be able to safely collect a bunch of them. She nodded, thoughtful, stood and walked over to the area he had indicated, gazing down

through several hundred feet of steep, aspen-dotted forest, open, sunny, creating nearly ideal growing conditions for the roots he was after. Something bothered her about it, though--well, about Einar, actually, but in relation to the slope and his intended activity on it that day, and she hurried back to him, sat down and stared at him until he looked up and met her eyes. Which he found to be very grave, serious--hed seen that look quite a bit in her of late, but this was more pronounced--and he gave her his full attention. Theres something I need to know. He nodded. If youre going to spend some hours out there on that slopeits pretty wide open and sunny as you mentioned, and I need to know that youre sure you can stay awake. Absolutely sure. Because if you fall asleep or pass out in that clearing while youre working and Im away, and a chopper comes overwell, I just want you to tell me you have no doubt that you can stay awake. To which he wanted to answer with a half-angry retort that of course he could stay awake, what did she think he was, but instead he kept silent, jaw set, finally looked away. Couldnt honestly give her the assurance she was looking for. Knew that, hard as he might try, there was no telling exactly what might happen if and when that fever returned in full force, which, judging by recent history, it seemed fairly likely to do. Cant say for sure. We dont know what those choppers are up to, where theyll head next, and a gallon or two of spring beauty corms just arent worth the risk of you possibly passing out and being spotted down there. Stay in the cabin. Just for today. Einar shook his head, stared at the ground and searched for a way out, couldnt find one, finally nodded and looked up at her. Just today.

Liz went down to the creek and did the laundry, soaking filthy clothing in the icy water, wringing it out and soaking again until she was satisfied that it was as clean as it was likely to get, under the circumstances. Returning to the cabin she hung the clothes in tree branches to dry, went in to check on Einar, make sure he was sticking to his bargain, which he was, didnt appear to have moved a muscle in her absence, except to throw off the ewe hide with which shed covered him, apparently--confirmed when she put a hand to his face--troubled again by the fever. Trying to wake at her presence he finally got his eyes open, accepted the water she held out to him and thanked her, words thick and tripping over each other, for washing the clothes, before flopping back to the ground. She pulled the ewe hide back over him--I hope its not a mistake to be leaving you right now, but I really need to check those snares--rose to go but reconsidered, remembering

how hed ended up half dressed and freezing more than once that past night and not wanting anything similar to happen in her absence. Not that this will work if youre really determined, but maybe itll help remind youand she wrapped and tied bits of cordage around his lower arms, securing the sweater in place and hoping he wouldnt go to the effort to struggle out of it. Einar, waking again when Liz ducked out through the door, sat in the cabin listening to the soft, barely audible crunch of her footsteps as they faded away over the spruce duff, his hands full of the straight willow rods that he intended to spend much of his day turning into arrows for her bow. Already had a number of heads done and set aside from previous efforts, carefully shaped bone, somewhat brittle and inferior to the ones that could have been knapped from rock, but he already had them, had taken deer and even elk with similar in the past, and knew he could do it again. Also available to him were the chunks and shards of glass that they had salvaged from the garbage heap outside the old mining bunkhouse a month or so previous, fragments of thick-glassed old bottles and jars that he expected, with time and effort, would make fine arrowheads, but for the moment the pieces hed carved and scratched out of deer bone would have to do, would, when attached to straightened willow rods, fletched with tail feathers from their last grouse and held together with the judicious and sparing use of sinew and spruce pitch, allow Liz to be much better armed when it came to the possibility of having to defend herself from a distance, and far better equipped to take larger game than she currently was with her rabbit stick. Unless of course--putting a hand to the side of his head, still tender and crusted with a bit of blood from that previous afternoon--that larger game happens to be a mountain critter of the human variety, in which case the rabbit stick is apparently more than adequate Two arrow shafts he prepared, straightening them, carefully shaving off the slight protrusions and irregularities that if left would have affected their flight and left it less predictable, but despite having big plans he didnt get much further than that before he found himself flat on his back in the middle of an overpowering dizzy spell, the beams whirling and undulating crazily above him until finally he shut his eyes to block out the sight of them, rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his face into the good cool blackness of the earth. Was getting awfully hot again, didnt really understand the tenacity with which the fever seemed to be hanging on--better have some more berberine, and he did, handling the jar carefully so as not to drop and break it--even as the foot was beginning to look better. Little bit better. Hadnt been stinking any more when Liz bathed it for him just before she left, and that had to be progress, right? Right. Means the berberine must be helping clear up the infection that seems to have taken pretty good hold in there over the last couple of days, so theres really no reason I shouldnt be able to start making some headway, getting some strength back and staying awake longer than a few minutes at a time Speaking of which, he was having a terrible time keeping his eyes open, wanted to squirm out of the sweater and sprawl on the good cool ground for a while, but Lizs carefully wrapped ties stopped him, briefly angered him as they frustrated his efforts to get the suddenly smothering layer of wool off in a hurry, but he was too tired to fight it for long--would have taken his knife to the things, freed himself in seconds had she not been sitting there watching him with that quietly accusing look in

her eyes--finally conceding her point as she argued that he would burn less calories if he could stay warmer, thus preserving their precious food supply and leaving more for her and the babyand he slept. Waking when he began cooling again, Einar ended up--needing a less exacting task for his clumsy fingers and fumbling mind, something that did not require the precision of arrow making--creeping outside and filling one of the cooking pots with finely pulverized soil and spruce needles. Returning to the cabin he added water to the mix, stirring until the soil was thoroughly saturated, a smooth, even mud that he took in his hands and began smearing into the cracks between upright logs along the front of the cabin. The job of chinking those cracks was one hed been contemplating since before he started on the cabin, a necessary step in improving the place and keeping out the chill breezes that even at the height of summer swept at times up from the basin to slice through the walls and chill them, a task of whose necessity he had been reminded rather acutely when he had awakened just then shivering in one of those breezes. Liz, he thought, would probably be glad to see the progress hed made on the walls, would like seeing the place start looking more like a home than a temporary camp. While many of the cracks were quite narrow and easy to fill, others, because the a number of the upright timbers were somewhat less than straight, had large gaps between them, and not wanting to use that much mortar, Einar set the pot aside, covered it to prevent the stuff drying out, and sorted through the firewood pile. Finding a good sized chunk of aspen wood, he split it with the axe--thing sure seemed heavy, that day--taking narrow strips off of the split halves and jamming them into the cracks between upright logs, reducing the amount of filler that would be needed. Three pots of mortar he made and spread between logs but then had to stop for lack of water--wanted to go over to the creek for more, but had told Liz hed stay at the cabin, and figured hed better do so--resting for a few minutes in the patch of sunlight which, dancing, split by the wind-waving shadows of the spruces, fell through the door opening. Could perhaps have slept again if hed let himself, but hed had a thought while working on the mortar, the continuation of an idea hed been tossing around since starting on the cabin, and wanted to see how far he could get with it. Which was going to mean leaving the cabin, but he wouldnt be going far, mere feet from the door, keeping within the spirit of his agreement with Liz if not the letter Tossing the deer hide over his shoulder, Einar hobbled over to the nearest grove of spruces, searching until he found a good deep deposit of duff, nearly two feet of shed needles and squirrel-eaten pinecone bits having collected there, spreading out the hide and heaping the stuff on it for carrying back to the cabin, where it was destined to serve as insulation between the existing upright pole walls and the half-height second wall he intended to construct a foot or so from it. Hed seen the method used before to insulate remote cabins, provide a buffer against the weather and help seal the drafts out, and though he had no intention of going after timbers that day with which to construct the wall itself, figured it couldnt hurt to begin hauling the insulation into place. Trouble was, he couldnt seem to lift the improvised bag, now that hed got it all loaded up, had used up what little energy he had in the brief walk over to the grove, sank back to the ground in frustration and hauled the bag up onto his lap, scooting backwards, inch by inch, until he reached the cabin and deposited the bags contents against the front wall.

Good. This is gonna work well, just take a dozen or so of these loads to really make some progress towards insulating the place. Loads which he intended to continue hauling, just as soon as hed got himself a bit of water and maybe a few minutes of rest. Long before Liz returned, Einar, ears sharp for any changes in the hovering thunder over along the far ridge, knew something was up, the activity level at that distant point having increased tremendously, the rumble and whine of more than one helicopter continuing unrelenting, hovering, circling, small planes having joined the party, ranging occasionally a good distance from the focal point ofwhatever was going on over there. Einar, leaning against the center post of the cabin, his dizziness almost forgotten, listened to the changes, a cold knot growing in his stomach as he thought of having to meet--or flee from--a renewed search of the magnitude that he seemed to be observing, if from afar, in his present condition. Wouldnt be fleeing far, that was for sure, would be doing well to hold them off long enough to allow Liz to get clear of the area. Which was exactly what he would do, if it became clear that the searchers were closing in on their position, and he wished very much that Liz would come back so he could discuss it with her, make a plan and do whatever was going to be necessary to convince her that it was the only course of action to take. For the time, though, the search--if indeed the swarm of activity had anything to do with the search--seemed to be coming no closer, and Einar put his focus into completing a few of the arrows, his hands significantly steadied by the press of perceived necessity.

Returning just over two hours after she had left, Liz brought back a rabbit, two squirrels and a marmot that shed found in one of the deadfalls in the boulder field above the lake, hurriedly climbing the last hundred feet up to the plateau, having grown more and more concerned about Einar as the nearby air activity grew in intensity. Concerned that he might at some point have decided it imperative that he scale the cliffs behind the cabin and keep watch against a possible coming assault--not an especially likely thing to be coming, as surely the aircraft would be giving more focus to their location if it was known or even suspected, but who knew just how Einar, feverish and on edge after hours of listening to that hovering, might see it?--she braced herself for the possibility that the cabin might well be empty, approaching quietly and hanging her quarry in a nearby tree. Hearing the faint crunch of Lizs footsteps in the dry needles outside the cabin, Einar, who had once more been attempting to work on fletching arrows after a good while spent gathering insulation but had fallen asleep, or something close to it, in the process, scraped himself up off the ground and into as close as he could manage to a sitting position. Supporting himself on one of the upright beams he blinked out at Liz from the deep shadows when she approached the cabin, her shape highlighted in the sunlit brightness of the door-opening as she stood there allowing her eyes to adjust before proceeding. Liz knew he was inside even before catching sight of him, could hear his breathing, fast, a little strained as he tried to keep it hushed, and she ducked into the darkness of the cabin, saw him there in the reflected brightness of the day outside, eyes bright and a little strange with fever but mind seeming to reasonably clear when he greeted her.

Looks like it was a pretty good day on the trapline Yes! Were having fresh marmot stew tonight, thanks to that deadfall you set up in the rocks above the lake. The bait leaves were all wilted and mostly blown away, so Im a little surprised a marmot ended up in it at all, but it looks like he may have just been curious. They can be pretty curious little critters. Ive had them come up to within feet of me before when I was sitting still in the rocks, just wondering what I was, it seemed. Good thing for curiosity Gonna make us a fine supper! Together they cleaned the proceeds of Lizs snares and deadfalls, Einar scraping the hides while Liz sorted out and submerged the organ meats of the various creatures in a pot of cold water to be kept fresh for the time when they could have a fire that evening, looking forward to the feast they would provide. The heart, liver and kidneys of the sheep they had found had, after a day or so of sitting, been turning soft, green and quite inedible, and though she had enjoyed tidbits of such fare from the sparse few rabbits and the ptarmigan theyd acquired since, the prospect of a larger serving made her mouth water. The iron, vitamin B-12 and folate contained in the organs would, she knew, be helpful to the growing baby, and would hopefully also help satisfy a craving shed had for days, images of liver an onions, heaped-up plates full of them, often coming unbidden into her mind to torment her and leave her less than satisfied with the dried sheep meat and soup that had made up most of their meals. Knowing both that there was nothing he could do about the matter and that he would most likely feel compelled to try, Liz had not mentioned the cravings to Einar, not wanting to make the current situation any more difficult for him than it already was. It was thus with great delight that she prepared the small meal of rabbit, squirrel and marmot innards, chopping kidneys and livers so that they would make a rich broth as they simmered, and adding nettles and a few sprigs of wild onion to flavor and further enrich the soup. Come on, sunset! I cant wait to get a fire started and start smelling this stuff simmer and cook! Sunset was hours off, though, and knowing that she had to keep her mind on other things for the present, Liz turned her attention to the hides that Einar had thoroughly fleshed and scraped while she dealt with the future stew. They were sitting in a little stack there in the shade, each folded flesh-side in, presumably to keep it damp, as Einar finished up scraping the marmot. Liz sat down beside him, picked up the little fur pile. Do you want me to tack these to spruce trunks so they can dry until were ready to tan them? The marmot, yes. Here. Im done with it. But leave the rabbit and those two squirrels here, and Ill show you a little shortcut that works pretty well with small hides like these. Taking one of the squirrel hides and handing the other to Liz as soon as she had finished stretching and tacking the marmot--granite splinters, hammered into the tree with a piece

of firewood, served the function of tacks--Einar began stretching it, first one way and then the other, gently at first and then more forcefully, Liz imitating him and wondering when they were going to get around to making and applying the brain solution, and how they were supposed to heat and prepare it without the use of a fire. Which, as it turned out, Was not to be a concern, as Einar simply went on stretching and stretching his hide, finally pausing in exhaustion to set it aside and have a drink of water, shaking his head in disgust at his own weakness. Ought to be able tokeep at this until the things done, but Imsure not good for much today Ok. Water. Get some of it down--Liz offered him the berberine bottle, and he took a good swallow of that, too, knowing that he had to do whatever he could to keep on top of the inflammation in his foot, keep it from poisoning him--take a few breaths, get the hands to stop shakingseeming awful cold in here all of a sudden and thenyeah, there you go, open your eyes, being able to see what youre doing is a real good startthen get back to work. Which he did, seeing the worried gaze with which Liz was watching his struggle and quickly looking away, refusing to meet her eye lest she see something in him that would lead her to insist that he must lie down, try to sleep. Been doing too much of that today, as it is So, he took a deep breath, focused on getting the words out, controlling the shivers that had suddenly seized hold of him, idea with all this stretching is that it opens up the fibers in the hide, relaxes them andcauses them to soften, softens the hide, and if you can keep it up until the hides completely dry, youll end up with a nice flexible little hide thats a similar texture to braintan, with less work. Ive never tried it with anything bigger than a rabbitwell, did something kinda similar with a lynx, once, but had a wire cable to stretch it over as it driedso dont know if it would be very effective on larger critters. But its a good way to make pretty nice squirrel leather, soften up a rabbit hide, things like that. Sometimes Ive had the fur start to fall out from all the working when I do it this way, and then Ill just go ahead and scrape the fur loose with a knife, keep stretching the plain leather. Looks like the furs gonna stay in on these guys, which is good, because well probably want to be using them for mittens, socks, that sort of thing, maybe save the rabbit and add it to the other weve gotI can show you how to make a real soft, warm blanket for the little one, if we get enough of them. Ive read of some of the tribes around here sewing rabbit hides together something like a patchwork quilt and using the results for a sleeping robeis that what you have in mind for the baby? Would work, but no, the one I have in mind involves cutting the rabbit furs into strips-you cut them spiral-wise so you get one long strip out of each hide--and then weaving them together. Its something like crocheting, I think, which I dont know how to do, but I bet you mightnever made one of those, but Ive seen the results, and it makes an incredibly warm, soft blanket that would be just right for keeping a little one cozy in the winter. Blanket of that type big enough to be work like a robe by an adult is supposed to take fifty or so rabbit hides, so I figure with thirty, thirty five, we could make something that would keep the little one real warm, and be big enough for him to use for several years, too.

Liz nodded, liked the idea and could almost feel the incredible softness that one of those blankets would have, perfect for the little one, but was too concerned for Einar at the moment to give the concept her full attention, hearing in his voice that he was struggling hard to get his words out between shivers, teeth chattering furiously whenever he let his concentration lapse in the slightest. She draped the ewe hide around his shoulders, felt the side of his face and found that the fever had once again subsided, leaving him badly chilled in his sweat-dampened clothing. Got to do something about this That blanket will be perfect! And I think weve already got eight or ten rabbit hides set up there in the rafters, so weve already got a good start. For these hides that were doing right now, thoughwouldnt the drying process go more quickly if we were doing this out in the sun? How about moving out there in front of the cabin to finish the stretching. Well, we dontwant them toto dry lost his train of thought, huddled there for a few seconds trying to get it back again and attempting to breathe himself to stillness, suppress the shudders, but found the task somewhat beyond his reach just then. Right. Dont want the hides to dry too fast, or they wont end up as flexible, and he told her so, conceded, when she pressed the matter, that yes, seeing as the hides were so close to being dry already after all of their work, moving out into the sun probably wouldnt really hurt anything, and she helped him to do it, relieved when after a few minutes in the strong sunlight he seemed to be warming, hands a bit more coordinated and speech steadier. Sitting together in the sun and listening to the distant and unrelenting rumble of what seemed to be shaping up to be a major operation of some sort off in the distance and, closer to home, the whispering-water singing of the wind in the aspens, they finished the hides, stretching and pulling until they were thoroughly dry and, much to Lizs surprise and delight, quite soft.

Kilgore knew he had to get the timing right, just right, or the whole thing would have been for naught. Well, not naught, exactly, as any harassment and confusion he could bring to the enemy--for he had certainly begun thinking of them in those terms; one must, when one is about to .do the things he was about to do--served a useful purpose, consumed their resources and ate away at their morale, but in order for his efforts to have maximum effect, the results he had carefully and thoroughly planned, he must be very mindful of the timing. And it was not yet time.

Bud Kilgore had chosen the place carefully, the high rocky escarpment that held the mine entrance providing him a superior view of the surrounding country, the long, open slopes of rock with their stunted, mat-like patches of sub alpine fir and pine, creeping along more like groundcover than trees and providing little to no cover for approaching humans, the single narrow gully that represented the only concealed approach to the mine. The only one, at least, that did not involve a good hundred and fifty foot rappel down sheer bands of limestone and granite, a rappel he did not expect them to try, not

with their fugitive believed to be holed up and potentially well armed somewhere in the vicinity. Watching the gully mouth through his rifle scope when intercepted radio communications told him it was time to begin doing so he saw them, watched as they stealthily and quickly crossed the brief area of open rock between the timbered approach and the concealment of the gully, entered it and went on climbing. Quickly as they were moving--didnt want to be seen, and there was always a chance the fugitive had binoculars with him--the agents were not yet behaving like men who believed they were in range of their enemys weapons--eight hundred and fifty yards is a mighty long shot for an atlatl--a mistake that could have easily turned lethal for more than one of them, had not such action been counter to the intent of Buds plans. So, he let them come. Observed them for another minute or so, glanced casually at his watch--yep, any time now--and retreated into the darkness of the mine for a brief snack--sardines in mustard, a favorite--whistling an old tune, lighthearted and more relaxed than he could remember being for weeks. No turning back, now. And no turning back for the federal assault team, either. Even if they had wanted to. Kilgore, lying once more in the shelter of the overhanging rocks just beyond the mine entrance, saw them slow as they made their way up through the trees some six hundred yards below his position, one man and then another losing speed, stopping, some of them falling to the ground, others leaning on trees; something was definitely wrong. Nope, something definitely not going according to plan down there. Not their plan, anyway A brief listen to the radio confirmed his suspicions. It was to be a long day for the assault team. Seemed Bob had--according to Buds careful instructions--been doing the laundry A fine bit of public service.

The hides taken care of--Liz had begun stretching the rabbit while Einar, working more slowly despite his best attempts, finished his squirrel--they moved on to the meat, Einar thinking it wise to dry and save the squirrels and rabbits to add to their supply of jerky and anxious to show Liz one of his favorite methods for accomplishing this. They had so seldom in the past had an excess of food at times when they had taken small game that there were still a number of things he had never had the opportunity to demonstrate to her, and the fact that they were now in a position where each and every catch did not have to be immediately consumed simply in order to keep them going, alive, for another day, very nearly brought tears to his eyes. Blinking hard and briefly turning away, he handed Liz one of the squirrels, taking the other himself and laying it on a clean slab of granite near the firepit, that they had been using as a cutting board. Giving the creatures breastbone a sharp rap with his knife he broke it, opened up the ribs and spread the squirrel out flat on the rock, taking a rounded rock and lightly pounding the carcass to break up the bones. Liz watched, puzzled. What are you doing? Its already quite dead

Well I know the critters dead enough, but its not flat enough. Not yet. We want it to be flat, because the whole idea here is to dry each of these guys into a big piece of squirrel jerky, real handy to toss into a stew, later. Youve got to do just enough pounding to flatten them and open them up, and breaking up some of the bones makes them easier to use, later. You can just pound them to little pieces when the time comes to use them, and cook up bones and all for a more nutritious stew. Liz flattened the second squirrel, Einar watching, helping her with the rabbit and hanging the processed creatures from a bit of cordage that they had earlier stretched across the front of the cabin as a line for drying socks and other small items of clothing. The spot would receive several hours more of sunlight that day, and then, if all went well and they were able to have a fire that evening, the drying process could be hastened on its way above the warmth of the flames. Finished tending to the meat and hides and with several hours of sunlight still remaining in the day, Liz, appreciative to Einar for keeping his end of the bargain and remaining in the cabin--or at least near it; she saw what he had done with the piles of insulation along the outer walls--was not sure how to demonstrate her gratitude, sat down beside him and tossed the burlap sack in his lap. Are you up for a little spring beauty and lily root digging? Seeing how his eyes brightened at the prospect--and seeing, also, that he was beginning to grow cold again, the spot where he was sitting having grown shaded with the advancing day--she knew her suggestion had been the right one, helped Einar to his feet and steadied him as he hobbled over towards the semi-open aspen slope where he had earlier sat digging roots. Together they worked for a time, sitting in the sun and prying the small, starchy tidbits carefully from the soil, leaving behind as little disturbance as possible in the wake of their harvesting. Einar, glad to be feeling useful and working at first at a good pace soon began to grow overpoweringly sleepy as the suns warmth eased tense muscles and caused his head to droop, and he fought hard to stay awake just to let Liz see that he was able to do it. Which he was, if barely, finding himself--though ashamed to admit it--relieved when she insisted after an hour or so that it was time to return to the cabin and string up their harvest for drying, start preparing for the coming evening. As afternoon faded into a soft-skied, cloud-smeared evening, the distinctive whine of a number of smaller choppers added itself to the by-then ubiquitous murmur of the larger birds, the smaller traffic making a series of hasty trips back and forth to the site instead of hovering there as the others ones had been doing throughout the day, and once Liz, having climbed the rise above the cabin with binoculars after dissuading Einar with great difficulty from his determination to do so, caught a glimpse of what she was certain had to be the Med-Evac chopper out of Clear Springs.

Bob had never really minded doing laundry, had, in fact, taken to formulating his own laundry detergent--a mixture of soap flakes, washing soda and borax--sometime in the

recent past, disliking the strong odor and chemical brighteners present in most commercial detergents--make you more visible to anyone who might be prowling around with night vision goggles--but was certainly not used to doing the chore, and unpaid, too, for the entire FBI Hostage Rescue Team. He had been, then, somewhat taken aback at first when Bud Kilgore had diverted him from his far more glamorous tracking and decoy activities and put him on laundry duty. Briefing him on where and when to intercept the truck that made regular pickups and deliveries from the federal compound--the driver, as Bud had discovered over the course of several days surveillance, made a regular stop at the little caf at the edge of town for a cup of coffee and a fried egg sandwich after each run to pick up the agents dirty laundry--Bud had directed him to enter the truck, left unlocked, why lock a laundry truck? and exchange a number of soiled uniforms for the substitutes that Bud had, somehow, from somewhere, managed to obtain and provide to him. Simpler, Bob had thought, would have been to process the newly-obtained uniforms and take them to the truck the next day on its way back through town to the compound, exchanging them with the real ones, but Kilgore had nixed the idea, saying that while the employees who ran the industrial laundry operation might not notice that his decoy uniforms were less worn than the real ones, the agents likely would, spoiling the entire plan. They had to use the real thing. His initial uniform switching mission completed, Bob hurried to the spot--a longabandoned shed along a quiet stretch of highway--where Kilgore already had the laundry tub set up and ready to go, complete with line and clothespins to dry the stuff on when the job was done. Also present had been elbow-length rubber gloves, and strict instructions to avoid coming into contact with the laundry solution, advice which, unsure of the exact nature of the mix, Bob had observed with more than his usual caution. The job done, all that had remained--ha! All? This is the hardest part--was to intercept the truck once again on its return trip, exchanging the specially laundered set of uniforms for those that had been treated only to the standard detergent and water, a task which Bob had carried out without incident.

Darkness was approaching by the time Liz climbed down from the rocks above the cabin and returned to Einar, the air activity off in the distance seeming to have quieted down for the time, and a thin, sharp wind reminding her that all of her warm clothes remained in the big spruce outside the cabin where she had hung them after doing laundry in the creek. Hoping that her thorough reconnaissance of the cliffs--and the report she could give him on the air activity--would allow Einar to relax just a bit about the pressing need he felt to climb up there and make such observations, himself, Liz was anxious to return to him, pausing only briefly on her way down to collect a handful of dark green heartshaped mountain sorrel leaves from a sheltered rock cleft where they grew in abundance, tasting a little corner of one and enjoying its tangy, tingling flavor, reminiscent somehow of citrus. A few leaves only she ate, knowing that the plants tanginess was the result of its high concentration of oxalic acid, a tasty treat, but not something to be eaten in quantity, raw, as it could eventually begin irritating the kidneys. Cooked, the leaves

would make a wonderful, vitamin-rich addition to the marmot stew, a stew which she hoped to be able to convince Einar to eat a good portion of that night, as his seeming inability to eat a full meal since the work on the toes was really beginning to worry her. Hed come around, she supposed, once the pain subsided some, the general illness and fever that seemed to be related to the inflammation and possible infection that had set into the affected area. Well. The rest hed got that day could only help, and, as it was rapidly nearing dusk, she hurriedly finished the descent, growing very hungry, herself, and anxious to get the stew going. Einar, who not only had remained in the cabin during her absence but appeared to have slept through a good bit of it, too--not necessarily a good sign by Lizs reckoning, as she had learned from past experience that such docility on his part almost always meant that he had passed over into some pretty dangerous territory, finding himself either too physically exhausted or too delirious to do anything else--woke when she entered hauling himself upright and listening intently as she described the terrain atop the cliffs, detaining to him what she had seen of the air search from that high vantage. Puzzling over the details of what Liz told him, Einar wondered if the activity might possibly revolve around a search and rescue mission--lost hikers, climbing accident--that had nothing to do with them, hoped so, but knew in his gut that no such thing was likely to be the case. His instinct, hearing the continuing rumble as darkness settled over the basin, was to move on but he knew that there was no reason to do so, no evidence that their current location had been compromised in any way, figured the best thing was simply to stay where they were, lie low and keep a close eye on whatever was unfolding over on that far ridge, hope it came no closer to them. A plan with which Liz would have heartily agreed, had he mentioned to her the ongoing debate in his brain. He did not, though, and Liz, ready to begin preparing the stew, pulled from her pack the good-sized wad of sorrel leaves that she had gathered. Einar took an immediate interest, scooting closer and tasting one of the leaves. Sorrel! Good find. Havent seen much of it up here in the basin. You know, the Inuits used to gather a bunch of this stuff and ferment it to use over the winter, make something like sauerkraut out of it. If we could find enough, maybe we could try a similar sort of recipe, use a sheep stomach, deer stomach, whatever critter we get next--youll probably get it, not me, now that you have that bow--let the stomach bacteria be the starting culture for our sauerkraut Oh, stop it! She paused in her laundry folding to swat at him with a sock, pressing her stomach and shaking her head violently as if to clear it of the image That sounds awful! Little Hildegard says not to talk anymore about deer stomach-fermented sauerkraut untilwell, not for the next five months, anyway Einar, who had been going to make some wise retort about how they could ferment the stuff in the intestines, instead, if that suited her better, stopped, looked at her strangely and put his hands gently on her stomach, which had lately begun to show a noticeable bulge.

Five months. So youre almost halfway there. She nodded. Guess there are some things youll want to have ready for when the time comes, that rabbitskin blanket, some plants set aside to held with your bleeding, Im sure you have a lot of things in mind Yes, I have that list Susan gave me, the things she discussed with me while I was up there at her house afterthey arrested meand of course I got to be there when her most recent grandchild was born, too, so even though Ive never done this before, at least Ive seen it once Well, that makes two of us. Whove never given birth? Well I would say so! And who have been there to see the process. Once while I was over in the jungle he hesitated, reluctant to embark on the telling of a thing whose final details he might find it wisest not to revisit, even in his own mind, but supposing that the telling--at least of the first part, he could always stop after that--might be of some benefit to Liz just then, there was a Montagnard womanshed had trouble with the birth of her first child, the father said, had lost the baby and nearly her own life, too, and he wanted someone to be there for this onethe whole thing went against the customs of his people, my being there, his being there, even According to their tradition, the laboring woman is supposed to go out into the jungle by herself and not come back until a good week or so after the childs birth, but the father said he knew where shed gone, had been checking on her and could tell that something was wrong. I sort of knew him, could communicate pretty well with him, between his limited knowledge of English and the fact that I could speak his particular dialect reasonably fluently. Hed served as a scout for us a few times, and because Id patched him and a few of the others up when they needed it and handed out anti-malarials in the villageincluding the ones intended for me, sometimesthings made me so doggone sick, especially, an involuntary shudder at the memory, that experimental one they were using on some of us at the time, human guinea pigs without any say in the matter, and I skipped em whenever I could get away with it, whenever I wasnt being watchedsometimes theyd stand there and watch you take the pill, you knowbut anyhow, he had the idea that I could help his wife if she ran into trouble again. Which I wasnt so sure about, childbirth not exactly being the focus in any of those Battlefield Medicine coursesbut I went, because he trusted me and I knew how much it was costing him to go against his customs and come to me in the first place, over something like that. Seemed from what I could gather that his village had seen some Christian influence somewhere along the line, maybe as far back as the French missionaries that had started coming over there a hundred or so years prior, but theyd held onto a lot of the old customs, too, still had a shaman-type fellow there in the village that a lot of the people

looked to, and the husband made it real clear that the shaman wouldnt approve if he knew we were going up there to help her. Said hed come to me because hed seen how I moved out in the sticks, knew I could get up there without being detected or followed by anyone else from the village. Which, of course, I could, and did, and when we The story was cut short then by a distant, ground-shaking rumble, deep and far too sharp to have been thunder, that sent Einar hurrying for the door at a fast scramble.

The blast seemed to have been a singular occurrence, no second or third following it as Einar stood rigidly listening in the darkened doorway, and after a time Liz came to him, took his arm and eased open the death grip he had on the cabin post, hanging there by his hands to keep from falling, guided him back inside. Come sit down, Einar, and eatit was a long way off. Whatever it was. Blast, thats what it was, and a big one. Right over there where those choppers have been focusing, too, Id say. Something big going down over there. Andyoud like to go see what it is, wouldnt you? He snorted. Ha! Well of course I would! Not planning to attempt any such thing, though. Not now. Best to stay away from all such activity if we can. When we can. Sure would like to know what the story is, though. Might be relevant to us, in one way or another. As he spoke Liz had been retrieving the stew pot, which she had placed down in the coals of their fire--hastily extinguished by Einar at the sound of the blast--to finish simmering, and she sat beside him, felt around until she found a candle and lit it, wanting a bit of light and doubting that he would think it wise to rekindle the fire just then. Which, when she asked, he definitely did not, didnt even like the candle, but had to admit that unless they had aircraft hovering directly over the cabin, it posed them little danger. The stew was ready, smelled wonderful when Liz took off the lid, but Einar didnt appear particularly inclined to eat, staring off into the shadowy corners of the cabin with his ears almost visibly pricked forward in search of any further sounds. But there was nothing. Hungry, Liz started in on the dinner without him and he soon joined her, finding his appetite when he tasted the stuff. She could tell, though, that he was antsy after that blast, would have liked to be up and prowling around outside, and she very much wanted to keep him there, fill him with stew and see if the two of them couldnt get some sleep, and she pressed the pot into his hands, nearly burning him with its coal-heated intensity, but most definitely getting his full attention. Alright! Success. Have to remember this one Einar, suddenly beset by the hot stew pot, was juggling it back and forth from one hand to the other in a manner which would have been comical had it not involved a rather desperate struggle to find a balance between scorching his hands and spilling their dinner, preservation of the dinner clearly taking first priority. At last he got the thing under

control and set it down, pressed reddened palms to the cool earth for a moment and shot Liz an odd look before accepting the spoon she was holding out to him, the two of them sharing the meal, both, as it turned out, ravenously hungry once they got started. Filled, satisfied, they sat together and scraped the last bits of broth from the pot a few minutes later, sleepy, close to dozing, and Liz perhaps ought to have left it that way, crept over to the bed and hoped Einar would follow her, but her mind was on the story he had earlier begun, and curiosity got the better of her. The Montagnard woman and her baby--what happened to them? Did you ever find her? He shifted, leaned back, hands behind his head. Well, it took us a good hour to get there--that girl had really hidden herself well, holed up under this little overhang way up on the hill above the village--and she didnt look so good, real worn out and in some distress, probably dehydrated from that long walk, I thought after I examined her, so I gave her a couple of salt tablets and got her husband to talk her into drinking a bunch of water. Apparently that was against the custom of the day, too, but she did it. That was all I knew to do, and I felt so helpless because I could tell that they were counting on me being able to make things work out right, butwell, after all that water and the salt things seemed to start going a little smoother for her, and as I watched, I came to realize that while I might not know what to do, she certainly did, her body did, if not her mind, seems the mind can really get in the way sometimes with things like thatso I just sat there and kept giving her water while she labored, and then the time came and she got up into a squat, husband had to help her because she was so worn out by that point, and he was afraid to do it for some reason, was afraid to touch her so I practically shoved him over there and told him to support her, you know, get his arms under her shoulders and hold her up so she could squat like she seemed to want to do, and he did, and what seemed like only a couple minutes later I ended up catching that baby because nobody else looked inclined to do so, brought it up and handed it to her. Little girl child, real quiet for a minute but then she started wiggling around, let out this little cry, the mother started trying to nurse her, and we knew she was going to be fine We left pretty soon after that, both of us, so she could have her ten days alone there with the little one, and as far as I know, nobody else at the village ever knew wed been up there with her. Must not have, because if theyd found out, particularly the shaman...well, to say I wouldnt have been welcome there anymore would be quite the understatementand that would have seriously jeopardized the work we had been doing with them, got me in an awful lot of hot water with my superiors, but nothing ever came of it. After thatwell, a couple years after that, when I was back in the States, I made a point of learning what I could about the birthing process--even attended the birth of the child of some acquaintances who wanted a couple folks there to help out--didnt want to end up in a situation like that again, with no idea of what to do. Though of course, occasion never came up after that to use what I had learned, not till now, and a big part of what I learned revolved, anyway, around the fact that a womans body was made to do this--give birth--

and a lot of times the best thing a person can do is to leave her be, not talk too much and make her start doubting that her body knows what to do. So. Youll know what to do. Im sure of it. But if you need any help...yeah, Im here to help you. Both of you. Been there before. The woman and her baby--did you ever see them again after that? He shook his head, eyes growing dark, wanted badly to ignore her question but didnt really see any way around it. Yeah, I saw them again. Just about a year later we were returning from a raid, the husband had guided us again and as we approached the village he blew a great breath of air out through his nose, trying to rid himself of the lingering odor of that thick black smoke, smoldering bamboo and chicken excrement and the stench of charred flesh, but it didnt work. Never worked. NVA must have come in right behind us, we figured, shortly after wed left the morning beforewe knew something was seriously wrong as soon as we rounded the shoulder of the hill and could see across a little open area, and when we finally secured the place and went down there-our guide, the husband, had gone running in as soon as he saw that smoke--it was to find that not one of those villagers had been left alive. Or un-burnt. Not one. Mostly old women, young mothersand kids. The father was sitting there under the remains of his burnt out hut with that little babywhat was left of her, in his arms and wetried to get him to come with us, but he wouldnt Never did see him again after that or hear what became of him, but its not too hard to imagine. That was it, the end of the story, no redemption, no last minute turnaround or final hopeful detail to mitigate the horror of the thing, just the end, and Liz ached for him, watched as he sat stone-faced and hollow-eyed in the glow of the single candle, wanted to hold him but didnt know if she ought to try, and then he rose, hobbled outside and disappeared into the darkness. She let him alone, but not for long, taking the two cured hides and blowing out the candle, stepping out into the night, standing there still and silent, searching, listening, seeking him but seeing nothing, hearing only the sigh of the breeze, empty, immensely forlorn as it sighed through the rocks. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the night, dazzle of the candle-glow fading from before them and after a time she saw him, hunched and huddled on a fragmented hulk of granite, tumbled ruin calved in past times from the cliffs above, standing stark and alone in the starlight at the edge of the aspens, unapproachable. But she went anyway, draped the ewe hide around his shoulders before the thin chill of the night could pierce any more deeply, stood there silent until finally he slid stiffly down from his perch on the rock, took her and led her back to the cabin. They fell asleep curled together there beneath the shelter of the rooflogs, Einar with his arms around her, hands placed protectively over the gentle childswell of her belly as the aspens sang softly outside, rush of the strengthening wind soughing through the spruces and nearly drowning out the distant rotor-drone as a weather front began moving in.

Eight hours. It had taken them eight hours to climb up those last three hundred yards of

rocky gully. The assault plan had been debated and discussed in the days leading up to the action and finally, all of the details in place, thoroughly rehearsed, but the plan had not taken into account the possibility that a good half of the agents involved might begin suffering from severe nosebleeds, facial bruising and, in a few cases, rapidly fatal brain or internal hemorrhage not even halfway into the mission. That sort of thing does tend to rapidly alter even the most well-rehearsed of plans

With the storm moving in sometime shortly after Einar and Liz finally dropped off to sleep, their night was a quiet one, aircraft-wise, wind ripping through the spruces and once, sometime past midnight, toppling an aspen whose roots had a less firmlyestablished hold in the thin, rocky soil of the little plateau. Einar, having been startled to a sudden wakefulness by the nearby crash of splintering wood, scrambled to the door, spear in hand and eyes searching the by-then rainy darkness for the source of the commotion, even as his mind told him that he already knew what it had been. Aspens, with their shallow root systems and soft wood, were notorious for giving way to a sharp wind and tumbling to the earth, sometimes, if hit just right by the force of the storm, even shearing off mid-height. Which, he thought to himself, often left behind the most wonderful series of pre-splintered kindling sticks, jutting up like the quills of a porcupine from the remaining stump. Irrelevant at the moment, Einar, cause those sticks are bound to be soaking wet by now, if there are any, and besides, youve already got a good bit of dry kindling and firewood stacked up here in the corner of the cabin. A good thing, too, because now I figure its safe for us to have a fire, and as chilly as its getting, were probably gonna want one by the time morning comes. Liz will like being able to have a hot breakfast. He shivered, hobbled back to her and to the warm hides that had been providing a level of shelter and protection that he had over the past month grown entirely unused to, crawled back in and returned quickly to sleep, the storm-sounds outside giving steady reassurance. Several more times during the dark hours Einar was awakened by the clamor of spruces clacking hollowly together in the wind, the occasional snap and thud as a large branch was blown loose and dropped to the ground, and though each time he felt the familiar need to hurry up and check on the source of the noises, he was able to keep still, allow the urge to pass and once again sleep. An uncommon achievement for him, and a great blessing, too, as badly as his body had over the past several days come to need the rest. Morning came dull and grey and dripping, Einars first clue that it had arrived coming in the form of Liz standing over the little fire that she had kindled just inside the cabin entrance, its flickering orange having already gone a long way towards driving back the raw, damp chill that had settled over the basin. Rolling out of the hides, he crept over to join her, heavy-eyed and a bit irritated at himself for sleeping so soundly as to have not been awakened by her stirring about the cabin, Liz seemed pleased about the fact, offered him a pot of tea which he took, cautious, remembering--palms still tender--the nearscalding hed had the evening before from a similar pot. No such intention on Lizs part, this time, the pot being a comfortable temperature and the tea--spruce needle, quite strong, sweetened with a few drops of their precious box elder syrup, and he wondered

why shed made it, knowing that it was something she had herself been avoiding during the pregnancy--went a long way towards shaking the remnants of sleep from weary eyes and the pervasive cold of the night from his bones. He nodded his thanks, glad to see that she had her own pot heating on the flat rock that was serving as cooking surface, a tea of raspberry leaf and nettle. Quite the storm out there. Guess it will have got on the way of whatever all those choppers were doing. Good thing. Yes, good for usbut with all those flights by the Med-Evacwell, it looked more like a major rescue of some sort than part of the search. Einar shook his head. No. Well, search that turned into a rescue, maybewho knows what that blast was about? But with all that heavy military stuff they were using yesterday morningsmelled like major search operation to me. Searching for us. More hardware than theyd brought in for a lost hiker or fallen climber or two. Well, its over for now, anyway, not much happening at all out there with a downpour like this, and besides, it wasnt anywhere near us. Or anyplace where weve spent time, as far as I could tell. He couldnt disagree, still didnt like the unexplained frenzy of activity--and the fact that he lacked the ability, at the moment, to come up with an explanation for it--but found the cessation of that activity and constant noise to be a tremendous relief, found himself accepting without too much resistance the second half of Lizs exposition, implied though not stated, which was something to the effect of therefore we can relax and stay in the cabin for the day, keep warm and dry, enjoy the sound of the rain in the trees and finally get things organized around here. Shaking his head, he looked up, grinned at her, only to find her already busying about the cabin, apparently quite happy at the prospect of a rainy day spent inside. Up on Einar and Lizs little plateau that morning the rain continued in a scouring, pounding deluge, basin sizzling from time to time with lightning that seemed nearly atop them, thunder splitting the sky almost simultaneously with the electrical crackling, and even Einar had to admit a certain gratitude for the secure, so-far water resistant shelter of the cabin. Through the morning they kept a small fire burning, warming the place and providing light to what would have otherwise been a rather dreary interior, all fear of detection having been erased, for the time, by the storm. Once hed got over his initial desire to go out wandering in the rain--isnt that just like him? Cant stand to waste a good opportunity to end up soaked and freezing, and shed been about to use the rabbit stick on him, had he not come to the decision on his own that it was probably wisest to remain inside for the moment, considering the circumstances--Einar busied himself tending to the axe, which, though roughly and adequately handled with a sturdy spruce limb, certainly needed some use in order to remain ready for more action. The handle had loosened some as it dried, wobbled a bit when he tried it, and, not wishing to have to soak it overnight before each use, he began melting a bit of pitch over the fire. Using a

split leg bone from the bighorn, he set a good bit of pitch to liquefy, grinding, while it softened, several lumps of charcoal into a fine black powder. Next he scrounged around on the floor of the cabin until he came up with a small handful of dry grass, crunchy to the touch, which he began wading up and crumbling in his fingers. Liz, hard at work organizing their possessions, hanging what could be hung from the beams in order to give them more floor space, paused then just long enough to grow curious, stopped beside him. What are you cooking up, if I dare ask? Ha! Supper Which wasnt a very helpful answer, and he knew it, but Liz took it well, proclaiming that she preferred having just a bit more of the charcoal in hers, in that case, as it gave the stuff the most wonderful licorice flavor, at which Einar laughed and shook his head, pulled her down beside him. Here, Ill show you. Need to secure this axe head better, so it doesntwellfly off the handle, as the expression goes, next time we try and use it. Making some glue, here, which Ill pour in around the head to help hold it. Handles a pretty good fit, but I dont want it shrinking and possibly getting a little looser if we have a real dry spell. Not that its ever real humid here, except during an actual rainstorm like weve got this morning. So. Im melting the pitch--we need to be keeping an eye out for good quantities of it whenever were out and about, collecting and storing it in here, has so many uses--and have ground up the charcoal. All thats left is to finish pulverizing this grass, and you can help me if youd like. Those two things help strengthen the glue and make it less prone to melting out of place with the slightest heat. I like a mix of five parts pitch to one of charcoal and one of grass, or something thereabouts. You can use almost any dried plant for a binder, really, if you powder it up fine enough. Dried yarrow would work real well because its so fine to begin with, but I dont want to use our supply for this, not when the grass is available. Ive even had success using real old, dry, weather-softened deer or elk droppings--theyre just chopped-up, processed grass, after all--pounding them to a powder and adding them to the mix. Checking the state of the pitch--quite liquid, but not yet beginning to bubble or smoke, a good thing--Einar quickly upended the half-bone that contained it, pouring the sticky stuff onto the small pile of mixed grass fragments and charcoal dust, hastily stirring with a stick and then with his fingers until the mixture took on a uniform tone and texture, stretching and depositing the large glob back into the bone for re-softening before dripping it into the slight gaps between axe head and handle. A necessary project thoroughly completed, and, to Einars satisfaction, before the day was too far advanced. Which meant that the time had come--Liz had been pestering him about it since they woke, and he knew she was right, knew hed better stop trying to come up with reasons to delay it--to tend to his foot, change dressings and wash it in berberine, hoping that it might look even slightly better that morning than it had, the one before. Their dead and dying evacuated--acute anticoagulant poisoning of some type was the early verdict, but it was to be hours before anyone knew the cause or extent of it, and by

then, well over half of the force not initially evacuated would have begun showing rapidly worsening symptoms and succumbed to its ravages--the assault on the fugitives position went on, all hope of surprise having been wiped out by the steady stream of rescue choppers that had been touching down in the small meadow at the base of the rise. Didnt matter. He had probably been onto them already, the AIC surmised, with all the scouting and FLIR flights theyd been sending over the area for the past day and a half, and yet he had not seemed inclined to move. Not very far, anyway. Had kept himself just out of sight within that mine entrance, his heat signature--monitored now by satellite for uninterrupted, round-the-clock viewing--on occasion disappearing for a few minutes into the deeper recesses of the rocky enclave, but always reappearing. The AIC believed their subject must be seriously injured, incapacitated, or nearly so--probably hurt himself and is now in the last stages of starvation or infection, either that, or hes simply lost the will to live and is holed up in there waiting for the end--considering the fact that he had made no apparent effort to either leave the area or strike out at the circling, hovering scout choppers. Not like him. Something has changed. Something related, no doubt, to the extreme recklessness hes been demonstrating in those midnight raids on our compound, the overt and highly uncharacteristic act of somehow--he shuddered, tried to find some reassurance in the fact that his clotting factors had, as of half an hour ago, at least, tested normal-poisoning half my agents and then disappearing up the mountain to wait for us. No accident, either, this timing. However he did it, he set it up so that the poison would take two days to work its way through their systems, show up just as we were headed up that mountain after him. He shook his head furiously, half-crazy with the puzzle of it, the level of control and planning such a scheme would imply, the seemingly irreconcilable dichotomy between a man capable of pulling off such an operation, and the reckless, almost suicidal-seeming fugitive who had, apparently having ceased to care any more about his continued life or freedom, been showing up at random times on their very doorstep over the course of the past two weeks to pull childish pranks and commit minor cases of arson. Something was not making sense, and even as the AIC gave the order to go ahead with the assault--couldnt give him any more time to slip away, that heat signature was still showing just inside the mine, and they had to go for it--a little prickle of dread crawled up his backbone to tell him he was wrong, the whole thing was wrong; theyd been had. Too late to call it off, though, and then, watching from his mobile command center on the adjacent ridge--the compound had been evacuated pending further notice as a hazmat team scoured it for the source of a poison which they had by then, word having just come over the radio, determined to be warfarin, and a little chill of remembrance went through him at the mention, an immediate and soon-to-be confirmed suspicion as to just how the poison had been introduced--he saw the agents approach, simultaneous assault from below and, brave souls decked out in SWAT gear rappelling in from the cliffs, above, had waited, monitoring communications as the entrance was painstakingly searched, swept, cleared for explosives, and the team moved in, the heat signature having finally disappeared from view as theyd made the final climb. From his high perch hes seen them give the all clear, watched as the second team entered, others joining from below to

cluster around the entrance, crowding onto the narrow ledge of fairly level ground that fronted it, glad to be off the steep instability of the rock below, had been treated to frontrow seating as the ledge suddenly sheared away and tumbled down, breaking, shattering amongst a great cloud of smoke and rock dust, the dull, sickening thud from inside the mine coming as an almost-simultaneous event, and, storm moving in as a major rescue operation got underway, it was to be late the next morning before anyone noticed the elaborate charcoal-etching just inside what was left of the ruined mine entrance, perfectly preserved as its author had foreseen in his careful choosing of its location. Pacing back and forth in the ridge-perched wall tent that they were using as a mobile command center, the AIC took a bit of bitter comfort in the knowledge that, though it had cost them dearly, more dearly than they could even yet hope to know, the operation had, in one sense, definitely been a success. The mine had no rear entrance, no air shaft to act as escape hatch for a wily fugitive; he and his men had checked, both in studying old maps and, cautiously, quietly but thoroughly, on the ground.

Einars foot, when they removed the dressings and checked, was looking slightly less aggravated than it had the evening before--staying mostly off his feet and in the cabin had, apparently, been a helpful step to take, and he supposed hed better try and keep it up for a few days, if circumstances allowed--but the wound, oozing, inflamed and starting to turn a distinctly frightening color, still showed little sign of closing, its edges shriveled and dried and the entire end of the foot somewhat swollen. Not good, but he wasnt sure what more to do for it, accepted Lizs offer to bathe the area in berberine and change the dressings, lacking a better idea. Leaning back against the cabin post as she worked as gently as possible to carry out the task and putting all of his focus into keeping himself from jumping up to get away from her, shouting, striking out as he felt almost compelled to do, Einar closed his eyes and tried to think, realizing that his judgment over the past several days had been clouded, to put it mildly, when it came to dealing with the foot. If there had been any doubt as to the origin of the fever that had plagued him off-and-on during those days--and which he could feel out there lurking just beyond the edge of sight, ready to creep in and pounce again, drag him down--such no longer existed. In real trouble here with the foot, or about to be. Need something else to wash the thing in, something thatll be stronger or at least different than the berberine, because its just not doing the job anymore, and he told Liz so in the reluctant hope that she would be able to think of something that he, in his fever-fog, had forgotten, some other plant or procedure to try. Which, pausing mid-wrap on the new dressings and pondering for a moment, she did. Why not hounds tongue? We made a poultice of it before, I remember, because you said it was better than almost anything at stimulating healthy cell growth--like comfrey-and also contains something that fights infection. You told me it would sometimes even work to stop the spread of gangrene. Not, she was almost too quick to add, and Einar noticed, that youve got anything like that going on here, but still

Yeah, he nodded, just might be the thing, only it doesnt grow up this high. Good thousand feet lower wed have hope of finding some--ha! Pretty funny, because the ranchers all treat it as a noxious weed and work to exterminate it, because of the burs and the fact that it can poison cows and horses, and here we are talking about how we might acquire it--but very little chance, up here. Ill go after it. I know my way around pretty well by now, and Ill leave right away, if No. Not with all that activity over there this morning, and us not knowing whats going on. Not the time to be wandering like that, especially not down lower where the chances of meeting other people are But thats why I have to go right now! While its still raining. Nothings in the air right now, and who in their right mind would be out hiking in a storm like this, right? So that makes it ideal. Ill just head down to the meadow below the waterfall, find some hounds tongue and climb straight back up here before the storm has a chance to break up. Or if you think its a better idea, I could go down right over the edge at the bottom of the basin down below the tarn, follow that creek down to the valley where you said well be trapping beavers, this winter. That should be low enough, right? Probably. Lets give it a day, though, see if the foot turns around, give those fellows over on the far ridge time to either give up on whatever it was they were doing and go home, or ramp up the activity to a degree that tells us without doubt that we shouldnt be wandering around making tracks for anyone to spot, and then make a decision. Liz reluctantly agreed, silently resolving to keep a close watch on the foot--and Einar, himself--that day, and try again to persuade him if it appeared things were taking a turn for the worse. Which, by midday, they definitely were, though Einar tried very hard to conceal the fact, keeping himself busy with his arrow and dart-making project and trying his best to stay out of Lizs way as she mixed and applied additional coats of mud-spruce needle mortar to the inside walls, wanting to fill cracks and further windproof the place.

As soon as the AIC saw the photos that had been taken of the etchings discovered, somewhat shrapnel-scarred, but still discernible, just inside the remains of the mine, it was clear to him what he was looking at, and the sight confirmed his theory. One of his theories. The one about the girl. The portrait was unmistakable, executed in great detail and with obvious care, her face seeming to come to life there on the smooth surface of the rock, no inscription added to clarify its meaning, but none was needed; the message had already been delivered, loud, clear and still echoing in his ears. He could picture, when he closed his eyes, the fugitives final days there in the mine, endless hours spent carefully crafting that portrait, a man in mourning, having just lost, perhaps--it was all conjecture, but the profilers had agreed with him when he put the question to them--the only thing he had really cared about, striving to be close to her one more time even as he

prepared for his own death. And for those of the men who were coming after him, and the AIC wondered, as he had wondered a thousand times since the incident, where the fugitive had managed to get his hands on so large a supply of high explosives, for the job had been done well, from a technical perspective, perhaps even overdone, and he knew theyd get their answer over the coming weeks, an answer, or something close to it, as the explosive residue was collected, analyzed and traced, but for the moment, all such conjecture was close to useless. The man could have got it almost anywhere, from a cache laid years ago, a sympathetic friend in town, could--have to make sure we check on that right away--have broken into their secure facility at some point and stolen it from right under their noses, for all he knew. Doubted it, but Asmundson had more than once proven himself more than clever enough to pull off such an action, and probably, the AIC told himself, would have thought it the ultimate irony to do in so many of his agents with their own stash of goods. Well, how did you think it was going to end? His actions over the last few weeks have been building to this, hes been searching, considering, trying to decide how he wanted to end it, and when he finally settled on a waywell, his messages never have left any room for doubt. Yet, the AIC doubted. Had to doubt, at least until a body--or, more likely, fragments of one--was found, and to that end he welcomed the arrival of the cadaver dogs that had been shipped in to supplement the work then being done by local and federal search and rescue teams. It would take days to fully excavate the place, blasting and stabilizing as they went, very tricky work--he had already enlisted the help of earthquake and mine rescue specialists--but they would complete the task, would recover, in addition to the bodies of the four agents who were still missing, that of the fugitive. Or, in the absence of such confirmation, would continue the search.

Having worked through that rainy morning in the cabin with Einar and watched his steady decline as the fever once more took hold, the foot obviously paining him more and more, Liz knew that something had to be done, some further treatment that would hopefully stop the growing inflammation and allow the wound to begin healing. The hounds tongue they had earlier spoken of seemed the best option, and when she brought the matter up to him again--would have simply gone, but didnt want to do so without his agreement lest he attempt to follow her with potentially disastrous results--he just stared at her for a few moments with strange, fever-glazed eyes and nodded, have to try something, and I sure cant make the trip myself right now rolled with difficulty to his stomach and propped himself up on unsteady elbows, gulping water in the hopes of cooling himself sufficiently to get a few coherent sentences out. Here. Take the hides. And my sweater. Wrap them up real good, put them at the bottom of the pack and they should stay mostly dry for when you need them. Youre gonna get soaked, and its not warm out there. If yourereally gonna do this, better head down towards the valley with the beaver creek. Just drop down over the edge of the basin below the little tarn, keep to that heavy timber. Your trail will be more concealed that way, protected some from the rain, and--I hope--by going that way you might avoid

the sections of steep rocky climbing that youd have had to descend if you go all the way down to the meadow below the waterfall At which he let his head rest once more on the floor as if exhausted with the effort of so much speech, not far from the truth, Liz was sure. She rolled up and stashed in her pack the deer hide but left him over his protests that of the ewe, made sure there was plenty of wood stacked up beside the fire and that the stew pot and water jars were all full, or nearly so, and took her leave after repeated assurances on Einars part that he had no intention of leaving the cabin in her absence. Watching as she walked swiftly out into the rain, heading for the relative shelter of the timber and moving as if she had a definite mission and a set timeframe within which to accomplish it, Einar hauled himself upright and gathered his dart-making supplies, intent on putting the time to good use. As the day wore on he began having more and more trouble staying awake, eating whenever he could a few bites from the pot of stew Liz had left him, but finding himself after each little meal almost overwhelmingly sleepy, didnt like it, struggled to stay awake and focus on his dart-making. Finally though, eyes heavy and hands hardly steady enough to do the precision work required by the darts he stopped fighting the weariness, lay there listening to the rain on the trees outside and dozing, waking to eat a few more bites whenever his hunger crept in again and got the best of him, his body thus beginning to get the combination of food and rest that it had been so badly needing to start repairing itself. Some time later, after a particularly long nap, Einar woke to a dead fire, dusky-looking rain-drear outside the cabin and the sound of dripping water--pervasive, never ending, and it had been intruding on his dreams, turning them in directions he did not want to go, so that waking was a blessed relief--foot throbbing as if it was trying to split open, and for a time he lay there tying to ignore it all, to drift somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, but he could not do it with that foot gnawing at him, finally sat up and got a drink of water for his papery-dry mouth, peered outside. He had, it seemed, been wrong in thinking that dusk had arrived, the dimness appearing to be a product of a particularly low bank of cloud that had found its way over the basin to hang low and rain-promising, a sky-splitting sizzle of lightening rending the world as he watched, its near-simultaneous roar of thunder opening the floodgates. A few degrees colder, and the moisture could well have been falling as snow. Hope youre in under some trees right now, Lizzie. Dont know what I was thinking, sending you out in this mess. Thinking you were going to lose the foot if you didnt, thats what, and besides, you didnt send her, she chose to go. Probably couldnt have stopped her if youd tried. And he sat there silent for a good while, a heavy darkness pressing around him as he allowed himself for the first time to think seriously about the possibility of losing that foot, wondering about his chances of making it through something like that and having to admit that that, in his present condition, they were slim to none. His blood was already far too depleted to handle another serious loss such as would almost certainly come with such an operation, even if done correctly, and considering the fact that, even if he managed to make it through the blood loss, he would still face the very serious prospect of

succumbing to infection as so many had after amputations during the War Between the Stateswell, hed probably be better off just wandering up the ridge and living out his last few days there, sparing Liz the horror of having to do the operation, only to lose him anyway. But at least these days we know that youre supposed to boil instruments, keep everything sterileor try to. Easier said than done out here, sometimes. You have to resort to anything like that, Einar, and youre almost certainly dead. Not to mention the fact that even if you did somehow manage to live through the thing, youd be off your feet--foot-for weeks, maybe months, right at a time when Liz is gonna need to be focusing more and more on the coming of the little one. Got to fight this, just got to keep fighting, and Shook his head, let it rest exhaustedly on his knee, boy, I sure am out of ideas, though. And, had he been capable of admitting it to himself, very nearly out of the strength to go on with the struggle, too, both physical and mental. Was pretty badly worn out. Need Your help awful bad right now if You could justwell, I cant seem to do this one on my own, probably been in the wrong for trying, but its all I know how to do sometimes. Isnt working anymore, and if Youre willing, I sure do need to be here for Liz and the little one, so He threw up his hands, feeling suddenly very foolish at the realization--might have called it a revelation, even, had he stopped to consider its nature--that his answer had been in front of him all the time, and he doing his level best to make sure he kept her at a distance when all she wanted to do was improve things for both of them. So how about you try and let her, hey? I know its harder for you to do that than to lie here and die a slow, painful death of progressive foot rot because you refuse to keep off the thing, but for her sake, and the little onewell, youre just gonna have to make the effort. Got it? Which he was pretty sure he had, could, it seemed, start by doing something other than huddling there in the dark, damp chill of the fireless cabin--no wonder youre not feeling real hopeful right nowsometimes I have to wonder how you make it though the day, as little sense as you seem to havenot good--and he shook himself, broke kindling for a fire and got it going, shivering over its cheerful warmth for a few minutes and knowing that though he could do little to help Liz on her rainy quest, he could at least prepare a good warm cabin to welcome her, some hot water for tea and--seeing as he glanced into the pot that he had managed to consume a fair portion of the stew with all of his snacking--a fresh pot of dinner-stew. Filling both pots with water and setting them near the flames to heat, Einar broke several strips of bighorn jerky into one of them, adding a handful of dried nettle leaves and several avalanche lily bulbs from the stash he and Liz had set aside the day before, supposing that the mixture would make a fine, filling supper. If only he had someone to share it with, which, the sky definitely beginning to dim with evening now and the rain continuing unabated, he did not, stared worriedly up at the glowering sky, strained his ears for the soft, damp-needle sounds that would herald Lizs return, but heard only the wind, the hushed pattering of rain on the spruces.

It was dark outside. Dark, and growing colder as the last vestiges of cloud-filtered daylight oozed away behind the horizon, and Einar sat close to the fire, shaking with fever and feeling like stripping down, lying on the muddy ground outside the cabin and letting the icy rain wash over him for a while, but knowing that he had better try nothing of the sort, lest he fall asleep out there and end up into some real trouble. Like youre not already in troublebetter wash that foot. Dont have the hounds tongue yet but we do have a few Oregon grape roots left, them, and a little of the berberine Liz had already boiled up before, so I can make some more to add to that, and wash the thing. Sure cant hurt. And he set about making the preparations, plagued all the while by the thought that something must have gone wrong with Lizs journey, something intervening to delay her, and though it seemed wrong that he ought to be spending time on anything but attempting to figure out what that might be, and how he could go to her aid, should she need it, he knew that realistically, he would be fit to do nothing of the kind if he did not do all he could to take care of the foot. Though determined to treat the foot, he saw, breaking up the remaining Oregon grape roots and pouring water over them, that between the fresh batch of stew and the full jar of berberine water he intended to prepare, that he had nearly used up their supply of drinking water, but knew that the foot had to be a priority, even if it meant he would have nothing to drink later in the evening. With this rain though, theres no reason why I have to choose between washing the foot and staying hydrated, can just he took both of the empty water jars, set one where the steady drip, drip from the end of an overhanging branch had begun creating a small pit in the soil, the other beside it, collect rain as it falls, wont add up too quickly, but then I shouldnt need to be drinking too much, either, lying around like I am. Which ordinarily would have been true, but he knew that his intermittently elevated body temperature and accompanying faster breathing rate was requiring that he consume more fluids simply to avoid getting behind, putting him in real potential danger if Liz remained gone forfor the night, just go ahead and say it, because you know its a real possibilityand he with no way to get his hands on a good supply of water. Well. Springs not all that far away if things start to get critical. I could make it there, even if at a crawl. And got plenty right now anyway, because I wont need all this berberine for the foot, and had better be drinking some of it, just in case its antibiotic action, internally, is still having any impact on the foot. Carefully removing his bandages as the water heated, Einar set them aside--wanted to boil the cloth strips that were being used to wrap everything in place, but didnt have any water to waste, at the moment--thinking it might do the foot some good to be exposed to the air and the warmth of the flames for a time. By the time he got his breath back and was able to focus again after bathing the wound, the stew had been simmering for some time and he was, in spite of himself, beginning to feel a bit hungry, took an experimental sip and then, when it did not seem particularly inclined to come up again, another, stopping when he had consumed the contents of a good quarter of the pot. Beginning to grow terribly sleepy again he rolled up in the hides and lay there listening to the weather, wondering again about Liz and considering half seriously heading out in an attempt to reconstruct her trail, try to find her, as something clearly must not have gone according to

plan with her quick trip down to lower ground after that hounds tongue, but he knew that such would likely only complicate things, especially if she was not in any trouble but had--the most likely scenario, it seemed to him--simply found a sheltered spot down there and decided to hole up for the night. Just give her some time. And try to sleep. Cause if shes not back by morning you really may have to go out looking for her, and if it comes to that, youre going to need all the energy you can scrape together. Sleep, though, was a thing easier conceived of than attained for him that night, first because of the cold that, fever ebbing once again, seemed to be pressing in all around him, finding its way through his sweater and the hide he lay wrapped in to grip his weary body in iron teeth, clamping and shaking as if to rattle the very life from his bones, and unable to free himself of its grip he rose, crept back over to the fire and huddled there beside it, taking occasional bites from the stewpot--thats what you need, energy. Body runs out of it halfway through the night and has nothing to draw on the keep your temperature from dropping; only thing keeping you warm these past couple of weeks is the fact that shes been in the bed with you. Ridiculous, but true--and waiting for a few rocks to heat so he could wrap them up with him in the hide. Retreating once more to his bed of fir boughs, hot rocks pressed between knees and palms and at the small of his back he at last managed a good hours restless slumber, only to wake near the end of it covered in sweat, mouth feeling so dry that he could hardly get it open--fevers back, sure hope this things doing its job, but feels more like its trying to do me in--and when he went in search of a drink, it was to find that he had apparently consumed most of the remaining water in his sleep. How a man could manage to gulp down that scaldingly bitter berberine in his sleep without waking in alarm and disgust was quite beyond him but it appeared he had done it, sprawled there for a minute of confused dismay listening to the tortuous pattering of the rain-sounds outside--all that water, and no way to reach itisnt that the way it always goes?--before remembering that he could, indeed, reach the water if he wanted to, had even placed jars out there to collect it, and creeping over to the door he pulled them inside and gulped down their contents, disappointed to discover that while the jar he had placed beneath the dripping branch-end contained a good swallow or two, the other had remained nearly empty, leaving him quickly in possession of two empty jars and a still-raging thirst, and he very nearly made the decision then to set out crawling for the spring, but made himself wait, shell be back soon, and you can always set the jars back out there and let them collect more water, if you cant wait for that, which is what he did, lying there on his stomach and listening as the jars slowly began accumulating water, drip, drip, drip, but it was unbearable, the waiting, the sound of pouring rain in the trees and against the rock outside competing with the fever-clamor of half-dreams in his head, demanding his attention, bidding him crawl out there, go to the water, drink, and live, begin to cool off lest he lose himself entirely to the dream-images that were increasingly surrounding him, thronging there just outside the edge of sight but not of hearing and pulling at him, vying for his attention and preparing to drag him down, down Seized by a sudden resolve Einar rose up on unsteady but determined hands and knees and all but launched himself at the door, tossing off the hide and most of his clothing and

rolling out into the rain, letting head and shoulders rest on the soaked and seeping bed of half-muddy spruce needles just in front of the cabin--blessed relief; he was sure that he could almost hear those raindrops sizzling as they hit his skin--wind-driven storm soothing the fevered tumult of his brain, cooling and bringing with it a quiet and stillness that had quite eluded him in the stifling heat of the cabin. He would, absent the thought of Liz and her certain displeasure should she find him in such a state, have been more than content to go on lying there in the rain for a good portion of the night, allowing its gentle ministrations to ease him into the welcome escape of sleep, sweet, formless, unchanging blackness, but every time he came close to letting go and allowing it his mind would return to her, her face before him--not yet, not yet; he tried to argue with her, to convince her that it was for the best, but could make no headway--and finally, heeding her, he rolled to his stomach and dragged himself back beneath the shelter of the roof. Cold-stiff and trembling--the rain had done its job, for certain, and then some--he pushed a few sticks into the coals that remained of his earlier fire, searching for the cast-off ewe hide and finding it, thankfully, well clear of the dampness outside. Huddled in the hide and sipping heated berberine water--bitter, but warm, and it would hopefully help some with the foot--he sat beside the fire and stared out at the rainy darkness, slowly regaining some feeling in his hands. Something had changed in the pattern of the rain outside, a softening, a sudden hush, and when Einar leaned forward to peer out in search of its source, he was greeted by a soft settling of snowflakes on his face. Thats summer in the high country, for you

Morning came, but no Liz--really, was there any reason to expect her before now? Surely she took shelter somewhere when the storm turned really nasty--and Einar, who had endured several more rather trying hot and cold spells during the night with a resigned perseverance that had more than once carried him through far worse, was thirsty. Hed crept out several more times in the night, insatiable thirst barely touched by the meager accumulation of water that had been caught in the collection jars, to sop at the slushy skiff of snow with his sleeves, sucking moisture from the soaked wool, squeezing to free every last drop, but it hadnt been enough, had left him to greet daylight with a pounding head and eyes that moved sluggishly in their sockets, aching, wishing for the return of darkness. Couldnt wait any longer, checked the two water jars once again and found their bottoms barely covered with a slush of melting snow and rainwater, hastily swallowing the contents of one and then the other. Sometime towards morning the snow had turned back to rain, a soft, enduring drizzle which had melted away most of the slight accumulation, leaving a consolidated, halfliquid whiteness only here and there in the dense branches of an evergreen, or behind the shelter of a rock where the ground, from lack of daytime sunlight, had been cooler. Einar wished--though at the same time not wishing, knowing that Liz was out there--that the snow had been a heavier, for then his water problem would have been easily solved with a fire and a pot. As it was, he found himself facing a trip over to the spring, and pretty soon, too, for he could feel the heat of the fever beginning to return, that familiar heaviness in his head, and knew that once it seized him fully, he might well, the world

spinning and dancing around him, be poorly equipped to do much traveling for a time. Had to hurry, had to beat it. Spring was somewhat less than a quarter mile distant, and he very familiar with the route; shouldnt be a problem. Leaving most of his clothing--sweater was pretty nearly soaked, anyway, after his using it as water collection sponge all night--in the dry shelter of the cabin he set out, hands and knees at first, have to protect the foot, and then, numbed palms suffering badly from continued contact with the rocky ground and with the assurance that his dizziness was not yet serious enough to send him sprawling or cause him to inadvertently bring his damaged foot into contact with the earth--which he was absolutely determined not to do, having promised Liz, if not aloud, yet, to take more care with it from then on--on one foot, hopping, leaning heavily on his spear and making scarcely better progress than he had been while crawling, but feeling better, a little more human, perhaps, for standing upright. Movement was a slow, hobbling thing, hop, breathe, hop, stumble, struggle upright again, shake your head and try to ignore the indistinct, menacing figures lurking out there in the trees, pressing in, keeping the back of your neck and your hands tingling almost unbearably with the cold prickle of readiness, immediate action called for but deferred as they shift and disappear whenever you look directly at them, an enemy impossible to identify or engageits just the fever, theyre not real, breathebreathe and he had not made it fifteen feet from the cabin entrance, keeping to the trees lest he risk leaving visible tracks in the occasional patch of languishing snow-scum, before he realized that hed made a mistake, had to go back. Which he did, painstakingly retracing his steps and finally, exhausted, rolling to his side on the dry floor within the cabin, remaining there for a good three or four minutes struggling for breath and waiting for his heart to stop pounding out of his chest before remembering why hed thought it so critical to come back. Liz. Cant have her getting back while Im gone and not knowing where I went, wandering around looking for me when what shell really be needing is some hot stew and a rest, I expect and he chose a flat slab or rock from near the fire, found a stick whose end had been charred and rubbed it on the side of the rock for sharpening, breathing with slow deliberation to steady his hands long enough to scratch out a quick message: sunrise--went for water--back soon. Squinting at the shaky, chicken-scratch text and realizing that it was barely legible even to him--and he already knew what it said--he shook his head, will have to do, propped the rock against those surrounding the firepit where she would be sure to see it. Ok. Got that done, and it put his mind at ease, but the task had also, it seemed, used up whatever time hed believed he had to work with before the fever took over once again, and he briefly considered curling up in the cabin and waiting it out--really didnt want to go back out there again, not just then--but knew that it would be unwise to wait so long, however long it might be, to hydrate himself, got up and started out once again on his quest for water. This time, unlike the first, he remembered to bring along one of the cooking pots so he would have a way to carry back some water. Doesnt matter about the fever, anyway, he told himself, combination of the drizzle and that windll cool you off quick enough, once you get back out there Which it did, slowing his movements even further as he stiffened up in its chill and leaving him several times to question the wisdom of the journey, but he had to have water, could hear it all around him seeping into the ground

just out of his reach, stopped several times to scrape thirstily at remaining deposits of snow-slush, their moisture trickling down his throat and moistening it just enough to keep him from having to cough, but seeming only to increase his thirst as he was tantalized with the possibility of more to come. Reaching at last the little spring--should ordinarily have been a two or three minute walk, at most, and was for Liz, but had taken him a good half hour--Einar fell to his stomach and drank, submerging his head until the icy water made his ears ache, closing over the back of his skull with an audible crackle and nearly shocking him into taking a breath there beneath the water, sent him spluttering and gasping to the surface, just beginning to feel alive again. Grinning crazily and gulping more water, he sprawled out on his back and lay staring up at the trees for a time, just letting the moisture soak in and begin its restorative work in his parched tissues, taking more as soon as he was able. For a good while Einar kept this up, drink, rest, drink, until a particularly violent gust of wind found its way through the timber and penetrated the fever-haze that still hung heavily over his brain, sent him scrambling to hands and knees to huddle suddenly very cold and perhaps a little frightened--he couldnt tell, thought he probably ought to be, all things considered, but certainly didnt want to stop and think about it just then--behind a moss-encrusted granite boulder as he realized for the first time just how serious his situation was, how much worse it could quickly become if he didnt soon get himself someplace dry and less windy. Past time to go back. Shouldnt have even come, but here he was, and better fill theyeah, fish the pot back out of the water you clumsy ox, fingers arent good for much right now, are theyand then fill itha! Now howd you think you were gonna carry that pot back without spilling everything in it, hopping on one foot and with both hands tied up grabbing the spear to keep yourself from toppling over? Pretty funny, Einaror it would be, if you werent so badly needing to get some of this water back to the cabin. If you dont, and Liz isnt back pretty soon, youre going to be doing this all over again in an hour or two or three, you know. And theyll be ready for you the next time, wont let you slip by like you just didthink youre gonna be able to shoot straight with your brain whirling around in circles like this? Yeah, didnt think so Sufficient motivation, when he thought about it, to cause him to put a great deal of effort into keeping that cook pot from spilling, as he knew, in a very grave and quiet corner of his mind, that he only had so much distance in him at the moment, so many of those hopping half-steps before he would be able to go no further, and he had better be saving up as many of them as he could against the growing possibility that hed have to go after Liz. The return trip was spent moving as slowly and carefully as possible, shuffles instead of hops as he struggled to keep the cookpot upright, holding its wire bale at first in his left hand and then, as he tired, the slope steepened and he had to resort to hanging onto the spear with both hands, in his teeth, praying all the while that he wouldnt fall so that some of the water might make it back to the cabin with him, and, most of all, that he would find Liz waiting for him there when he finally reached it. A prayer which, when at last he managed to get himself within sight of the cabin, dizzy, barely awake and badly chilled after a seeming eternity of those slow, shuffling steps, he was to find halfanswered.

 Fully secured laundry facility.

Locating such was not a concern that the AIC had ever expected to face in the course of his assignment to the Mountain Task Force, but after the poisoning and near-complete route of his agents during the assault on their fugitives supposed mountain lair, securing the laundry had become a top priority. The AIC had known with little doubt the method of introduction as soon as the poison had been named by FBI labs with the help of the Centers for Disease Control, warfarin--used as a rat poison, among other things--easily absorbed through the skin to interfere with blood clotting and, if introduced in sufficient quantities--and especially if of the newer, enhanced super-warfarin variety was used-eventually causing spontaneous and sometimes deadly internal hemorrhage of various sorts, as had happened to a number of his agents. Troubles which had initially presented as altitude-induced cerebral and pulmonary edema had proved instead to be the result of serious bleeding into the brain and lungs, and before they had got everyone evacuated and determined the source of the problem so that treatment could begin, he had lost men. The tactic, though highly unconventional, was not entirely unfamiliar to the AIC, had sent a chill through him when he realized that he was seeing on a massive scale a repeat of one of the tactics--it had been labeled a dirty trick by some at the time, as if war is supposed to be a neat, clean, sterile endeavor; ridiculous concept except perhaps to those paid to sit in neat, sterile offices far from the field, sipping tea and coming up with Ridiculous Concepts--rumored to have been used by the Selous Scouts and other elite units during the war in Rhodesia to target terrorists who were crossing the border from Mozambique and Zambia. Knowing their enemys predilection for petty theft--radios, food, trinkets, just about anything they could get their hands on, actually, including clothing, units had on occasion planted batches of warfarin-impregnated blue jeans where they knew raiders were about to strike, beginning to see results within hours, sometimes, of the thefts, but always within days. A foe who is bleeding out internally is far easier to track, as it turns out, than a healthy onenot that theyd had any trouble tracking down the healthy ones, either. Asmundson, the AIC postulated, must have been exposed to the concept while over there, though there was no information to indicate that he had ever served with the Scouts. Seemed the Bureau had been in contact with someone who had, though, the tracker who had been employed by former AIC Toland Jimson at the instruction of the Director that past year to track Asmundson down, and who had later testified against him, and the Bureau, before Congress, and the AIC wished they had parted on better terms, as he intended, now that he thought about it, to contact the man, bring him in to consult on the matter. Perhaps he could help them sort out what was going on in Asmundsons head, what his next move might be, should he prove to have survived the blast, as agents were beginning to fear. The entire thing was a bit of a puzzle to those attempting to analyze it, did not seem to fit the profile they had developed. Their subject had, up to that point, been far more of direct action, explosives, darts and catastrophic snowslides sort of fellow, and had employed those tactics only when closely pressed and seemingly left with little choice. The poisoning was unlike him, but if they had learned anything in the

course of the extended search, it was that to underestimate the creativity and resourcefulness of ones enemyis to die. But, there had been no body. Not that they had been able to recover, at least, yet another puzzle, as they had, after several days of intensive effort, recovered those of the agents who had been in the mine at the time of the blast, had collected the rock-crushed and much mangled remnants of stone and bone tools, weapons, and, perhaps most interestingly, what appeared to be crudely made clothing of furs and animal hides, clothing which, upon further testing, was found to contain samples of the fugitives blood and DNA. But no body. Perhaps the tracker--Kilgore, that was his name--would have some answers. He had, after all, been the only one ever to actually track the fugitive down, to approach him closely enough to get a tranquilizer or two dart in him, and live to tell about it, and the AIC made a call to his counterpart in the trackers area, requesting that he go have a talk with the Kilgore and impress upon him his patriotic duty to show up in Culver Falls, accompanying him there on the plane if the man demonstrated the least bit of resistance. There was no time for diplomacy.

Easing the mostly full water pot carefully down onto a flat rock just inside the cabin door--well, made it back here without spilling all of it, didnt really expect that--and coiling up into a reflexive, heat-conserving ball there on the floor, it took Einar a full minute to realize that the place remained unoccupied; he was alone. Had nearly forgotten, over the course of that final descent through the trees--he had taken a detour through the timber in reaching the spring, not wanting to add to the trail they had already worn too deeply into the ground with their repeated trips--the intensity with which he had earlier hoped to find Liz waiting for him, had not been quite sure, even, by the time he reached the place, why she had gone or where, but it all came back to him as he lay with his forehead pressed against his knees, back against the cabin support, huddling for warmth in the blessedly wind-free shelter of the cabin. She wasnt there. Wasnt there, hadnt been there, and though he had been preparing himself for that possibility, had, in fact, considered it the most likely outcome, the discovery--undeniable as he stared into the cold, dark shadows--still came as a heavy blow. The trip to the spring had been a stretch, had definitely, he now had to admit, pushed the limits of his strength, his ability to keep himself focused and on task while struggling with the fever. Which left him with a difficult decision. Should he go looking for her-his first impulse, for sure--and risk not only doing further harm to the foot but, realistically, ending up in a situation where he might not be able to get himself back up to the cabin, or wait, give her a bit more time to resolve the delay on her own and show back up? She knew the area nearly as well as he, was resourceful and determined and and armed with the bow and her war club, and shell very likely be mighty upset if she finds me out there looking for her when I agreed to stay at the cabin while she was gone. Asking for another knot in the side of my head if I try this. But the fact is shes human, can slip and fall and break a leg or get a foot trapped under a shifting rock like anyone else could, probably more than some, just now, because Ive heard her complain more

than once how shes feeling awkward and clumsy because of the pregnancy, and with that cold rain last night, the snow...well, I cant just leave her out there to fend for herself, not if Ive got a chance of finding her, which I ought to have, since we discussed her route and shes got the sense--unlike me--to stick to it, more or lessso. Looking like Id better go. But not, he was coherent enough to realize, before he somehow managed to warm himself a bit. Was barely functional at the moment after that long slow slog through the windy drizzle, and wouldnt be making it too far if he set out in that condition, he knew. Was mildly surprised, when he thought about it, that hed made it back to the cabin, in fact, without simply leaning over against a tree and falling asleep. Food would help, surely, and he retrieved the remains of the stew from the rocky tomb in which hed had the sense to encase it before setting out, piling and sliding a number of rock slabs over and around the pot to create a rough cairn in the hopes of keeping scavengers out of the food, and it had worked. Shoving the stones out of the way Einar retrieved the pot, took a few swallows of the cold, somewhat sludgy broth, half-congealed mix of nettle greens and sheep jerky bits, feeling stronger for the nourishment and getting himself up onto hands and knees, crawling about in search of the sweater and ewe hide hed cast off--meaning to keep them dry and being at the time too fevered to see much need for clothing, anyway, but he sure saw it now--before going for the water. Found them, remembered, to his dismay, that the sweater had been badly dampened by his frantic quest for water in the night, sopping at the snow, sleeves soaked, and they remained so, leaving him to hang the garment from one cabin-beam to begin drying, wishing badly that he had a fire over which to dry it. Could build one--rain continuing light but steady--but there seemed little point, as he was about to head out again and wouldnt want to leave it burning in his absence, lest the sky clear sufficiently to allow aircraft back in the area while it still gave off smoke. No matter. He still had the wool shirt which remained dry and waiting for him on the halflength of aspen Liz was using for a makeshift shelf against the back wall, well-washed and neatly folded after her laundering project. Finding the shirt he hurried into it, located a dry hat and wrapped himself in the ewe hide, huddling over the stew pot and nearly dozing off again as he tried to refuel himself for the coming journey.

The hounds tongue, Liz was reasonably certain, would not be difficult to find. Classed as a noxious weed and spread through its many-pronged burrs which clung to the legs and bellies of passing wildlife, the plants often grew in abundance down in open meadows such as the one she hoped to find down below the steep, timbered slope which she now descended. From the top, her route obscured by the trees and further muddled by an ongoing drizzle and the banks of fog that drifted white and ghostly across the descents mid-section, she had been able to determine very little as to the nature of the place, resigned herself, after several minutes of fruitless scanning with the binoculars, to going in relatively blind. The specifics, as long as they did not involve sheer cliffs, ought not matter too much. She had to make the trip, started down through the timber at a good pace, knowing that she was racing the onset of dusk in a few hours, and very much wanting to be back up there with Einar before it arrived. Her path quickly choked by a

good bit of treacherous, rain-slick deadfall timber, trunks in many cases too high to step over and offering perilous footing, Lizs progress was a slow, trying thing, steps carefully chosen so as to avoid slipping and wrenching a leg between those jumbled trunks, product, it seemed, of a great wind that had slammed across the mountainside in the distant past, cutting down entire swaths of timber and leaving them where they had fallen, young trees in many places already reaching skyward from between their ruined trunks. The place was dreary, dripping, oppressive, somehow, and Liz, a momentary lapse in concentration allowing her to slip on one of the rain-slimed, slip-barked spruces did not like it, freed her leg from the narrow crevice between the two trunks and shivered as she thought of being trapped there, injuring herself and having to crawl back up through that massive tangle of timber, through the rain and the oncoming night Quit it! Youre letting your imagination get away with you. Youve descended slopes like this before, the rains just making things seem more dreary than they really are. Get moving. Theres hounds tongue to find. She reached the bottom, finally, of what had proven to be a thousand feet of descent below the little tarn-meadow at the lip of the basin, uninjured, un-trapped and a bit cross with herself over the amount of time she had taken to work her way down through those trees, but knowing that the extra time would pay off, was far better than having risked injury and major delay in returning to Einar. Who, she said to herself, crouching at the edge of the timber and surveying the meadow before stepping out into its openness, I hope is staying in the cabin and out of this rain, because if it gets any colder, I really think the stuff could turn to snow. Youd better be in there sleeping and eating and staying warm, Einar. You just hang on, Ill be back soon with your hounds tongue and well get that foot back on track. Having satisfied herself that the meadow was unoccupied at least by humans--her major concern, though it did look like a place where one might expect to meet a bear--she stood, shivered, wrung the accumulated rain-mist from her wool cap and pulled it back down to her eyebrows, seeing that while she had done just fine on the descent, she would be unwise to stop moving for too long a time in her dampened clothing, must hurry to collect those leaves and begin the climb to warm herself. If she started getting into too much trouble--I ought to recognize the signs, having watched Einar go from mildly chilled to dangerously hypothermic dozens of times, it seems, the goofy guy, but knew that it was not always that simple, when one was dealing with ones self--she could always stop and build a small fire, dry her clothes and have a pot of hot tea before continuing. Even with the amount of rain that had fallen and continued to fall, she knew that beneath the dense cover of the firs and spruces she would find dry sticks, dead branches still clinging close to their trunks, enough of them to start a small blaze, but, knowing that even they would be damp with the pervasive humid chill of the day, it reassured her to think of the candle-stub she had remembered to bring. She had seen Einar more than once light a fire under seemingly impossible conditions by shoving a lit candle under his little pile of semi-dry sticks, the flames heat drying the kindling until it reached the point of combustion. He had, lacking a candle, done similar with lumps of pitch, which burned with an even livelier heat than the candle wax, but they required a bit of dry tinder, some milkweed or thistle down, a clump of finely shredded cedar bark, perhaps, in order to bring them from spark to flame.

No matter. You have the candle right now, a few matches, as well as your fire steel and striker. But its not time for a fire now, nor for crouching here minute after minute in deep thought as you keep getting colder. Have a bite of jerky, find a place to hang your pack where it wont get drenched while youre out there in the open, then get out there and start harvesting that hounds tongue. She had already spotted the plants, went to them and had just begun filling her hands with the soft, silver-haired leaves that offered one more chance at healing Einars foot, when something caught her ear. Soft sounds, dull on the rain-dampened vegetation but unmistakably belonging to a creature larger and heavier than herself, the footsteps seemed to be approaching, and Liz, terrified for an instant that they might be human, threw herself down behind a nearby rock, small, ground-embedded, not much concealment, but it was the only thing handy, and waited. She had the rabbit stick there hanging from her belt, had the bow, but--what were you thinking, Liz?--it was back there with the pack, far from her reach. But the creature did not sound human, steps too heavy, slow, still approaching, and she rolled out from behind the rock, raised her head and found herself not eight feet from a large black bear, the creature sniffing and snorting and generally looking as surprised as she felt. The creature, it seemed, upwind of her and completely unaware of her presence, had been headed straight for her concealment-rock with the intention of turning it over in search of grubs and ants for a little rainy day snack, and Liz let her hand fall to the rabbit stick, made a quick glance over her shoulder at the bow--yep, still out of reach--and stood, raising her arms above her head to give herself some extra height. Partially recovered from its initial surprise and becoming very curious, the bear took a few lumbering steps back, rose up on its hindquarters and went on sniffing the air, at which Liz, beginning to grow concerned at its apparent lack of intent to flee, began waving her arms and shouting. If the bear had not been concerned before, the erratic behavior and strange voice of the human-critter did the trick, and it whirled--as quickly as a bear is able to whirl--disappearing into the brush on the far side of the meadow. Liz let her breath out in a rush, sat down on the rock for a second before scrambling to her feet and dashing over to the pack, and the bow. The bear wouldnt be back, of that she was fairly certain, but she wanted to be ready if it did happen. Now, back to work. Ears sharp against the return of the bear she amassed a good stack of hounds tongue leaves, wanting to make sure she took back more than enough to do several poultices and still have some left over to make a salve, should they ever end up with some bear or deer or even marmot fat with which to mix it--would have had some today, if only Id been ready--stashing them in the pack. Growing in clumps and patches there in the rainy meadow were also yarrow and mullein in greater concentrations than she had seen up in the basin--hadnt seen mullein up there at all--and she took time to collect some of each, knowing how valuable their dried leaves would be once winter came and fresh were unavailable. The mullein she focused on in particular, as she had seen it clear and dry Einars lungs and allow him to go on breathing when he had seemed about to drown in his own mucous, an affliction that she hoped she never had to watch him endure again, but there seemed a good chance of it, and a plentiful stock of mullein leaves seemed reasonable preparation to make. Soft, thick and roughly foot-shaped, the larger of the mullein leaves could also, she knew, be used as warm and cushioning if not terribly

durable insoles for moccasins or winter boots and, still possessing all of her toes and wanting to keep it that way, she focused her harvesting for a time on the larger leaves. The blossoms, also, bright and yellow on characteristically tall stalks, had medicinal properties, but the plants she was gathering from were not yet in bloom, and this, she knew, was ideal, as the leaves were at their most potent just before the blooms appeared, if one was collecting the leaves from second-year or older plants, as she was. I may have to come back in a week or two when these things bloom, and collect some of the blossoms, because I remember Susan telling me that mullein blossom oil works better than almost anything else for earaches in children, which I suppose is a problem we could end up encountering. We dont have any oil right now to steep them in, but hopefully well be getting a bear before the summers over, theyre obviously around and I can dry the flowers to preserve them until then. Susan also said that a simple tea made from the blossoms is great to help a person get to sleep and stay that way, which probably means Einar would have some objection to using it, but you never know. Might be worth a try. Just toss some flowers in his tea and maybe he wont bother to question whybut I couldnt do that to him. Shouldnt, anyway No blossoms today, either way, just the leaves, and between them, the hounds tongue and that pile of yarrow Ive been collecting, Ive got about as much plant matter as will fit in my pack without badly crushing everything, so it must be time to head back! Rising, ready to go, she saw the smoke. Eating, trying to get warm as he huddled in the wind-free and welcome shelter of the cabin, Einar found himself having a terrible time staying awake, bites of stew sitting halfchewed in his mouth as he dozed, drooping, too tired even for his trembling to keep him awake. The fall woke him, nose landing hard on one of the firepit rocks--the one, as it turned out, on which he had scrawled the note to Liz--and the pot tipping over with a clatter, leaving him bleary-eyed but very alert as he snatched it back upright, scooped at the spilled stew and shoved it into his mouth before it could be absorbed by the hardpacked soil. Crunchy. Must have got some dirt in that handful shook himself and sat bolt upright, squinting hard against the dizziness and propping himself against the wall. You let yourself sleep now, who knows how long it might last? Long enough for Liz to be beyond help, maybe, if anythings happened to her. So. Get some more of this stew into you, more water--though hed apparently managed to hydrate himself reasonably well while lying with his face in the spring back there, as he was starting to need a trip to the outhouse quite urgently--and then get going. Between his weariness and the fever that still lurked out there somewhere ready to have its way with him again, Einar knew that hed have to put more than the usual amount of effort into planning the journey, keeping himself on track and making sure he didnt wander off half-dressed or without his fire steel or the extra hide so hed have something to wrap up in during breaks, once his clothes were soaked through. Which they will be soon enough, from the looks of things. Rain just wont quit, will it? But at least nobody much is gonna be up there hovering around while its storming like this. Ok. Focus, Einar. Get this hide rolled up, wrapped in anything you have--yeah, even the old shredded up remnants of that burlap sack, thats better than nothing--that might help keep it dry, sling it over your back with a few strips of jerky and a jar of water, and off you go. Right. Better bury whats left of the stew first,

gonna need that when we make it back here. And dont forget your atlatl, dartsspears good, helps keep you on your feet and is great for fairly close-up work, but you need a way to reach out farther, dont know what youre walking into down there, and besides, maybe youll get the chance to go for a sheep or deer or even--stomach growled at the thought--grouse or porcupine, maybe. Finally, not feeling particularly well equipped to mount a rescue mission--if thats even what this ishopefully she just stumbled upon a deer or something with her bow and has been butchering it and building a pack frame to help her haul the meat up here--but supposing that he was, after all, all he had to work with and would have to make the best of it, Einar set out, working hard to spare the injured foot. At least it was all downhill. Yep, all downhill from here Distant and weather-dimmed, Liz might have almost mistaken it for rain-mist, the faint wisp that rose thin and black from the spruces several miles distant--wouldnt have been able to see it at all, had it not been for a brief lull in the rain--gone the next instant as a wind gust scattered and blended it with the equal blackness of the evergreen slope, but she did not. Knew what she had seen, and the knowledge made her blood run cold, binoculars in hand as she searched the ridges for some further sign of it, any hint as to who might be camped over there in the storm, far too close for comfort to their refuge in the basin. She wanted to be able to report back to Einar, was concerned that whoever was camped over there might well be able to see the smoke of their own fires up in the basin, the knowledge that she ought to turn around and keep as far from that smoke as possible competing with the nagging sense of uncertainty that she knew would follow her back up to the cabin if she did not gather more information on the intruder, a concern that Einar might decide they needed to move, put some distance behind them, just as a precaution. But well definitely have to move if I go look at that smoke, and somebody follows me back Well. I wont be going that close. No venturing down into anyones camp to look for tarps or clothing or other things we could use--she shuddered, the memory of Petes freshly-dead body suddenly before her eyes once again--and no getting close enough to leave tracks they could follow. Ill just go to the next rise where I can hopefully get a look with the binoculars, figure out whats happening over there. Shrugging into her pack, light, being nearly empty aside from the harvest of leaves, a few sticks of jerky and the dry clothes she had brought along, skirting around the edge of the meadow and beginning the climb up the gentle rise beyond, sparsely carpeted with lupine and serviceberry scrub. The serviceberries, it appeared, had already bloomed, were beginning to show the tiniest green hint of the fruits that would later come. A good spot to remember and return to later in the summer when berry time arrived. Winding her way up the rise, attempting to keep as much as possible to the heavier brush while listening carefully for any sound that might indicate the presence of bears--she definitely did not look forward to the possibility of walking up unannounced on a mother and her cubs, while they feasted on grubs--Liz finally reaches its crest, stopped on a low granite outcropping, lichen-smeared, slick in the drizzle, and strove to catch another glimpse of that smoke. Rain was too heavy, was obscuring her view, and standing there, trying to keep the binocular lenses free of water-mist while scanning the adjoining ridge--shed

picked out several landmarks upon first seeing the smoke, including a roughly triangular patch of beetle-killed timber, at which she was now staring--she had very nearly convinced herself that the entire thing had been a result of an overactive imagination, when she saw it again. Definitely smoke, and definitelymuch further away than she had first believed. Looked like it must be coming from somewhere low down in the vast section of timber on the ridge beyond the one where she had first placed it, over beyond the big creek that ran along the valley floor, and seeing, she wanted to turn back, give up on the entire thing, decide that the intruder was too far away to pose them any danger. Getting a closer look at the camp would require, she now saw, descending almost to the valley floor itself and finding a vantage point in the rocks, hoping to get a glance through the trees. Which journey, carried out carefully both because of the rain-treacherous landscape and the need for stealth, would clearly take her most of the remaining hour or two of daylight she had left. Which might well mean delaying her return climb until the following morning, so as to avoid disaster on the slick wet steepness of the deadfallslope. The prospect of Einar spending the night up there at the cabin alone in his condition was a disturbing one, but even as Liz formed the thought, she felt a bit silly for entertaining it. He had spent many similar nights alone before shed joined him out there--a few since, too--and had lived through them, was, as he liked to say, still here. And now that she had come this far she couldnt see turning back, had to know the answer, who their neighbor might be and whether there was a search going on, or simply some causal forest use which might still necessitate caution on their part but not such a high degree of it, and, having decided, she rose, wrung the moisture from her hat and went on. Completing the descent as quickly as she could and searching until she found a spot that ought, based on the new landmarks she had picked out, to allow her a reasonably good look at the camp, she settled in beneath a clump of rain-shielding spruces to wait. It was nearly dark. And getting colder. When after several minutes of watching she had seen no smoke and no distant glow of flame, Liz hurried out of her wet clothing, wrung from it as much moisture as possible and wrapped up in the hide, which had stayed mostly dried. Though she hadnt yet spotted the little blaze she could certainly smell it, the occasional whiff of smoke brought faint and unmistakable to her rocky perch by the moisture-laden wind, and leaving the shelter of the spruces for a moment she crawled to the edge of the outcropping and peered down, finally catching sight of the fire, far closer than she had expected, nestled in the trees just over on the other side of the creek. Hurrying back for the binoculars she studied the area, looking for movement, human forms, the sharp-eared silhouettes of grazing horses out in the meadow, but saw only the faint, flickering glow of a fire carefully built and half concealed beneath the earth, almost exactly, she thought to herself, like Einar would do it. Shivering in the damp wind she hurried back to her shelter and wrapped up again in the hide, wished she could have her own fire but didnt dare. Sitting there in the dark she found herself seriously considering sneaking up on the camp in the night and getting a look, but knew she was too clumsy and uncertain with the advancing changes brought about by the pregnancy to trust herself with stealth in the inky black, rainy night, so she

waited, keeping reasonably dry there beneath the heavy cover of the spruces, and glad of it, too. As she lay there huddled against the cold, watching the light of the fire flicker against the spruce canopy below and worrying about Einar--please keep him in the cabin tonight, or hell freeze in this rainhear me, Einar? You just stay in there, and sleep, sleep, Ill be back in the morning--Liz heard the occasional odd sound from down below, not speech, exactly, but the utterings definitely had a human-like quality to them, sounded at times, too muffled by distance and the trees for her to be certain, like expressions of pain and distress. She did not get much sleep that night, met the grey, weary morning with heavy eyes, having just drifted off in that final predawn hour, wanted to remain curled up there in her little nest but instead rose, pulled on her still-damp clothes crept out to the narrow ledge of an overhang for a look down into the camp. Propped up on her elbows with stomach pressed into the rock she focused the binoculars. There was no sign of the camp, not a trace of disturbance visible where she was sure that fire had been--must be looking in the wrong place-- and she was about to move, shift position in the hopes of finding a better angle at which to peer through the trees, but she thought she heard something, kept still. Waiting, hardly daring to breathe she heard it again, a faint rustle, the sodden crackle of a rain-soaked stick being heavily weighted--another bear, perhaps, out for a morning snack?--and she was about to whirl around on the creature with her war club when it spoke. Youd be Mrs. Asmundson, wouldnt you? Liz froze--thought she knew the voice and it gave her pause, but at the same time it had a strange, unfamiliar quality--eyes darting around in search of her options, realized that to go forward meant toppling over the near-vertical rocks before her, side-passages blocked by heavy brush that would greatly impede progress, slowly turned to face her assailant. If that was the right word. He did not at first glance look like much of a threat , clothes in sad shape and face bloodied, streaked with soot as if hed spent his morning rolling about in the coals of a long-dead fire. One eye was swollen shut, the area around it bruised and crusted with dried blood which it appeared the man had been making half-successful efforts to remove, the other a barely-open slit through which he did not appear to be seeing too well, and it took Liz a moment to realize that she knew the man. Kilgore? She whispered, lowering the rabbit stick slightly, glancing at the trees behind him, rocks, quickly scanning for the presence of others, but seeing nothing. What are you doing up here? He squinted at her out of his one good eye, shaking his head as if he hadnt understood her--which he had not--and she repeated the question more loudly. Me? Just trying to root out the pair of eyes I felt staring at me all night, thought it might be a lion stalking me for its breakfast and I wanted to get in up here above it before it took a notion to pounce, but looks like it was only you. Not that youre any less dangerousmind lowering that stick?

She minded very much, remained as she was. Are you alone? Not anymore. Armed? Yep. Liz took a step towards him, war club poised for action. Hey now, you watch it there maam, cause I said Im armed, and mine has a good bit more reach to it than yours does, no matter how good you are with that thing. Im not here to cause you any trouble, but I cant see worth a darn and cant hear much better, and thats got me pretty ornery right now, just a little antsy, so youd best keep your distance. At which he seemed to run out of breath, sat down heavily on the nearest rock, face twisted up and elbows pressed strangely to his sides as if it hurt him to move his arms too much, certainly not looking like much of a threat, but Liz knew better than to underestimate him. What happened to you? Never mind about that for right now. Wheres thatthat man of yours--the mangy old coyote--cause I could sure use a little of the skill hes got when it comes to patching up busted human-critters, boiling up weeds and tree bark and the like, and healing things. Tried to do what I could for myself last night but didnt get real far, and Im in kind of a bad way. But what happened? I thought youd left here a couple of weeks ago and gone back to Smart girl. You want details. Got to see if my story makes sense. Good for you. Well, I he stopped, coughing, and she could tell that the coughing hurt, wondered if he had broken ribs but he didnt seem to be favoring them. I came back, baited the feds--oh, you should have seen the stuff they had in the air, it was a regular flying circus!--and when they took the bait I blew em up, left a bunch of Asmundsons things lying around in that mine so theyd think theyd finally nailed his sorry hide and maybe leave you kids in peace for a while. I didnt expect to come out the other end of this one but here I am, only I came out a good bit worse for the wear, couldnt exactly head down the hill and into town looking like I just got blown out of a collapsing mine, so I took off deeper into the hills, and now that you know the story are you gonna help me out, or what? She stared at him for a long moment in disbelief, trying to see through him, to weigh the voracity of his words, unavoidably suspicious of his intent, but knowing that if his purpose was to gain their trust so as to betray them, hed had more than one opportunity to do it before in the recent past, and had not. She believed--Lord, let me be right, I sure

wish I could ask Einar about this, I need his insight--that he was telling the truth. Of course. Yes. Here, let me see. Are you still bleeding? He pushed her hand away, though, wouldnt let her touch him. No. Got the worst of it stopped last night down at the fire. Fine in that regard. Eyes pretty badly torn up though it seems like, and I got some spots on my back that arent right, not real sure whats going on, but they need to be looked at. Not here though. You guys got a camp somewhere? I can walk. Been walking since yesterday. Would like Asmundson to see what he can do for this eye. We do, we have a camp, and well do everything we can for you, but EinarI dont know if hell be able to do much of it, because hes been having a lot of trouble with his foot these last few days, has had a fever, hasnt been himself lately. Youll have to wait down below for a minute when we get near the camp, because Im afraid he might kill you if you show up unannounced Kilgore chuckled. Hasnt been himself, huh? You think you really know who that boy is, just because youve been on a camping trip or two with him? Maybe he has been himself lately, maybe thats exactly who hes been, and its just the first time youve ever really seen it. Howd you like that? Liz shook her head, wanted to reply angrily--a camping trip or two? You have no idea what youre talking about, and no right to say such things--but decided to let the matter slide, considering the sort of day--and night--that Kilgore appeared have had, the amount of pain he must be in, and all on their account. Who would do a thing like that? Can this really be what it seems? Even as she prepared for the climb Liz knew she had a real problem, didnt want to take Kilgore--or anyone else--to the cabin and compromise their home in that way--Einar wouldnt stay there if she did that, she knew it, hed have them on the run again just as soon as their uninvited guest departed--but neither could she stop and tend to him where they were. From the looks of things it would take a good day or so of work to get Kilgore all cleaned up and pick the rock fragments from his face--she doubted he even knew they were there, but there was no mistaking them--and who knew where else, so he could be on his way, and she had already been away from Einar for far longer than she would have wished. If he wasnt already out looking for her he soon would be, assuming he had even survived the night in a conscious state, which was nowhere near certain, as badly as the foot and that fever had been affecting him in the hours before her departure. So. What to do? Find a place to stash Kilgore, hurry up the hill and take care of Einars foot before returning to do what she could for him? The idea seemed to solve several problems, while creating others. Worse ones. What do you think youre going to do, keep Kilgore a secret from Einar, tell him youre going out to run the trapline when you head back down here to help him? No way! Cant do that to Einarbut if you tell him, you know hes not going to hear of your coming back down alone, hell insist on coming with you, no matter what state hes in, and that would be disastrous, just disastrous! Dont like taking him up to the cabin, but I dont really see much choice. He doesnt seem

to be seeing very well, and maybe I can blindfold him as we start to get closer, so he wont be able to remember the route. Not a good option--she still dreaded having to explain to Einar that shed brought someone up there with her, feared, to some extent, for Kilgores life when he found it out--but there didnt seem to be a good option, and Liz shook her head, settled her pack on her back and began climbing. Einars new determination to spare the foot and give it a chance to heal, while a step in the right direction, was a definite impediment to progress on his descent in search of Liz. As were the continuing waves of dizziness which hit him from time to time, coinciding with an intermittent fever that was making its best effort to drive back the advance of infection in his foot, succeeding to some degree but at times nearly cooking him in the process. His water jar was gone, broken in a fall that he had suffered shortly after stopping at the tarn after a long and difficult descent from the cabin to drink his fill and top off the jar. Lying there in the rocks at the waters edge and watching the raindrops hit its grey surface hed nearly gone to sleep again, hands and arms soaking in the welcome relief of its icy water, and by the time hed cooled sufficiently to remember his mission and force himself back to his feet, hed been quite numb, clumsy, had tripped over a root just inside the woods below the tarn, and had lost the jar. Made him mad for a moment, had sent him scrambling around in the spruce needles after the glass shards--could be turned into cutting tools, arrowheads, even--found most of them, stowed them in his pack and went on. Cold. Knew hed be fighting it for the entire trip, wet and rainy as the day was, knew in that wind it would quickly get the better of him if he didnt take some precautions, keep himself as dry as possible--ha! Too late on that one, just wait a few minutes until the fever makes another stand, and itll steam you dry--and remember to eat in an attempt to keep his energy up. Getting a strip of jerky into his hands in the hopes that having it there would remind him to keep eating he took a bite, swung his arms back and forth and beat them against his sides--got to keep your hands warm enough to be useful, may need to do some quick work with the atlatl, spear, knife when you find her, sure dont know the situation but its always a possibility--meaning to generate some heat and keep himself awake. The tactic worked for a while, Einar stopping every few minutes to take another bite of jerky and warm himself, but he was moving terribly slowly, having reached the tangled, rain-slick area of deadfall that had so interfered with Lizs travel, and he felt the weather gaining on him, slowing thoughts as well as movements, got to pick up some speed here, but her trail was indistinct, difficult to follow in the rain, and he knew hed lose it if he tried to go much faster. Not that he would likely be able to manage much more speed even if he tried, clumsy, one-footed creature that he was. Tried anyway, though, figuring that it didnt matter so much about her trail, as he could zigzag back and forth across the slope and pick it up again if he did happen to lose it, could made a beeline for the valley floor as she had likely done, find the nearest patch of hounds tongue, look for evidence that she had been harvesting, and follow her trail back up until he found her. Flawed logic, he knew. No way to guess where the problem had occurred, had one occurredshe could just as likely have fallen and knocked herself unconscious or trapped her leg between two rain-slick tree trunks on the way down as on the return climb, and he stopped himself, retraced his steps and once again began tracking her, slowly, deliberately--

freezing, but what could he do about it? Would just have to do his best to breathe through it, keep the blood flowing and make sure he didnt sit down, might well go to sleep if he sat down--looking for patches of recently slipped bark and scuff marks on the steep, rainsoftened spruce slopes, keeping to her trail so as not to miss the spot where shed been delayed. Where are you, Lizzie? At the end of her trail, of course, the trees--swaying dizzily in the wind, dont look at the trees--answered him, which is exactly where youll find her, so back to it, keep your focus and dont stop moving. It did not take Liz long at all, leading the way up the slope, to realize that Bud Kilgore had seriously understated matters when hed told her that he wasnt seeing too well. Couldnt keep from braining himself on low-hanging branches and tripping over roots was more like it, and after several such incidents Liz stopped in frustration, refused to go any further until he grabbed hold of a length of cordage and agreed to hold on, thereby hopefully avoiding any further serious spills. Einar had done similar for her when she had been suffering from snow blindness, and though the arrangement had been awkward, it had allowed them to move through the woods at a reasonable speed, which, anxious to return to Einar, was her aim. As the slope grew steeper, though, Kilgores pace slowed noticeably, Liz coming up short more and more frequently against the cord, and when she looked back at him it was to see that he was having a difficult time with the deadfall, squinting at the ground and attempting to feel his way with his feet, but still tripping more often than he would have liked. She stopped. Id go around it if I could, but the whole slopes this way. Well be there before too long, thoughI think were almost halfway there. No problem. Im getting along, andwhat now? Halfway there? Youre taking me on a wild goose chase here, arent you? Got no intention of letting me get anywhere near that man of yours, or wed have been there by now. Youre probably gonna leave me stranded on some cliffy mountainside somewhere with darkness coming on and no idea of where I am, arent you? Well, cant much blame you, and I guess its no real loss, didnt expect to make it through that blast, anyway, so What are you talking about? Im not leading you into any trap, it just takes a while to get up to where our camp is, and Hey settle down now, I was just pulling your leg. Oh, good! I was beginning think maybe all of Einars friends were just as paranoid and skittish as he can be, sometimes. Nah, not me. Might have been once, but I got all that sorted out a long time ago. And besides, Im not his friend. That crazy old wolverine dont have any friends. Wouldnt ever let anybody that close, not from what Ive seen of him.

Well, I dont know about that Hey. Before we get any closer to camp, Im going to have to ask you to hand over that pistol, because if Einar happens to see you with it before I have a chance to explain things to him, well Oh, I was just pulling your leg on that one, too. Lost it in the blast, along with everything else. Barely got myself out of there in one piece. I thought you said you were armed. He laughed. What did you expect me to say, you standing over my head with that club of yours. Ive heard what that thing can do, and didnt want to be on the receiving end! Liz narrowed her eyes, glanced him over appraisingly. I dont know if I believe you. Were not going any further until you strip down so I can make sure youre telling me the whole truth. Yes, yes, trust but verify, good plan But you see, I really cant do that. Do it. Clothes off. Lady, when I say I cant, Im not just being modest, I mean that I quite literally cant do it. When those rocks started coming down on mewell, Id thrown myself up against the wall to try and avoid the worst of it--basic human instinct, you know--and even though that helped a good bit I still wound up taking some pretty good chunks to the back, bled something awful as I climbed down from therethat place had a back door, as it turned outdidnt know that, hadnt found it when I was scouting the place, but found it afterand I finally got the blood to pretty much stop seeping out down by the fire last night, took a hot knife blade and a good stout stick to jam between my teeth, but I did it, and I sure dont want to be pulling this shirt off and disturbing any of that until we get where were going and hopefully have a fire and something to use for bandages, that sort of thing. Ok, stay like you are, and Ill just search you, then. Which she did, finding the knife and taking it, strapping it to her own belt where it would be clearly visible to Einar whenever they met, and, as it was to turn out, not a minute too soon, either. Pausing for breath after hauling himself over yet another slippery mass of tangled deadfall spruce, Einar thought he heard something, worked to slow his breathing so he could get a better listen, but the sound did not come again and he knew that a long stretch of stillness--ideally he wouldnt have moved again until hed determined the sounds origin and nature--would leave him dangerously chilled and quite possibly sliding towards complacency and sleep, so he rose, went on, moving carefully, deliberately, more slowly than before. A few minutes later he heard it again, this time unmistakable. Human voices. Two of them, and one, sounding angry, distressed, was definitely Lizs. On his feet--both of them--in an instant, atlatl poised for action, he stopped himself, forced himself to remain still for the space of three breaths. Steady, Einar. Not gonna do

either of you any good if you go running down into this and get yourself shot before you can assess the situation, find some way to get her out of it. Moving with a sudden focus and care that would have been impossible for him moments before, he worked his way down towards the location of the voices--they were for the moment silent, and Einar did not dare allow himself to speculate as to why; move, Einar, just move--and he descended another fifteen or twenty yards down through the timber, choosing his steps carefully as he approached a little break in the trees. Down on hands and knees, creep up to the edge of the tree-screen, part the branches with a slow, steady hand and then there they were, he could see them--the mans head was bloody, bruised, looked like it had very nearly been bashed in, and he wondered if Liz had done that with her war club--standing there not ten fifteen feet from him, and Liz, facing the man while she searched her pack for something, definitely seemed to be in control of the situation. Wore a knife on her belt that was not hers, but at second glance he thought he recognized it, knew hed seen it before, and not long ago and then, scrutinizing the half-wrecked hulk of the man once again, knew him, too. Bud Kilgore, you poor devil, what have they done to you? Assuming they did it, and not my Lizziewhich is probably not safe to assume. Watching them--it seemed Liz had been looking for a strip of jerky, had found it and was holding it out to the man, who didnt appear to be seeing too well--he allowed himself to relax slightly, nearly toppling over as a bit of the readiness that had been keeping him sharp and moving forward drained out of him, but he knew they werent out of danger yet, knew he must keep on top of things until he learned more about the situation and, taking careful aim, he sent an atlatl dart into a fir that stood immediately to the left of the pair. Kilgore dropped to the ground and Liz, glancing at the surrounding trees, briefly joined him but then, recognizing the dart, jumped back to her feet and took a step in the direction from which the dart had come. Einar. Stop. Its Kilgore, and he isnt armed. See, Ive got she held up the knife, his weapon right here. Einar was taking no chances, remained sheltered and concealed behind the cracked heap of granite that had provided him expedient cover. I see it. Kilgore, you stay down, you get down on your stomach, hands behind your head. Come on, faster now. Move! Which Kilgore did, though finding anything other than the slowest, most deliberate of motions to be difficult and quite painful, hearing in Einars voice a grave quality that he knew better than to try and challenge. Once satisfied with the mans compliance Einar stood, stepped out from behind the rocks and, atlatl still poised, spoke more quietly to Liz. Now you stay right where you are, keep that war club ready and if he makes the slightest move, well you know how to use the thing. Liz wanted to object, to try and explain, but Einar wasnt leaving any time for it, had quickly closed the distance between them and was binding Kilgores wrists with the cord Liz had been using to guide him, hastily but thoroughly searching the man--Liz had been right, he was unarmed, and quite a mess, too, looked like hed recently been spit out the wrong end of a major rockslide--and rolling him over, helping him to sit up. Both men were thoroughly worn out by that

point, Einar gasping for breath after the flurry of activity and Kilgores teeth gritted against the pain of having his arms bound behind him, disturbing the injuries on his back. Well good morning to you too, Asmundson you mangy old coyotefine greeting you just gave me, but guess I cant really blame you for it Liz sat down between them, relieved, thinking that, all things considered, the meeting had gone more smoothly than she might have expected, and she put a grateful hand on Einars arm--freezing, and she knew shed have to act quickly to get him up to the cabin--overwhelmingly glad to see him, alive if perhaps not quite well, after the doubts of the past night. He gave her a brief flash of a grin--relieved, also, especially after the scenarios that had flashed through his mind on first hearing those voices down below--turned his attention to Kilgore, who was clearly suffering, twisting uncomfortably against the cord that bound his wrists. Einar freed him, took a brief look at his back, face, shook his head, his own troubles nearly forgotten for the moment. Gonna have some questions later, for sure, but for now Were gonna get you fixed up here, but first off Ive got to know if theres any possibility youre being followed--do we have to worry about taking some quick action here before we stop and fix you up? Nope, no way, Im the tracker, remember? Was bleeding pretty bad there for a while but this rain moved in shortly after the blast, would have done a pretty good job of cleaning up anything I left behind up near thewell, Ill fill you in on the details later, but the important part is that I bled the worst on the climb down fromthe place where I was, because of how I had to use my arms, and the rain ought to have washed that away pretty good by the time they found the place. After that was able to get it under control, just an ooze and no dripping, as far as I know. Then camped in the same spot all night, felt eyes on me and checked it out pretty thoroughly this morning, but the only person I found watching me was this wildcat of a wife of yours. Should be safe. Einar wasnt too sure about that, generally had the utmost respect for Kilgores tracking and anti-tracking skill--the man had tracked him down, after all, had been the only one ever to do so--but in his present condition, one eye crusted over with blood and the other nearly swollen shut, he had his doubts, but the reassurance would have to do, for the time. The man needed help, and besides, they wouldnt be going within half a mile of the basin, anyway, or the cabin. He had no intention of compromising the place by exposing its location to another, not even one such as Kilgore, who had in the past proven himself worthy of trust. Their current location would have to do, provided they could locate a nearby source of water and perhaps dig an Oregon grape root or two to create a hasty berberine solution for use in scrubbing the chunks of granite out of Kilgores face. Got to be quite a story behind this one Seen any water around here, Liz? Gonna need a few jars full to start cleaning him up. Yes, I have. Ill go get some. And she started off for the faint trace of a draw where shed noticed a little trickle of water winding its way down through the timber, stopped, watching Einar for a minute. His clothes were soaked with the ongoing rain, as were hers, but unlike her, he was beginning to shake terribly as the cessation of movement

allowed him to cool further, and she could see that he would end up in real trouble if she allowed him to remain immobile in their current location for as long as it would take to tend to Kilgores injuries. She hated that he had even ventured out of the cabin with his foot troubling him the way it was, knew it was largely her fault that he had felt compelled to do so, but wanted to end the expedition as quickly as possible, now that they had all found each other once again. Kilgore made it this far, and he can keep going until we get back to the cabin. Einar, you dont need to be stopping until we get someplace where you can really get warm, where you can crash on a dry bed by the fire when you get done with this, just have a hot meal and then sleep. She returned to Einar, took him by the arm and led him over out of earshot of the injured tracker. He can make it up to the cabin. Lets finish the climb, take care of this up there. Were all soaking wet, hungry, need to get warm, and everything will be a lot easier there. We cant take him to the cabin. Gonna patch him up right here, send him on his way and he was quiet for a minute, dizzy and nearly doubled over as he waited for an especially brutal shivering spell to pass. Fever was coming back, legs felt close to buckling; sure wished his head was a little clearer. Are you Ok? A nod, and he straightened himself, took the steadying hand she was offering--come on, you know shes right on this one--looked her in the eye. If we do thisgonna have to blindfold him, not let him see the terrain as we finish the climbhe cant know where this place is. Liz let out a silent sigh of relief, pulled him to her and tried to rub a bit of warmth into his numb-cold arms. Wed better get going, then. When Einar returned to Kilgore and informed him of the necessity that he be blindfolded before they could continue, Bud just chuckled, threw up his hands and proclaimed that he wasnt surprised, doubted it would make much difference, anyway, as his right eye seemed determined to finish swelling shut, and they went.

Climbing with as much speed as he could muster, Einar led the way back up the slope, deliberately keeping them to a course that at no point crossed the trail which he and Liz had made in descending, weaving and spiraling through the densest timber he could find. He had little hope of their being able to leave little to no sign--two half-cripples and a pregnant woman struggling up a steep, rain-soaked slope will tend to leave a mark--but intended to make the effort, anyway, wanted to avoid further enhancing the trail the two of them had already created on the way down. Bud Kilgore, robbed of the remainder of his vision by a strip of cloth when Einar decided they were getting too close to the basin, did his best at the back of the line, guided by Liz, who helped him the best she could over and around numerous tangles of downed timber. Einar had all the challenge he could

handle in simply getting himself up and over those trees, the foot aching terribly and his pulse fast and weak with fever, inefficient. Kilgore did not seem to be much of a threat, not with his eyes nearly useless as they certainly appeared to be, hard to fake that one, but still Einar was uncomfortable out there on the slope with him, concerned that in his somewhat compromised state--dont like to admit it, but theres really no denying--he might have missed a piece or two of the puzzle, overlooked some small detail that otherwise would have given him some warning, some hint as to the reality of the situation, if it happened not to be as it seemed. So many things, so very many, were not as they seemed, and often, Einar knew, the difference between life and death could hang in the instantaneous recognition of which were which. Nothing instantaneous about his thought processes that day, nothing at all, and it aggravated him, left him feeling uncomfortably exposed, but his instincts told him that Kilgore was being truthful, and that would, for the time, have to do. Fortunately, he did not have much time to worry about it; the effort of climbing, while struggling to pick the path that would leave the least sign, was demanding his entire attention. He could, and no doubt would give the matter a good bit of thought later, once they had returned to the cabin and done what they could for their unexpected guest. By the time they reached the top of the slope, hauling themselves wearily out of the timber and into the welcome ease of the more open terrain around the basin-edge, all three of the travelers were cold, dripping wet in the ongoing drizzle and beginning to stumble in their weariness, Kilgore, though hurting from his injuries and running on no more than an hour or two of sleep over the past day and a half, was doing better, over all, than Einar or Liz, having been, up until those past couple of days, far more well fed than they and having a bit of body fat to help slow the cooling process. Despite this advantage, it was with great relief that he greeted the mellowing and opening of the slope, being quite weary of bruising shins and bashing elbows against unseen obstacles, more than once having muttered streams of invective under his breath as hed stumbled up through the timber, their barbs directed not at Liz, who was doing her level best to guide him safely through the maze, but at the faint crunching and swishing of branches that had represented Asmundsons presence some distance ahead of them. The stubborn old coyote hadnt been willing to slow down, thought the girl said he was hurt, nursing a bad foot and a worse fever, but he sure dont act like it. Least he could do is give me my one good eye back for the climb, give me a fighting chance at making it up there in one piece, but for all of his muted and, at times quite seriously-intended grumbling, Kilgore knew that the fugitive had, in blindfolding him, done the only reasonable thing, under the circumstances, knew he hadnt made it out there for as long as he had by trusting too much or allowing his sense of caution to become dulled through disuse. Kilgores mutterings did not reach Einars ears, and neither, for that matter, did much else after those first few minutes of climbing, the sound of his own heartbeat too loud in his head for much else to make it through, its furious pounding warped and magnified by the waves of heat that seemed to be traveling up from that foot to engulf him, and once he got over trying to fight it--didnt have the energy for any such attempt, not if he wanted to keep on his feet and climbing, which he did--he managed to settle into a rhythm of sorts, five heartbeats, step, five more, on and on, and if he was still cold--which he was--he

definitely didnt feel it. Up through the trees that skirted the tarn-meadow--would have been more direct to strike out across the grassy basin that held it, but he was still attempting to keep them under cover and minimize their visible trail--and into the final timbered steepness that stretched upwards towards the small plateau that held the cabin, the spring, home, Einar led them, his pace finally beginning to lag, Liz and Kilgore catching up to him for the first time in a good while. There in the higher, cooler air of the basin the rain was once again trying its best to turn to snow, sky spitting a slushy, fastfalling substance and Einar, apparently having reached the end of his ability to remember what he was about, if not of his strength, stood braced against his spear, catching the glob-flakes in one open-palmed, cold-reddened hand, allowing a good many of them to accumulate before, dreadfully thirsty, scraping them into his mouth. Liz spoke to him, got no response and tried again, put a hand on his shoulder and mentioned something about the cabin almost being in sight, said hed soon be sitting in front of a big fire and starting to warm but he just laughed, gave her a crazy, cross-eyed grin and--wanting to show her that despite appearances he was plenty warm, already-extended his arms so that the steam rose from his icy sleeves as from the wings of some great phoenix, still smoldering, suspended, presumably, somewhere between being entirely turned to ashes and rising again from them. Liz did not find it amusing in the least, which Einar thought rather ill humored of her, but he was too busy struggling to maintain his balance to be much bothered by her reticence, let out another crazed, crackling laugh and resumed his climb. There it was at last, the cabin, and Einar--fever finally having been overcome once more by the sharp, insistent chill of the wind, leaving him quite wide awake and fighting the sudden, bleak onslaught of desperation as he felt himself rapidly losing his battle with the elements--would have fallen to his knees in thanksgiving, lay there for a minute and crawled inside to sleep, had he not at that moment remembered that they were not alone. Remembering, he looked back, saw Liz just topping out on the final plateau, guiding Kilgore up between two close-growing firs and into the small clearing just out front of the cabin, and he covered those last few feet that lay between him and the cabin door, stood there waiting for them, freed Kilgore of the cloth strip that bound his eyes. Well, this is it. Better come on in, I guess. Windy out here. Windy. Yeah, its windy, and snowing, besides! Figures that youd pick the wildest, most desolate, windswept little corner of the high rocky world for your own, Asmundson. Must feel at home up here, andwell, look at that! He squinted at the cabin, able, after resting it on the climb, to get his good eye open just a crack. Camp, you called it? Looks like a doggone house you folks got up here. Whatd you do, lasso a couple of elk and have them haul in all these logs for you? Must be planning on staying for a while. Never figured you for the staying type, Asmundson, but then it seems youre full of surprises Einar was about to answer but Liz had had quite enough of the two of them standing there in the freezing rain carrying on what would have looked deceptively like a casual conversation, had not Einar been purple with cold and visibly near collapse, Kilgore

dripping blood-tinged rainwater where the wounds on his back had apparently begun oozing again from the effort of the climb, and she steered the two of them beneath the protection of the roof, hurried, weary and cold herself but greatly relieved to have reached their destination, to get a fire lit. Warming by Lizs fire, the three of them wrung water from sodden garments and got them hanging from beams to dry, Liz changing into the set of clothes which had remained dry in the cabin on her rainy trek and helping Einar into his dry set of pants and bringing the sweater, still damp from his nighttime foray to the spring, down close to the fire to finish drying. Kilgore, the memory of his having to cauterize the wounds on his back that past night still quite fresh in his mind, had been unwilling to part with his shirt until the time had come to patch him up, a task, he knew, which must wait until they had all warmed some and were a bit steadier, opting instead to hover over the fire where its heat soon had him well on the way to being dry. Before long they were sharing a pot of raspberry leaf tea and eating leftover stew, listening to the soft sounds of the rain in the trees outside and flexing cold-stiff hands, wrapping them around stew pots and tea pots until they became somewhat functional again. But Kilgore, tremendously glad to be out of the rain and finished with the forced march through the dark, obstacle-ridden woods, found himself greatly impressed with the little cabin, what he could see of it through his one good eye, and might have been content to pass the remainder of the afternoon in but Liz saw that he seemed still to be losing a bit of blood from the wounds on his back, enlisted Einars help in easing his shirt off to check. A rock, it appeared, must have caught Kilgore just below the left shoulder blade, leaving a jagged abrasion which was still oozing blood despite his previous efforts, more than half successful, to seal it over. Einar formed two oblong pads of usnea, dampening them with berberine water and pressing them to the wounds and laying a large mullein leaf from Lizs harvest over each. Next, leaving Liz to hold the bandages in place, he melted bits of spruce pitch on a rock beside the fire, smearing it quickly around the margins of the mullein leaves to hold them in place. Kilgore growled and narrowed his eyes at the first touch of the hot pitch, but after Einars explanation--normally he would have explained such a thing step-by-step before trying it on a person, but had overlooked the step in this particular case, his teeth still rattling with cold and speech being at the moment more difficult than action--he accepted the treatment, even allowing that it sounded like a pretty good idea. Kilgores back taken care of, Einar and Liz moved on to his face, which was blood-crusted and embedded in places with what appeared to be fragments of rock, sent flying, Einar expected, in the blast he and Liz had heard and felt the morning before, over where all the air activity had been focused. Been awful busy, havent you, Kilgore? While the injuries to his back had initially appeared far worse than they were, those to his face were somewhat more serious, and Einar sent Liz to boil up some fresh berberine solution so theyd have something with which to irrigate the wounds in order to cut down on the chance of infection and hopefully remove any tiny splinters of rock that might be overlooked in their initial examination. Finding two of his bone awls Einar held their ends down in the boiling water for a minute to sterilize them, returning to Kilgore and choosing an obvious bit of rock for his first experiment, carefully digging the thing out

and pressing a bit of usnea to the resulting wound. Though putting all of his focus into the effort, Einar was still pretty badly chilled, faltering with exhaustion and fever, and after he had tediously and meticulously removed four of what appeared to be well over a dozen of the rock fragments, Kilgore drew away from him, grumbling under his breath. Youre probably enjoying this, arent you? Figuring you might as well get some payback for me hitting you with those bear darts last summer? Einar chuckled. Were times when I would have liked to, for sure, but No sir, I believe that slate was wiped quite clean by whatever you did back there at that minestill got to hear the story, but I have a pretty good ideanope, this isnt deliberate, I just cant seem to keep my doggone hands still long enough to Well then for gosh sakes just let the girl do it! Kilgore exploded, sweeping Einars hand aside as he prepared to go after another of the rock splinters. Why didnt you say something, man? I figured Id just have to sit here and take my due, but hey, this is my face youre tearing holes in with those claws of yours, and if its not deliberate After which Liz gladly took over, had seen Einars difficulty but had hesitated to interfere, knowing that Kilgore had specifically asked him to do the task and had apparently--at least prior to being treated to the unpleasant experience of having granite shards dug out of his cheek by Einars well intentioned but unsteady fingers--possessed some confidence in Einars healing abilities. Liz completed the task with a careful, practiced efficiency that soon put Bud at ease, Einar tending to the task of keeping berberine water boiled and strained for use in cleaning out the wounds once the obvious rock bits had been removed. Kilgores eye, once they had cleaned away the crust of dried blood, dirt and the occasional rock chip that had been interfering with its operation, was not as badly injured as the tracker had himself feared, and after several careful rinses with barely warm berberine water he was able to ease it open far enough to realize that he could still see out of it, a great relief. The swelling around his other eye had already begun coming down a bit, had been, it seemed to Liz and Einar, mostly a function of the bruising which had very nearly affected his entire face, and Liz decided to make him a poultice of hounds tongue to speed healing--he had, after all, told her that he needed to get back down to the valley, but could not do so as long as he had visible injuries which would be difficult to explain--after making one for Einars foot. Speaking of which, it was past time to tend to that foot, which she expected must be quite a mess after Einars untimely descent and climb; the activity could not have done it any good, no matter how careful hed been. Heating more water--the last of what she had collected from the small trickle on the climb; it was almost time to run to the spring and refill the water jars, but she hesitated to leave the two men alone together, just yet--she added one of the cloth strips torn from her jacket liner to boil and sterilize, pulling the water back from the fire after a time and adding a good handful of the hounds tongue leaves, allowing them to thoroughly heat and partially cook in the warm water before wrapping them in the cloth strip, leaving its ends sticking out on either side to act as ties for securing the poultice in place. Einar had,

while she worked, managed to get his boot off, a process which had taken a good bit of time and had left him struggling to keep a rising nausea from going any further, a task which he accomplished, though with great difficulty, gritting his teeth and getting the foot propped up on a rock, unwinding the rain-soaked bandages, too weary to give more than a passing acknowledgement to the fact that the foot--hed known it even without looking, it had been headed that way for several days--appeared badly infected again, flesh black in places with rot. Well. Liz had got him the hounds tongue. Time to let it do the job he very much hoped it would be able to do, get things back on the path to healing. Bowing his head and trying to slow his breathing as Liz bathed the area with berberine water he looked up, finally, helped her wrap and tie the poultice in place. Neither of them had spoken during the procedure, Kilgore, too, silent and keeping a respectful distance as he saw that the two of them seemed to have a routine in place for such things, but he had been watching closely, shaking his head at the sight of that foot. Finished, Liz helped Einar move over nearer the fire. Were going to need to keep the poultice damp for a while, let it dry on there and probably do it again several times over the next day, so youd better keep close to the fire for now, or youll end up freezing again with those wet leaves on your foot. Einar nodded, leaned back against the cabin support, staring out the partially uncovered door opening behind him at the dim, drizzly late afternoon sky, breathing, waiting for the hurt to begin subsiding a bit so he could focus on something--anything--other than the foot. Liz checked his sweater--it was dry--helped him into it and began supper preparations, breaking up jerky and dried nettle leaves for a soup and debating whether she would be better off leaving Kilgore there with Einar while she went for more water, or taking him with her. Had better leave him, she supposed, if only because they couldnt afford to dampen any more sets of clothes than absolutely necessary with trips out into the rain, not with night coming on. Theyll be fine. I dont believe Kilgore is here to harm either of us, and Einars too worn out and consumed by dealing with the foot right now to be picking any fights I hope. Because weve got to have water. Though she could not imagine that Kilgore could be finding the knife and spear, both within Einars easy reach, particularly reassuring on that account. Einar did not want her to go, she could see by the look in his eyes when she explained where she was going, but couldnt tell whether it was because he was concerned about what he might do to Kilgore in her absence--or perhaps the other way around--or out of some half-rational and unexpressed fear that she would fail to return in a timely manner, as had happened the last time shed left. In either case, he did not make a strong objection, didnt say anything, and they had to have water, so she went. As soon as Lizs footsteps had faded across the rain-soft ground litter outside the cabin Einar took a deep breath and summoned up all the strength he could find--not much, at the moment--hauled himself into a more upright position and turned to face the tracker. Whatre you doing up here, Kilgore? Thought you were gonna make some tracks down

there a couple weeks ago to throw them off, finish up your little fishing trip and skedaddle back to Arizona where I hear you got a real nice place waiting for you. I did that for a little while, butcame back. Had to make it count for something Had to make what count? Dont know. Life, maybe. Whats left of it Ha! Well you see where that sort of thinking got me. Might want to reconsider that one. Too late. Einar nodded. Sounds like it. So whats this about a minewould it have anything to do with that fair-sized blast we heard the other morningyesterday morning, I guess it mustve been? Choppers had been honing in on something for a good while, and then boom! Fair sized? Fair sized? You must be deafer than I am, you mangy old coyote, if youre calling that thing fair sized. Ha! You heard that from way over here, did you? Yep. Tried to pick a place far from where I thought you kidsd be setting up house, draw them awayleft just enough of a trail for me to be sure theyd follow, your trail, not mine, your boots, your walk, ya old gimp. Youre walks got pretty distinctive by now. They took the bait. Me and your old fried Bob, weve been busy down around town, there been more sightings of your sorry hide around that command center than of Elvis on the Las Vegas Strip, but youre a sneaky one, you know, never do quite leave enough of a trail for them to figure out were youre hiding, where you retreat to after your varied and colorful acts of plunder and mayhem except for this last time. This time, you left them something. Just a little clue here and there, the seemingly random slipups of a man who whos near the end of his rope, and just doesnt care anymore. Not enough, anyway, to take all of his usual precautions. You were in mourning, you see, had lost the girl, the only person youd really cared about in a long, long time, shed been caught in a rockslide and had passed away a week later from her injuries, taking your child with her. You blamed yourself, and were getting reckless. Left a rock turned over here, a fallen tree scraped there where you dragged that bum leg of yours just a little, and they tracked you. Tracked me. Up to that mine just like Id intended them to, took em just long enough for me to get the thing rigged real good, boy, it was a good one, couldnt see a thing, man, I was proud of that jobwell, they had the place all surrounded with choppers and were talking about bringing in assault teams, cause theyd been watching your heat signature on satellite--satellite, Im telling ya, theyd re-tasked a couple just for the occasion--for two days, I was listening to them on one of their own radios, just waiting for them to start up that slope, and then they did. What they didnt know, though,

as they started that climb, was that our friend Bob--word is that he gave up his underground gardening business shortly after you paid him a visit a while ago, you know, turned over a new leaf and has started harassing the feds on a full time basis while he looks for other work--had been busy, awful busy down there in the valley, doing the agents laundry in a good strong warfarin slurry Einar interrupted the narrative at that point, laughing until the tears came and shaking his head, grinning at the tracker. Doing their laundry in a good strong warfarin slurry, you say, all straight-faced just like thats another brand of detergent off the shelf--Kilgore, youre every bit as crazy as they said you were, over there, and Im glad of it! Dont know how you pulled that one off, but its not something they would have been expecting, for sure--though they will now!--and probably not one Id have thought to try Rightwell it started to hit them as they made that climb, it was the elevation, you know, little blood vessels bursting in the eyes and nose and brain and lungs sooner than they might have down in the valley, little things like that, and at first they thought it was all due to the altitude, I heard em, but then they started to see how serious it was, called in Med-Evac--but didnt call off the assault. Sent the healthy-looking ones on up the slope and lost men because of that little miscalculation, because they didnt get them out of there fast enough, let em keep climbing, ended up bleeding, but they eventually got together enough who hadnt worn the special clothes to pull the thing off Well, you heard the blastwent off just like Id planned it. Mostly. Einar was leaning back, eyes closed and a faintly amused smile softening the painfurrows around his mouth, and for a moment Kilgore thought he had fallen asleep during the telling, was about to be cross with him for missing part of the story, but Einar cracked his eyes open, took a breath and glanced in Kilgores direction. Mostly? Yeah, mostly. Thing went off flawlessly, was a total route, and I made sure theyd find your stuff there where youd been living--weapons, your old bloody bear hide boot, even, and youd scratched a portrait of your lady there on the rock face just inside, where it would coincidentally happen to be protected, preserved for them to find as a clue to why youd done it, so all of that went according to plan, but you seewhen the rocks stopped falling there I was, down there behind that partly collapsed pillar way back in there, finger still on that switch with six tons of shattered granite all around me, chunks of it stuck in my face and back but I was still movin and you know, what could I do? Had to find a way out. Well, dont really see where the problem comes in, still movings good, a good start at least. Yeah but I hadnt planned to need that--a way out--and wasnt sure there even was one. None had been obvious in my scouting Started crawling, slithering, more like, down

through this crack that had stayed open at the back, thought I could feel a little breeze coming through there like the blast had dislodged something down lower in there, maybe opened up some fissure or an old ventilation shaft or something that hadnt been exposed before, so I just kept crawling, had no light but eventually started seeing this glow, real faint, would disappear whenever I looked directly at it, and I only had one eye at that point, and couldnt get it very far open, but I kept going, knew theyd be making their way up to that collapsed entrance any moment, and I had to be out of there. Come out somewhere down in this little draw way below the entrance, below the base camp and LZ for the rescue ops, could hear the choppers coming and going but I guess I blew out one eardrum in that blast, wasnt hearing too much better than I was seeing. Lay there for a few minutes--quite a few, I do believe--just staring at the daylight, kinda starting to go into shock I guess cause Id lost some blood from where those rocks had torn up my back, but then I realized itd started raining, and I hadnt heard a chopper for a while, was storming pretty good by that point and theyd quit flying. Well, I couldnt go back down into townhad arranged for Bob to take care of returning my rental truck, it was clean, untraceable to me, as were my plane tickets, and he knows how to be careful, they wont find his prints in there even if they take a notion to look, which they shouldnt, but no way I could go back down there all torn up like this and maybe get someone to asking questions, so I just took off into the hills, wanted to get some distance between me and that search, ended up following a little creek, up, up, working like I was trying to shake a tracking team, because I didnt know for sure that I wasnt, but then it got dark and I just plain ran out of steam, had to stop and make camp, try and do something about the bleeding that was still trying to be a real problem at times. One cold, miserable night, Ill tell ya, even with that tiny little half-buried fire, and I didnt do a whole lot of sleeping. Tried to warm myself up by slapping hot metal to those wounds on my back, and it slowed the bleeding some, kept things interesting and made me forget about the cold for a while, but thats it. On towards morning I started getting this real spooky feeling like there were eyes on me, thought it might be a big cat watching me from up on this low rocky ridge on the other side of the creek from where Id camped, had that feeling--like the time I was stalked for a day and a half one time by a she-lion out there in the bundu--and to tell you the truth I hoped it was, rather than the alternative, which would mean Id left more of a trail than Id thought, and there were trackers closing in on me. Well, I killed what was left of the fire, picked up camp real quiet--not that there was much of anything to pick up, it was pretty much me, my ratty old rock-torn clothes and this sharp stick Id been carrying along--and climbed up on that ridge, hoping to get around behind whatever was watching me. Eye had really started swelling by that point and I couldnt see too much, knew my chances of sneaking up on any lion, if thats what it was, were real small, so I moved as carefully as I possibly could, scoured that ridge and finally walked right up on the spot where your wife had spent the night, apparently watching my camp. Real sharp, that girl. Almost brained me with that club of hers, before she recognized me and thought twice about it. Well now that may have just been your luckiest break of all, though you probably didnt know it at the time and Einar was laughing, couldnt seem to stop, mumbled a few words, fast, tripping unintelligibly over each other, when the tracker asked him what was

so funny. What, now? Whatre you But Einar wasnt listening, was slumping over, sliding towards the ground, and Kilgore grabbed an arm to steady him, found the source of the trouble. Aw, hey, youre really burning up No problem. It happens, I just have toit helps if I can And he was out of his sweater and then out of the cabin, lying on his back in the rainy cabin-clearing and staring contentedly up at the wind-lashed spruce-tops, leaving Kilgore unsure whether he was supposed to try and pull him back inside--sounded dangerous--or wait for the girl to come back and discover that hed done nothing to remedy the situation, which sounded to him nearly as dangerous as the first option. No winning this one, and looks like he knows what hes doing, anyway. Ill haul him in here when he cools off some, and if Im lucky, that may even be before she shows up again. Liz returned, precariously balancing several jars and two cooking pots full of water, to find Einar sprawled out and soaking wet in the cold rain of the cabin-clearing, appearing asleep or possibly even unconscious, Kilgore standing over him, and for a moment she feared that they must have had an altercation of some sort, Einar coming out on the losing end. The real situation became quickly obvious to her, though, easing the immediacy of the problem somewhat but still leaving her rather displeased with both men, Einar for leaving the shelter of the cabin, and the tracker for allowing him to do it. Bud Kilgore, who had recently grown concerned at the length of time Einar was remaining motionless out there in the rain and had begun attempting with little success to talk him back inside, recognized the flash and snap in Lizs eyes and, seeing the war club at her side, took a conciliatory step back away from Einar. Hey now, dont get your hackles up. I was just working on getting him back inside, but he was roasting, burning up, temperature must have been a good 105, 106 degrees Id guess, and something had to be done about it, or hed have started frying his brain. His solution seemed pretty sensible, to me. Liz could hardly disagree, knew that Einar was generally very good about knowing when action needed to be taken on such things, and taking it, though she could not help but wish that he would not insist on always taking his treatment quite as far as he did. Cooling down was one thing, freezing half to death another, entirely, and she enlisted Kilgores help in dragging him back inside. A process to which Einar made strenuous objection, hastily freeing his arms from their grasp and scrambling to his hands and knees, slightly disoriented for a moment but quickly getting a grasp on the situation, grinning apologetically at Liz--got too crowded in there for a minute, I guess--and returning to the shelter of the cabin, where the fire--Bud had been seeing to it--thankfully remained lively and ready to share its warmth with all of them. The soup, kept at a low simmer by its distance from the flames, was ready, and Liz quickly made a pot of tea-raspberry leaf sweetened with a bit of box elder syrup--to go with it, sat down to eat and was relieved when both men did the same. Hungry, the hot soup providing a welcome

reprieve from the damp chill of the evening, they soon drained the pot, Liz heating more water and tasking Einar with breaking up jerky for a second batch as he and Bud reclined around the fire, carrying on a casual and somewhat sleepy conversation about the particulars of Kilgores escape from the collapsed mine, the first telling of which Liz realized she must have missed while gone to the spring. No matter. She could always catch up on the details later. She was just glad to see that the two of them seemed to be getting along reasonably well, no heads bashed in or scalps taken, yet She had dreaded the coming of night with those two attempting to sleep in the same small, confined space, had doubted Einar would allow himself even to try and get any rest, with a visitor in the camp, but looking at him now, it appeared he was a good bit more relaxed about the entire thing than she could have expected, looked weary enough, too, that he would have little choice when it came to whether or not to sleep. Which he did not, was drowsing already by the fire, losing track of his place in the conversation with Bud, and Liz crouched there beside him, urged him to come to bed. At which Einar came wide awake, staring at her with wild eyes and apologizing for dozing off, proclaiming that he couldnt sleep just then, because he had to take first watch. Liz shook her head and Kilgore laughed under his breath, rose creakily and planted himself beside the door. Dont worry about it. Ill take the first watch, now that I can see again. Man, you just get some sleep. But Einar eyed him strangely--youre the one weve got to be watching, in the first place, still not convinced weve got the whole story about how and why you ended up here--grinned and lay down, just gonna rest for a minute or two, and then Ill do it myself but was asleep before he knew what was happening, Liz finally managing to wake him just enough to get his sweater on and guide him over to their bed of spruce boughs. They all settled in for sleep, then, Einar facing the door--and the tracker--with Liz tucked in protectively behind him, Kilgore stretched out on a narrow pallet of spruce boughs that Liz had hastily put together for him against the far wall. Liz was a bit concerned about him staying warm enough over there, had given him the deer hide but kept that of the ewe for herself and Einar--who, the fever having left him once more, was having a terrible time staying warm after his long minutes lying out in the freezing rain-but he said hed be just fine, Im not all starved and skinny like you kids are, got some padding on me Kilgore, though quite warm enough between the deer hide and the hot rocks Liz had insisted on wrapping up and tucking in around him, found himself troubled some by the recently worked-on abrasions on his back and was as yet unable to sleep, lay watching Einar and Liz in the glow of the dying fire, his body immensely weary but mind busy, not quite ready to let go and allow him to rest. Einar, he realized, was somewhat of a puzzle to him, specifically when it came to his relationship with Liz. He found it ironic that only in his late adventure as a fugitive, an outlaw, a hunted man, literally and physically-perhaps at last giving some form and substance to the reality that had existed all these years in his mind, his soul? Who knew? Who could begin to fathom the soul of another? Foolish business, that--had he apparently found himself capable of allowing another person to really get close to him, close enough, perhaps--he glanced again at them where they slept, Liz pressed up against his back, holding him, cheek resting on his shoulder, the two shall become one, Einar appearing almost at peace--to gain the occasional fleeing

glimpse into his soul. Kilgore shook his head, looked away. None of his business, anyway. And Einaroh, he wouldnt like this one bit, you thinking about him like this, picking him apart and trying to quantify the pieces. Would hate it. Better quit before he wakes up and pierces your skull with them spooky eyes of his, sees your train of thought and then goes ahead and gives you an atlatl dart between the eyes. A very distinct possibility, and he rolled over, painfully, carefully, meaning to let the entire matter go and try for some sleep, but he was curious, turned and studied the fugitives sleeping form out of the corner of his eye. Being on the run--aside from its painfully obvious physical complications--seemed to agree with Einar, strangely, as if he found it somehow freeing, and perhaps--the intangible having become the immediate, the running real--he truly did. One cannot run from ones own mind, of course--a rather dangerous and ill-advised undertaking to attempt--but one can, perhaps, find in the pressing and inescapable demands of a difficult life--must reach that summit before the noon thunderheads roll in, must keep pushing up that impossibly forbidding wall of rock and ice, youre committed now, no turning back even if you wanted to, swing that axe with utmost care lest you fracture the brittle coating of ice that represents your only hope of hanging on, spider-like, treading, perhaps, where humans were never intended to tread, long enough to make the next move, must evade capture and scratch out a life, day to day in harsh paucity of the sub-alpine high country--some form of refuge, a respite, of sorts, from the clamorous chaos of ones own dark, impenetrable interior. The only peace is in unending struggle. It sounded Orwellian, but nonetheless appropriate, and he half wanted to wake Einar and run it by him, see if any of it sounded familiar, but he doubted--in which assumption he was of course patently wrong, as we so often are when supposing ourselves capable of comprehending the thoughts and motivations of another--that the fugitive had ever considered the thing in any such terms, was even more dubious about the possibility of him desiring to do so. It seemed the man had maintained a tenuous existence for a rather long time largely through a carefully orchestrated and highly disciplined refusal to allow himself to look too deeply or too long at a number of things--certain incidents in own past perhaps foremost--and Kilgore was not sure that he had any right to grab him by the scruff of the neck as he was considering, and compel him to look at things that he wanted--perhaps even needed--not to see. He would have left the matter there, left it alone, had it not been for the woman. And for the little life whose presence was already proclaiming itself in the slight bulge of her still undernourished belly. She didnt look too bad, actually, appeared to have put on a little weight, even, since the last time hed seen her, and Kilgore wondered if Einar might be intentionally starving himself to ensure that the growing child got plenty. Sounded like something he would do. He had the weak, almost cachexic look of a man nearing death and lacking the strength to much longer fend off its advances, flesh sunken and almost transparent, mind at times faltering, but still daily driving him to push his body beyond all reasonable limits of endurance, and Kilgore wondered if perhaps that was intentional, too, on some unconscious level. Not so much a wish to die--the opposite, actually--as a desire, a need--compulsive, all-consuming and perhaps in the end even fatal--to discover with an exactness to which the living may have no rightful claim precisely where those

limits might lie. To be certain, through self-imposed ordeal, that he could withstand the final test, make an honorable end. As if he had any real reason to doubt. From what Kilgore knew of his past life, both over the previous two years and, even more significantly, in those dim-distant jungle days when they had first made each others brief acquaintance, he did not. Had arguably--and he knew Einar would almost certainly argue to the contrary, if presented with the matter--already withstood it more than once, and had come out the other end. Yet Kilgore knew the doubt was there. Might always be there. The quest was, then, a reasonable one after a fashion, necessary and perhaps noble, even, in a language that the two of them and perhaps not a tremendous number of others could claim as their own, but was not a suitable pursuit for a man who had a wife and child relying on him. A real dilemma, and Kilgore did not know if there was anything he could--or should--do to help him find his way through it. Knew he had better try, though. The fugitives life was his own to do with as he saw fit, but there were other lives at stake now, lives which in large measure were dependant on his being there to shield and provide for them, and someone had to talk to the man. Try and talk some sense into him. Looks like thats probably going to be me. But not tonight

Sometime during the night the rain ended and the heavy-bottomed clouds began parting, breaking up, drifting, allowing temperatures to plummet and causing Bud Kilgore to stir in his sleep, chilly, pulling the deer hide closer around his shoulders. Einars sleep had been uneasy all along with the knowledge that he and Liz were not alone in the cabin, mind busy with the possibilitieshad Kilgore been followed, tracked, equipped, either with or without his knowledge, with a satellite tracking device that was even then lighting up the area of their cabin like a flashing neon target, leaving them to wait unsuspecting for the impact of the rocket, sudden death from the sky, and his hands prickled coldly with anticipation, the back of his neck, waiting, heart pounding alarmingly against his ribs so that its fluttering finally woke Liz, and she drew him closer, smoothed the sweat from his forehead and insisted that he take a sip of water. She thought he was feeling a awfully warm again even as he trembled as if quite cold, and though it seemed the fever not nearly as bad as what Kilgore had described noticing earlier that evening, the contrast with the chilly night air was pronounced, and she lay there wide awake for a time just listening to his breathing--fast, shallow, as it had been since his most recent blood loss with the work on the foot, and she knew he was anemic, was struggling to get enough oxygen there in the thin air--and praying that the poultice of hounds tongue was doing its job, fighting the infection in his foot and giving it a chance to begin healing again. If it did notshe tried not to let her mind go there, knew she needed sleep and doubted shed be able to get any if she began exploring those possibilities again, but ended up doing it anyway, wondering a bit desperately if there was anything Bud Kilgore could do, any bit of knowledge he might have to shed new light on the situation and its possible remedies, even--she silently asked Einar for forgiveness even as the thought occurred to her, knowing what he would think of it--contemplating the possibility of trying to talk Einar into going away with him for a while, heading back to the home hed previously invited them to in Arizona, if the option was still available,

holing up and taking advantage of whatever antibiotics and other treatments Kilgore could avail himself of to heal the foot, staying until hed managed to get fully rested up and fed and on his feet again before rejoining her--them, for the child likely would have made an appearance by that point--up at the cabin. She wanted it for him, that respite, wanted it so badly that her tears seeped down to dampen his shoulder at the thought of it, theres only so much I can do for you out here, and Im doing it, everything I know to do but sometimes it just doesnt seem like its going to be enough, and I dont want to lose you, it may be selfish but I really dont, not with the child coming, he needs you, needs to know his father, and Im sorry, Einar, for even thinking these things, but Lord please let him make it through this night so we can figure something out, find something else to try, please, thats all I ask, just this nightand, finally, she slept. Morning came and Einar was still breathing, apparently, because he wasnt there with her, and Liz, startled to wakefulness by the realization of his absence, glanced over in Kilgores direction, could just make out his still form in the dim predawn light, finally caught sight of Einar, spear in hand, supported by it, standing just outside the door, face raised and eyes closed as if either listening or deep in thought, and the next second Liz knew which, for she felt the rumbling, a distance-dimmed, ominous thing that traveled through the ground, conducted almost too faint for notice by the rock and dirt of the basin and she went to him, draped the ewe hide over his shoulders and stood with him as the tremor grew and was joined by sound. They were back at it, scouring, apparently, the area around Kilgores mine, now that the storm had broken. Several minutes later a sleepy and rather disgruntled-looking Bud Kilgore stumbled out of the cabin to join them, scowling up at the clearing sky as if he wished to bring it down. Which he might well have, but lacking the means, had to settle for a pot of tea quickly prepared by Liz over a tiny smokeless fire of grey-brittle aspen twigs, a strong brew of spruce and nettles which she been anxious to get into Einar ever since hearing his breathing that past night, knowing that the nettles iron could only do him good. They passed the pot back and forth, the two of them, as Liz heated herself a second pot and crumbled raspberry leaves into it, the rumbling not fading but at the same time seeming to draw no nearer. The men seeming little inclined to break their sky-watching vigil, she soon took it upon herself to begin a breakfast of--what else?--sheep jerky and nettles, rubbing the ingredients between two flat slabs of granite to pulverize them, keeping at it until they were little more than powder in the knowledge that they would, thus treated, cook up much more quickly, allowing her to cut down on the use of fire on that bright, clear morning. That ongoing rumble had her feeling almost as spooked as Einar looked, and she did not like the thought of risking visible smoke, even though he had not yet pried himself away from the door to come and tell her to put out the little blaze. Breakfast quickly coming to a simmer, Liz looked around the cabin for something to add, anything that might lend further nutrition to the mix, settling on grinding up the sweet roots of several avalanche lilies, their valuable starch and sugar making, she thought, a fine addition to the breakfast. What they really needed, though--what she and the child were craving that morning--was fat. Even if only in the liver and brains and marrow of a rabbit or two, the skin of a grouse, the rich yellow-white layer that could be found beneath the hide of a good plump marmother stomach growled painfully at the thought,

and, calling Einar and Bud in for breakfast, she tried to no avail to suppress its grumbling. Halfway through breakfast--Kilgores appetite seemed to have fully caught up with him after his day and a half without, and he appeared to be enjoying the simple soup immensely--she had made up her mind, turned to Einar. I need to go run the trapline. Do you think if I stay in the trees, avoid the meadow and stay off my old trail as much as possible? He nodded. Ought to be alright. We could use a rabbit or something, specially with the way certain parties are practically inhaling your soup this morning Bud narrowed his eyes, glared at Einar. Hey, I heard that. Im not here to eat up all your food, wish I could have brought something with me, but dont you suppose Ive earned a little meal or two with all that up at the mine? Einar laughed, handed him the nearly empty pot. Yeah, youve earned it. Well, thanks. Now if you all are agreeable and Mrs. Asmundson, maam, youll sketch out the route of your trapline for me, Ill be glad to go see if youve got any rabbits waiting, this morning. Liz thanked him, but shook her head. I already know the route. It will be quicker for me to go, but Ill tell you what you can do, and thats to make sure my husband doesnt go wandering too far from the cabin while Im gone, because I need him here so I can put a fresh poultice on his foot when I get back Would like to do that. Got some things to say to that fella, as I remember, and theyd be best said in private Ha! Yes, maam, I can do that. Tell you what, Ill sit on him if I have to. At which Einar glared at him, gave Liz a quick grin and shook his head, sitting back down.. You wont have to

Liz set out, glad for the opportunity to run her trapline, for once, without the worry of returning to find Einar missing. In her absence, Bud and Einar cleaned up after breakfast, silent and sullen with the shadow of the ongoing search hanging over them, that distant rumble which changed in volume and tone, but never quite seemed to disappear. Einar, still unable to get warm, set another pot of water to heat for tea and stared longingly at the sunlight as it crept its way down the ragged rocky escarpments that striated the far side of the basin, wishing he could take a brisk walk across the intervening meadows and timberlands to get the blood moving, climb up there and sit in the sun for a while. Not an option, though, not with the foot festering the way it was, and him having resolved to do all he could to get it back on track. Which reminded him. Still needed to tell Liz of his having come to that decision, of his resolve to allow her to help in all the ways she had

been wanting to for so long; hadnt, in the rush and confusion surrounding Kilgores arrival, managed to mention it to her, and he supposed that, seeing as he had made the long descent in search of her that past day, she must assume he was hanging onto his previous stubborn insistence on keeping to his feet and active, no matter what. She had seemed overly relieved to learn that Kilgore was willing to stay with him while she ran her trapline--as if she thought he needed to be watched like some wayward child--a fact which would have greatly angered him even a day or two before. Well. Cant blame her, I guess, but Ill get it all cleared up with her when she gets back. For the moment, it seemed that the best thing he could do would involve changing the poultice on his foot so she wouldnt have to do it when she got back. He had no idea whether the hounds tongue was doing any more for eliminating the infection than the berberine had been--certainly didnt feel any better, and he was aware that the fever was still there, had been awfully high, at times--but had to hope. Got the bandage off, gritted his teeth and poured some berberine water over the matted clumps of usnea beneath, softening them for removal and replacement, and very nearly cried out when he hastily pulled them free, only to have a quantity of blackened flesh come along with them. Kept control of himself--this is a good thing, got to be a good thing, that stuff has got to go, so maybe the poultice is really doing its job--breathing as deeply and slowly as he could manage, knew Kilgore was watching him and rather resented it, snarled in his general direction as he retrieved the bundle of leaves and prepared to make a fresh poultice. Einar was of half a mind to respond violently when the tracker, instead of taking the hint, moved closer, took firm hold of his leg in one hand, the packet of hounds tongue in the other, but he kept still. Let me do this for you. Your hands are shaking, and youre just gonna hurt yourself. Einar nodded, lowered his head as Kilgore inspected the foot, shook his head--man, this is worse than I thought. Dont know how you ever made that climb yesterday, doubt I could have done it--and propped it on the rolled-up deer hide, began heating and softening a handful of hounds tongue leaves as he had seen Liz do, that past evening. Neither of them said a word as the tracker formed and applied the poultice, gently but efficiently wrapping it in place with the freshly washed cloth strips that Liz had hung over the fire to dry and giving Einar a drink from the pot of tea, which had been boiling away unremembered by the fire. Kilgore added a few more dry sticks to the fire, waited until Einar seemed to have begun getting his breath back. Time to face some facts here, Asmundson, and I hope youll excuse me if I speak real plainly. Sure. I got no use for pretense. Dont understand it half the time, anyway. Ok then. Looks like youre gonna lose that foot, and if it happens up here, youll almost certainly be losing a lot more than that. Come on, dont give me that look, Im not telling you anything you dont already knowand besides, youre sick. The girl may not recognize it--thinks its all because of the foot, maybe--but I sure do. What kind of a life

do you think youre gonna be able to give her out here, her and the little one, even if you do make it through the loss of the foot? Einars eyes had gone flat, jaw tight, and he looked more inclined to launch himself at the intruder-guest than answer his questions, but kept still, voice a gravelly rasp when he spoke. I get along alright, and so does she. What the heck are you suggesting, Kilgore? Come back with me. I dont intend to lose the foot. Im guessing you didnt intend to lose the toes I cannot go back. Sure, you know there are ways. We can walk out of here, you two hang out down near the highway for a few days while I make a trip into town and get an appropriate vehicle, come back for you and drive. Can take you anywhere you want to go, my place, the next state, all the way to the border--either border--if youd prefer thatheck, Ive still got connections, I could have you safely tucked away in a shipping container to Bangkok within a week, if you want, but Im telling ya, Ive got a pretty nice basement under my little place up there in the hills, and the two of you are welcome to hole up there for as long as you need it. I dont get visitors but maybe once, twice a year, and the place is real remote. Would even suit a wild critter like yourself, Ill venture to say. Seems to me we already settled this matter the first time you were up here. Nothing has changed. Maybe not, except that the childs a few weeks closer to coming, and youre getting sicker. I know what youre doing, and Ive got a pretty good idea of why, too. Youre handling this pretty much the same way I would. But you got to ask yourself--do you really think this--any of this--is worth leaving that woman and a newborn baby alone out here over? Cause thats the direction youre headed, if you dont Einar was on his feet. I think its time for you to go.

Two days and nights of cold, snow-verging rain had, it seemed, greatly cut down on wildlife activity in and around the basin, and Liz found most of her snares to be empty and untouched, a lone squirrel, a small, nearly black creature who didnt weigh anywhere near a pound, even with his fur saturated from the storm, being the lone exception. She freed the small creature from the tree set that had snared him, reset it and went on her way, feeling a bit discouraged, but immensely thankful for the stock of dried sheep meat that they had set aside beneath the good dry protection of the cabin. Theyd be alright.

After finding the remainder of the snares empty and stopping once to harvest a goodsized pile of nettles and a handful of sweet, succulent spring beauty leaves that she found still vibrant and green in the lee of a large granite monolith at the edge of the lower meadow, she headed back up to the cabin, anxious to check on Einar and change the poultice on his foot. The strained, icy silence struck Liz as soon as she entered the cabin, Einar hunched over in one corner working with an ominous, calm-furious intensity on the fletching of an atlatl dart while Kilgore maintained his distance against the opposite wall, and she did not have to wait for anyone to speak to know that something had gone seriously wrong between the two of them.

Liz set down her burden of water, glanced from Einar to Kilgore, waiting for someone to speak, but neither of them showed any inclination to do so, and she crouched beside Einar, ready to change the poultice on his foot. He put down the dart he had been working on, turned to her. Already did it. Changed it. You did? How do things look in there? He shrugged, said nothing, and Kilgore, eyeing him warily, took a step nearer. You folks are doing a real thorough job with that foot, maam, but like I was just telling him, it doesnt look like its gonna be enough. Id like the two of you to come back with me for a while, hole up at my place and give it some time to heal, if you can just talk this mule-headed old Einar snarled at the tracker, shook the dart menacingly in his direction. Werent you leaving? Thought you were leaving. Liz sat down close to him, took the dart and motioned for Kilgore to leave the cabin, which he did. Einar, what are you doing? Hes right, you know. The things were doing may not be enough, and if hes offering to give us a little help right now, well Shaking his head wearily, he let his forehead briefly rest on her shoulder as she drew the ewe hide closer around his chilled body, straightened up again. I know it, Lizzie, know hes right, but we cant. Just because they didnt follow him up here doesnt mean that theyre not waiting for him down there, by now. Hes real good at what he does, but so are they, and theres a chance he may have inadvertently left something behind at that mine, something that theyve traced to him, personally, and if so, they will have figured out by now that he hasnt been back home, will be looking for him, and certainly waiting for him there. Cant risk it. No undoing things if we walk into that kind of a mess, nothing left then but to make the best end that we can to all of it, and this little one he pressed his hands gently to her belly, met her gaze with the clearest eyes shed seen from

him in some time, is just starting out. Not ready to see it end for him. He needs a chance at life, he needs that, Lizzie. We cant go down there. She nodded, agreeing, if very reluctantly, you need a chance at life too, my dear Einar, I need you to need thatbut well work on it. Well work on all of it. I see that youre right, here, theres too much to lose if we go down there. You told Kilgore he has to leave? Yeah. Kinda let him get to me, Im afraid, got riled up some and told him I wanted him out of here before dark, but that doesnt need to happen. Can wait for tomorrow, give him some more time to heal up, and well have to do the blindfold again, lead him down a good ways and leave him where were sure he can find his way out, but not back up here. Ill need to come along, hoping Im able Well talk about it. Well figure it out. You just rest for now, Ok, and try to eat some more of this soup. Ive got to go round up another pile of these dry little aspen sticks, because were almost out, and the spruce makes too much smoke. Ill tell Kilgore to hang around outside for a while so you can have the place to yourself. He nodded, lay down at her urging, looking close to sleep, and Liz left in search of the firewood. Kilgore, seeing her go, followed at a distance, and she did not try to stop him, leading him a distance from the cabin and stopping at a dead-leaning aspen to strip it of its small dry branches. Kilgore soon caught up, saw what she was doing and helped choose and gather the smallest, driest branches. He told you about our little disagreement? He told me. You just say the word, maam, and Ill help you get him out of here, if its what you want. Knock him out, tie him to a hasty litter and the two of us could carry him, no problem. May be his only chance, you know Liz fixed him with a cold stare, wanted to respond angrily but could see that he was genuinely trying to be helpful. No. My husbands decision stands. He knows what hes doing, has kept us free so far, and if he says its a bad idea to go down there right now, then it probably is. The man is not rational. Hes not thinking. Surely you can see that! Hes having a few problems, but he knows what hes saying, and I stand behind him. Look, ladyI admire your loyalty, cant even tell you how much I respect that, your ability to look past some of his quirks and all. Tell you what, if there were more like youwell, I might not be the ornery old bachelor that I am, but youve got to look at the reality here. Asmundsons dying. Has a chance of making it, but only if the foot gets

proper care in a hurry, antibiotics, heck, he could really benefit from being in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber for a while every day to force some oxygen down there to that foot, but I dont think that can be arranged. Best we can do is to get him down to a lower elevation, get him on some oxygen and hope its not too late for the antibiotics to do their job. Without thatwell, pardon me for being crass, but are you prepared to do a field amputation on that foot? Do you know what that involves? Youre gonna have to decide how high to go to get past the infection, and that can be a real tricky call, even in a hospital, find some way to keep him from bleeding out during the operation, good tight tourniquet might do it in this case, but as depleted as his blood is, even that may not be enough, and you may lose him while youre cutting. Or soon after. Hell go into shock, and you just wont be able to bring him out of it. And while youre cuttingwhat do you have to use for a bone saw, anyway? Those are some major bones in there, the knife you used on the toes sure isnt gonna do the jobwhatre you planning to do, expose the bones and then bash on em with a rock until they break, then try and sand the remains smooth with one of those same rocks, with him screaming and struggling under you all the while? Have you ever read accounts of amputations in Civil War field hospitals? Because thats what youll be dealing with--unsanitary conditions, something like a 50/50 chance of losing him to blood poisoning after the operation--only they had bone saws and chloroform to knock the poor guys out, and youve got neither. Which means youre gonna have to tie him up real tight and then literally sit on him while you do this, or he is gonna end up hurting you, you and that baby, both. Wont be able to restrain himself, not for something like this, and basic instinct will take over. Can you even imagine how much this is going to hurt? Whole different world from the toes. Poor fellas only human And then, even if he manages to pull through, hes gonna be so anemic and depleted that his blood wont be carrying enough oxygen for weeks-weeks--right at a time when its critically needed for healing, which means the infection may--probably will--go on spreading up the leg, maybe even into the bone, and youll most likely have to go in again, higher Stop! She hissed savagely, fixing him with red-tearless eyes. Just stop. No, Im not prepared for anything like that, but if it comes, you know what? Well deal with it. Well do our best, and even if itif hehed rather die out here than risk being captured, hes said that and I know he means it, and theres no way Im going to participate in something that might lead to his capture. No way. If youre planning on trying to drag him out of here by forcewell, good luck, because it looks like youll be dragging me, too. Are you prepared for that? Kilgore threw up his hands. No, maam, I surely am not. You win this one. Somebody ought to tell that boy just how lucky he is, you know. Aint many out there like you in this dark old world. Youreah, forget it. Lets just get back over there. Hes gonna be waking up and wondering where we got off to. They walked in silence for a time, Liz stopping just around the shoulder from the cabin, waiting until Kilgore stopped, also, and looked back at her.

You knew him over there, didnt you? Just a little? Not really. We crossed paths a couple times is about the extent of it. But surely you heard things, you must know What has he told you about it? Not much. One night he couldnt sleep, kept waking up all she shrugged, Kilgore nodded, and he finally told me about his friend Andy, how the two of them were captured down in the tunnels and his friend was held in the hut next to him. He escaped and the other guy didnt, and it seems to really bother him still, but he didnt go into much detail Kilgore shook his head, looked her in the eye for a long minute. That boy must think an awful lot of youreal surprised he told you that much. Do you know what happened? I meanhe hinted at some things, said they were interrogated night after night, and I expect that means Oh, I think hes gonna have to tell you that himself if he wants you to know about it. Not my place. Ask him sometime, and you may be surprised what all hes willing to tell you, and itd probably do him some good, but maamwell, you better be real sure and dont ask anything whose answer youre not prepared to hear. Cause thats the worst, you know, when you get halfway through the telling and then the other personyou see em looking away, wishing they were somewhere else, like its just too hard to hear. You have that happen a time or two--got to be just about the loneliest feeling on earth, Im telling ya--and you just learn to keep your mouth shut about certain things. Dont do that to him, Ok? If you start thiswell, you got to be prepared to walk all the way through it with him. He was strong enough to go through the thing and keep on living in the first place, so youyou be strong enough to listen, Ok? To look him in the eye, and listen. I understand. Thank you. And she grabbed the tracker, gave him a quick embrace and a peck on the cheek that left him a bit dumbfounded and red-faced, turning away gruffly to keep her from seeing a sudden shimmering brightness in his eyes. Doggone dust

Fire stoked with dry-brittle aspen sticks and a fresh pot of tea set to heat, Liz planted herself between Einar and Bud as she prepared her fresh haul of nettles for soup, not sure just how serious their little disagreement might have been, and uninterested in finding out. Einar, though having appeared nearly asleep when they left to gather wood, had roused himself and kept busy in their absence, mixing a batch of mud and spruce needle plaster and packing it into some of the cracks that remained between wall-logs, a good, productive project which, to Lizs relief, appeared not to have required too much time on his feet. Which it hadnt, Einar, sitting there nearly immobile, having felt keenly the

breezes that were continually finding their way through those cracks and determined to do something about it. Kilgore saw what he was doing, helped mix a fresh batch of mortar and started work on his own section of wall, earning an approving nod from Einar, who had until then refused to acknowledge his return. Guess I may have been a little hasty a while ago. Might as well stay the night if you want to, head out in the morning. Kilgore nodded, went on packing and smearing mortar into a finger-wide gap between two of the upright logs that composed the front wall. Pretty snug setup youve got here, Asmundson. Which is a good thing, because I dont see an awful lot of warm stuff around, clothes, blankets, whatre you planning on doing when the snow comes and nights drop to fifteen, twenty below on a regular basis, maybe lower, considering the elevation up here? Glancing at him out of the corner of his eye--whatre you trying to do, here?--Einar went on working. Plan on taking a number of critters between now and then, thats what. Couple of sheep, deer, a bear, hopefully. Lots of rabbits. Well be ready when winter comes. Hmm. Well, you got a month or two of summer left before it starts getting real cold, maybe a little longer before the snow comes, maybe not. Figure on taking those critters before you lose the foot, or after? Or are you just gonna lie here and send your wife out after that bear? Shes got a few months before the little one comes, after all, why not put her to work? And he half wanted to say it aloud, to prod and provoke the fugitive with such unpleasant truths until he snapped--surely wouldnt take much, as tightly wound as he is right now--and came at him with one of those freshly-made darts he had close at hand, just so Id be within my rights in knocking him out, maybe talk the girl into helping me haul him out of here so we can get him some help, while Im at it. Only shed never go along with such a scheme. If they walk out of here, its gonna have to be his decision. Hmm. Kinda wish I had some of those bear darts left, bet hed be pretty easy to talk down from here with a couple of those in himafter the paralysis wore off, that is. Now theres a thought. Hed hate me for it at the time, but would thank me later. Wonder if I could let myself in the back door at the wildlife office down there in town, nab a couple darts and come back up after some big gameand really wonder if there are any plants up around here I could give him that would have a similar effecthave to ask the girl, surely shed know He shook his head, gave Einar--who was watching him with those wild, spooky-blue eyes as if seeing something of his thoughts--an apologetic grin, and returned to weatherproofing his section of wall. Hadnt been seriously considering the scheme, anyway. Well, not too seriously. The remainder of that day the three of them spent working on the cabin, sharing pots of tea and soup and completing nearly all of the chinking that had still needed to be done. Though Liz and Kilgore carried on lively bits of conversation from time to time, Einar found himself less and less inclined to join in, discovering that it was taking an inordinate amount of focus for him to follow and make sense of their words, the world strangely

hazy and indefinite around him. No matter, he told himself. He was doing fine with the mixing and application of the mortar, was getting a lot done, might as well allow himself a bit of rest, when it came to the other things, save up his strength for the trip that following morning. Liz had, of course, offered to go alone when escorting Kilgore out of the area, and though he knew that his foot--and the rest of him--would benefit from the reprieve, there was no way he was going to allow her to carry out the task alone. Too much chance of something going wrong--the worst scenario that had entered his mind involved Kilgore at the last minute taking Liz hostage and forcing her to go along with him to the valley in a well-meaning but horribly misguided attempt to save her from having to give birth on a desolate, windswept winter mountainside in the company of a deranged and dying man--and he intended to be there with her. Morning came, and Einars foot was worse. He didnt even have to wait for Liz to remove the bandages to know it, but when she did, the sickly sweet smell that permeated the cabin was unmistakable. The smell of death. Liz handed him the jar of berberine shed prepared the night before and he drank, grimly, knowing it was too late but accepting the scaldingly bitter liquid as an antidote to total despair, if not to the infection. He was dizzy, head hot and thick with fever, and when Kilgore knelt beside him and asked if he understood what the overnight developments meant, he nodded. Yeah, I know. Foots finished, and probably so am I, because theres not much chance of me surviving an amputation up here in my condition, but Im still breathing, so guess we got to try it Kilgore, if I dont make it through this he nodded in Lizs direction, and the tracker understood. Shes welcome at my place, Asmundson, her and the child both. I wont leave them out here. But listen, man, we can still get you down there if we hurry, head up to the house and do a decent job on that footyoure gonna lose it either way, but I can probably bring you through this thing alive so you can see that kid of yours come into the world how about it? He looked up at Liz, who sat silent but pleading--he could tell she wanted him to accept, wanted it awfully badly--closed his eyes and tried to remember the past days arguments, the logic by which he had convinced himself that they must not avail themselves of the trackers offer, but he could not recall it in any detail. Figured the fever must be significantly affecting his reasoning abilities, glanced around for some water, but didnt see any right at hand. Liz was speaking to him, had taken his hands and placed them on her stomach, saying something about how his son needed a father, needed him, how he had a duty to be there for him, if there was any way at all, and he was nodding, agreeing, allowed them to help him to his feet and drape him with the sheep hide, Liz packing up some food and weapons and all of their clothes, and leading him out into the hazy early morning light. It was moving too fast, all of it, and Einar, overwhelmed, sat down in the clearing and tried to think, tried to find another way, but he couldnt get his fuzzy brain to respond, heard the dim thud of footsteps around him as Liz did her best to secure the cabin against their return--hope we return, dont know if theres any going back, if we do

this--logs across the door opening to keep out larger animals, food hung high in the beams, as Kilgore explained to her what was going to happen. Its fifteen miles or so out to the highway, its gonna be rough on him, but I think he can do it. If not, we can rig a way to carry him. I cached clothes and papers, credit card, clean ID, a bunch of stuff down near the road before launching the mine operation. Was meant to provide for my escape, but once I have Bob rent that van and I come back for you kids, itll get all of us clean out of the area. Ive got everything we need to take care of that foot back at the house. Itll be a good eight, ten hour drive from here, but once we get him down to the van, he should do alright. You folks ready? He wasnt ready, needed more time to think about it but Liz was lifting him, urging him forward, and Einar lacked the energy to argue with her, knew she had been correct about his duty to be there for them, if he could, and here it appeared that he could, if only he would go down there and allow the tracker to load him in a van and drive him to Arizonaat which his head swam sickeningly, cant do it, cant risk it, stop, just stop, but he was still moving, and the next thing he knew there was the tarn-meadow, and he was rushing headlong for the little body of water, stumbling, falling on its shore and splashing his face with icy water, steam rising in the sharp morning air. It helped, the chill of the water, allowed him a bit more clarity, even in his fevered state, and when he rose, still dizzy, unstable and feeling as though he must weigh a ton, but able to think, the decision to proceed, to head down, was his own. Liz, he saw, had forgotten to blindfold Kilgore for the descent. Not that it mattered. Not anymore.

Einar, following Kilgore and supported at times by Liz as they descended down out of the basin, soon found himself traveling in a slow, dreamlike state where little mattered other than to continue making forward progress, his fever-delirium at times blocking out most of the pain of the foot so that he found himself on occasion even putting some weight on it. Had little option, actually, considering the terrain. Seeing his struggle Kilgore suggested more than once that they stop and put together an improvised litter so that he could be carried, but Einar, knowing the risk to all involved in attempting such an evacuation on the steep, sometimes slippery slopes of scree and spruce that they were traveling, refused, proving by his actions that he was able to keep moving under his own power. Still, fifteen miles can prove a very long way indeed when one is feverish, dehydrated, dripping sweat in the mid-afternoon heat and suffering from a massive infection as he was, and the summer sun was low in the sky by the time they began nearing the highway. Einar, his ears finely tuned to pick up on such noises, even in his current condition, stopped still and refused to go any further upon first hearing the vague hum of a vehicle in the distance--a fact not lost on Kilgore--and it took a good bit of effort on Lizs part to get him moving again, but she managed it, talked him down to a spot where only a steep fifty foot slope of aspens and shale separated them from the thin grey snake of the state highway where it wound its way up from Culver Falls. The place would, Kilgore said, do just fine as a waiting spot, and Einar collapsed in a heap as soon as he realized what was being said, hearing over the roar of blood in his ears and the

alarmingly shallow rasp of his own breaths the occasional hum of a vehicle down below and fighting an almost overwhelming urge to grab Liz and scurry back up the mountain, out of danger. Didnt matter; he didnt have to fight very hard. He could barely lift his head, let alone hope to make that climb. Was all done in, and he knew it. Liz gave him water, covered him with the ewe hide and rose, speaking urgently with Kilgore, who, from what Einar could gather, had brought them down to a spot very near where he had his clean clothes and other gear stashed. Wishing to speak with the tracker before he set out, Einar tried to rise, and the world went black. For a long while Liz sat with him, helped him out of his sweat-soaked shirt and into one of the dry sweaters to shield against the chill that began descending over the valley as the sun finally sank behind the evergreen-bristling crest of the opposite ridge; sunset came early to such valleys, even in summer. Whenever he seemed awake enough to allow for it she helped him with sips of water, worked to quiet him whenever the passing roar of a semi startled him to wakefulness grabbing for his knife, sure that danger was right on top of him, pressing, urgent. Finally, Lizs persistent efforts with the water jar paying off, Einar recovered somewhat in Kilgores absence, was wide awake by the time he returned a good two hours later, just after sunset, and was having second thoughts. The sight of that van, pulling over and parking on the shoulder so that a little stand of aspens rose up between it and the highway was the last straw. Wrong. It was all wrong, couldnt imagine what he had been thinking up there earlier, hadnt been thinking, it seemed, because this was looking like a real good way to walk right into a trap, there were simply too many unknowns, and he struggled to his feet, told Liz to pack up their things and wait for him there while he went down and spoke with Kilgore. Warily approaching the van, staying on the ditch side so as to be fully concealed from any traffic that might happen by, Einar waited for Kilgore to exit the vehicle and walk around to him, seeing too late the dart concealed in the trackers fist as the man slammed it into his shoulder--sorry man, but youre gonna die real soon if we dont get you some help, and I know youre not gonna be able to go through with this on your own, wild critter that you are. Youll thank me for this later, you really will--in what would have appeared from Lizs location to be a gesture of reassurance and comfort. Einar glanced up at him in horror, grabbed for his knife but it was too late, couldnt get his hand to close around it and Kilgore took the weapon from him, tucked it into his own belt. Einar turned to shout a warning to Liz just as he fell, legs quickly paralyzed by the contents of a dart which had been intended to immobilize a full grown black bear, but he couldnt seem to get the words out, and Kilgore caught him as he fell, eased him to the ground. Next thing he knew Liz was there beside him, the tracker assuring her that despite the frantic look in his eyes and what appeared to be a sudden difficulty getting enough breath he was going to be alright, had just worn himself out too badly with the long descent and was close to losing consciousness, good thing were taking him in, I think he was getting pretty near the end of his ropeand she nodded, thanked Kilgore for arranging everything. Together they loaded him into the back of the van, hid him amongst a jumble of what appeared to be leftover wares from a flea market of some type--Liz had never known a rental van to come with such accoutrements, but knew better than to ask questions--and when Kilgore asked if she wanted to sit up front with him she refused, climbing in beside Einar and

keeping her pack close by. The first two hours of that ride were a big blank spot for Einar, who lay drifting somewhere near sleep, caught in a terrifyingly inescapable world of half-dream where the headlight beam of every passing vehicle--seen briefly through the windows on the vans back doors--became a searchlight seeking him out, finding him, pinning him down to wait helpless and immobile for his captors to make their move, the hum of the tires on the changing road surface echoing in his ears as the rotors of a flock of predatory hovering helicopters. Somewhere along the Interstate in far Western Colorado the evil poison began wearing off just a bit and, though still maddeningly unable to move or to speak, Einar was allowed brief flashes of what could have almost passed as reality, was aware, for fleeting but blessed moments now and then, of Lizs presence, could smell her there, feel her touch on his cheek and almost dared allow himself to hope that things might turn out alright, but each time the strangeness would return, again cutting him off from everything good and honest and familiar, until he nearly gave up hoping. Once that night when Liz briefly left to use the bathroom at a gas station just outside of Moab, Kilgore climbed into the back of the van, fixed him in the agonizingly bright beam of a flashlight and, despite Einars determined good-faith efforts to end the trackers life with a ferocious death stare--seemed his eyeballs were the only thing he could reliably move, at the moment, had just got back the ability to open them, along with a bit of his brain power--stabbed him with another of those horrid, hateful darts so that he was nearly asleep again by the time Liz came back. Vaguely he heard the hushed but urgent conversation between the two of them upon her return. She was, it seemed, becoming terribly concerned about his inability to wake, feared that perhaps he remained badly dehydrated after the long hike, but Kilgore just kept assuring her that hed be alright, that they would be at his house in just a few more hours, and finally they talking stopped, Liz got back in beside him and they were moving again, Einar screaming silently at her to look at him, to listen, to open the back door and save herself while she still could, leap from the van--roll, you got to roll when you land, or youll surely break something, just tuck your head in and roll--and take her chances out there, and if only he could have moved, he would have done it himself, would have pushed her and then thrown himself out after her, but he couldnt move a muscle, could hardly seem to get his breath, actually, lay there gasping and hyperventilating so that Liz, fearing that he was about to stop breathing--which indeed he nearly was there for a while--held him with head and shoulders raised in an attempt to ease his breathing, but it didnt help, so she spoke to him, soft, soothing words about a place where he could rest, heal, where theyd be safe and would have plenty to eat, just a few more hours, sleep, Einar, and well be there in a few hours, and he did sleep but only because he suddenly seemed to have no choice, and the next time he woke the van had stopped, and he could see the bristly branches of overhanging ponderosa pines in the early morning light outside the back window. Something was going on out there, loud voices speaking harsh words that he could not quite make out, Liz tense and terrified at his side and then the doors were jerked open, men in protective gear and gas masks storming the place and pulling things out, and they had Liz and--Lord, what have I done?--were dragging her by the arms, throwing her

roughly to the ground on the dirt road outside, boot on her back, and he fought it desperately, the horrid, iron grip of inertia that held him immobile and unable to act when he most needed to so, but the best he could manage was a dry little croak from his parched throat, no movement, no way to stop them and then they had hold of him, too, were taking no chances, cuffing his hands tightly behind his back before tossing him out onto the road, and he looked up, saw Kilgore standing there, also in cuffs, and the man would not meet his eye

For what seemed like a very long while the agents kept them there on the ground, standing over them with weapons drawn as they consulted one another and made calls on their radios, and after a time others arrived, men who, it seemed, had questions for Einar, for they had dragged him upright, holding him under the arms and speaking to him, but he couldnt make much sense of their words, couldnt have responded coherently even if hed wanted to, and they apparently took offense at this, threw him back to the ground and began kicking him, the solid thuds reaching his ears even though, still heavily under the influence of that most recent dart, he didnt feel a thing, not even when a sickening crunch told him that a particularly well-aimed kick had contacted a couple of ribs-Amateurs. You think this is gonna get you what you want?--had broken them. Not, that was, until they discovered his injured foot. One of the men had, in choosing where to land the next kick, apparently picked up on the death-stench of that wound, pulled his boot off to investigate, removed the bandages and then proceeded to position the foot on a rock there by the side of the road, slowly crushing it beneath his boot as he shouted his unintelligible demands to the still-immobile fugitive. That, he felt. Was still too thoroughly paralyzed to respond except in a series of strange, wordless cries that he realized dimly must be his own, horrid, alien, animal sounds, and it wouldnt have distressed him so much--aside from the fact that he figured he ought to have been able to keep quiet, and would have, too, at least for a while, had he not been under the influence of that poison--if hed been alone, as he knew that such treatment would likely lead to his death in pretty short order, the kind of shape he was in, figured theyd be doing him a favor, death being much preferable to the cement box to which they were no doubt about to transport him. But he wasnt alone, had Liz to think about and knew that he must try and hang on for her sake, must hope that he could manage to regain some movement and strength in time to do something about their situation. Something. Anything. Would have done so already, had he been able to move, but Liz was able, had rolled slowly to her side as the agents attention remained focused on him, and he saw her rise and--no Lizzie! Dont do it!-launch herself at the man who was crushing his foot, taking him hard in the knee with the top of her head. The agent stumbled, cursed, regained his balance and, enraged, kicked her in the side, hard, repeatedly, as the others looked on, and she went down, clutching her stomach and staring at him with fear-wide eyes, and then, struggling for all he was worth against the lingering bonds of that bear-dart, Einar must have got short on oxygen and blacked out for a minute, because the next thing he knew Liz was there next to him, was staring at her stomach and holding up a hand slick with blood, too much blood and

he knew it was the baby, placental abruption--not that the term mattered, at this point--she was going to lose it, and he was going to lose both of them, because it was just too much blood, was beginning to pool around her where she lay white faced and trembling in the dust beside him Einar woke with a bellow of rage, shaking, struggling, drenched in sweat, fought free of Lizs grasp--thinking her one of his captors--just as soon as he realized that he was once more capable of movement, shot out of the cabin to crouch trembling beneath the nearest tree, vomiting, breath coming hard and ragged and the wide, free night sky blurred but infinitely beautiful above him. Liz came then and he clung to her, filled with the dreadful, half-believing ache that comes of the realization that all is not lost, not yet, that somehow, miraculously, youve been given another chancedidnt want to let her go lest he find himself somehow trapped once again in the nightmare of inertia and irreversible mistakes to which he had the moment before believed her--both of them--irretrievably lost. Still wasnt entirely certain what had happened, how he had ended up back there in his own familiar basin after the horror of those past few hours on the highway, wasnt sure just yet what was real and what ought to be consigned to the world of illusion, but somehow he knew without doubt that Liz was real, saw that she did not seem overly distressed about their situation and tried to follow her lead, to keep still and listen as she assured him that all was well; hed just been dreaming. Figured it must be true, because there were the sharp-topped, gently swaying forms of the spruces towering overhead, stars shining cold and unblinking through the thin atmosphere, the faint but lingering odor of smoke from that past evenings fire and the sweet, pungent tang of willows being carried up from the meadow on a rising breeze, yet the feeling of the dream still lingered, the tight, throat-grabbing terror of finding himself paralyzed by that dart, unable to move, to act, to do anything about their inevitable progress towards capture, destruction and he saw it all again plain as day before him, Liz thrown to the ground outside that van, a boot on her backhe pulled away from her, rolled to the side and vomited again. Kilgore--lying rigidly still on his little pallet of fir boughs, knife in hand, until he was reasonably certain that he had some idea of what was going on--found and lit a candle, went out to see what the commotion was all about, setting the light where it would illuminate the little clearing just a bit but keeping his distance, seeing that Liz appeared to have things under control. Not at all liking the cold, murderous fury which with Einar regarded him--aw, come on, now what did I do? Just been minding my own business, trying to get some sleep--spear in hand, body coiled for action and only Lizs firm hand on his arm restraining him, the tracker soon retreated to the cabin. Liz took Einars hand and tried to help him to his feet, its cold out here, come in where youll be out of the wind, and well talk about this, if you want to, but Einar wasnt ready to go back in yet, wouldnt tell her why, didnt seem to know for sure, himself, knew only that the confinement of those walls sounded like a terrible idea at the moment, the prospect all but unbearable. So he remained where he was, huddling insistently at the base of that tree, resisting her efforts to get him to his feet, and after a while Liz gave up and made a quick trip to the cabin to get him a drink of water and the ewe hide. Kilgore met her at the door.

Oh, boy, hes got it real bad, hasnt he? Is he like this all the time? No. Not all the time. Not this bad. Want me to try talking to him? Maybe I can No! No, I dont think that would be a good idea. Hell be Ok in a minute, but youve got to give him space. Kilgore nodded, lucky guy, that girls more patient than most, went back to bed. Eventually, the deep early morning chill seeping into his bones and connecting him more firmly than even Lizs words and touch could to the reality of the still, quiet high altitude world around him, Einar allowed Liz to lead him back to the cabin, curled up with her under the ewe hide on their bed, shivering, relieved but entirely uninterested in going back to sleep. Sometimes, sleep can be the enemy. Lying there as night slid slowly towards morning he went over and over the possibilities, weighing the risks of staying-really might lose the foot; it didnt feel as far gone as it had been in the dream, but he wouldnt know for sure until he had a look at, and even if it wasnt to that point yet, he knew it could quickly end up there, could kill him, leaving Liz to try and make her way alone, with a baby on the way, either in the stark and sometimes hostile high country, or, perhaps even worse, down below in a world where she had a warrant and a prison cell waiting on her--against those of going. At the moment, there seemed no comparison. To go was to put himself--and Liz, and the child--at the mercy of others, relying on Kilgores judgment, speed and skill to keep them out of the hands of their enemies, willingly consenting to the possibility of being driven unbeknownst and perhaps, as in the dream, irreversibly, into the middle of a well-orchestrated trap. And then there was the matter of the darts. Merely a dream, he knew--shuddered; it was still so real--but Kilgore had used them before, and the possibility of him choosing to do so again--hed justify itfor his own safety, for their safety, a man could always rationalize the unjustifiable, given time-seemed to ring true. Absolutely couldnt risk that. Wouldnt. No way. And would have to take great care to prevent himself from being talked into changing his mind, assuming Kilgore--and perhaps even Liz--might try, as he was well aware of the way the fever and infection were leaving him at times confused and far more vulnerable than usual, he expected, to persuasion. Morning came, and Einar wouldnt let Liz look at his foot. Told her he wanted to do the dressing change himself, and when she insisted on helping--Kilgore by her side, offering his insistence--he declared that it was fine the way it was, ought not be touched that morning. Somewhat irrational, perhaps, but it seemed to him at the moment the only way to be absolutely certain of preventing the start of that seemingly unavoidable cascade of decisions and mistakes which might well bring the horror of that dream to reality.

Breakfast was a hearty stew of sheep jerky, spring beauty corms and a few ripe serviceberries that Liz had found on one of the bushes not far from the cabin that morning

while out gathering firewood--there were others, she knew, over near the spring, which ought to be ripe that morning, or nearly so, but she hesitated to leave Einar alone with Kilgore after that night--and the three of them took turns with the pot, everyone getting their fill. Einar was silent through the meal, eyes hollow and distant, listening, it seemed, to something that they could not hear, eating only because he knew he must have the nourishment if he was to make the partial descent with them that morning. His foot was bad. Felt swollen and hot, but then, the fever making a return, his entire body was feeling alternately hot and very cold, a process which he might have found fascinating and even slightly amusing, had he not been reasonably certain that it was simply a long, drawn-out prelude to his death. Dont think that way. Youre working on it. Gonna make it. Doubt the foots really any worse this morning, just feeling hot because the rest of you is. Well take Kilgore down, climb back on up here and put a fresh poultice on it, make up for any ground we lost by not tending to it this morning. Just cant do that. Cant give them the chance to use it as leverage to talk you into going all the way down there, going in He shuddered at the memory of the dream--still hadnt told Liz its particulars, didnt want to burden her with the matter--rose and hobbled over to the door. Sun was up, brushing the trees that topped the opposite ridge, and he figured it was past time to get going. There seemed little point, when he thought about it, in blindfolding and escorting Kilgore out of the area; hed be able to find it again, would be able to come pretty close, at least, if he was to try, but they had to create some separation, even if largely symbolic, some distance between their little refuge and even the apparently friendly presence of the tracker, had to make his return, if he was contemplating such a thing, as much of a challenge as possible. So. Better get moving. Liz wanted to make one final trip to the spring before they left, fill the water jars and the pots, too, so they would have water waiting for them there at the cabin upon their return, and when Kilgore offered to go along and help her carry the containers, Einar made no objection. Knew hed be needing all of his strength for the descent. And the climb back to the cabin. Starting back from the spring, Kilgore, cradling a pot and two jars full of water, stopped short, nearly causing Liz to run into him. Maam, I know what you said yesterday, but I want to offer one more time to help you get him down there, if youre having second thoughts about it. I know you want the decision to be his, and I really do respect that, but as I was saying, hes not entirely rational right now--surely you can see that--and itd kinda be a shame for a decision thats going to affect both of you so very much to be left to a man whos not got all of his wits about him. That cant be what he would want, can it? Im thinking if we could just get him down therewell, hed be so worn out from the descent, you know, that maybe hed reconsider, decide the wisest thing really is to let all of you come back with me Oh, you dont know him. Hed sooner climb himself to death on the way back up than make a decision like that, if he was convinced it wasnt the right one. Literally. Hed do it.. Well, we sure cant have that, now can we? How about this. How aboutwell, if you could delay him down there, get him to take a little nap or something before you two

head back up the hill, I could get to town, get the van from Bob and thenI know my way around town pretty well by now, know where the wildlife office is, and--dont know if you were aware of this or not--Ive found some of the resources available there to be pretty useful in the past. Theyve got these darts, see, for dealing with problem bears, sick elk, that sort of thing, and they have a pretty strong effect on human-critters, too. I know I could get myself into that building after closing without being noticed, nab a couple of them darts and What are you talking about! Youll kill him! You No, nothing of the sort, not gonna kill him, just help him relax for the drive. Enough of the stuff could stop his breathing, for sure, but since I wont be shooting him with the things this time--ha!--Ill be able to use a good bit more precision, and can be careful to give him just enough to knock him out for a while. And only if he agrees to make the trip, in the first place. But you know as well as I do that hes not real likely to be able to get himself into that van and then stay there for eight, ten hours, when it comes down to it. Not his fault, hes just not gonna be capable of a thing like that. Been living as a wild critter for too long. But he needs this. You need it, if you want him to be around for that kid of yours. Of course I want him tobut I cantI couldnt do that to him. Or let you do it. When I said youd kill himyou have no idea what those darts did to him before, do you? Made him fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes, Id imagine, and stay there for a while, only I did notice that he was able to run a good distance at the time, a lot further than Id counted on him being able to go, so it looks like he may be somewhat immune to the things. Had to hit him with a second one before he finally lost his legs, and even then, he managed to jump off a cliff before I could get my hands on him. Nearly drowned, Id imagine, cause Im pretty sure there was a river down therebut there wont be any river this time. Well make sure hes safe. No. You dont understand. I found him nearly a week later, after the darts, and it was almost too late. Hed shot a deer the day before but was too weak to track it down, was crawling along looking for the trail, because he hadnt had more than a few bites to eat in all of that time. Had hidden of all of his food up on a cliff because he was sure it was poisoned, had been found and poisoned by agents while he was out with those darts, was afraid to touch it even when I retrieved it for him. Those darts messed him up real bad. He hardly knew who he was there for a while, wasnt himself for weeks and he still doesnt like to talk about that time. Trying something like that again would be a disaster! Worse disaster than him loosing the foot, and then still dying of infection a few days later? Very possibly.

Im telling ya, youre every bit as hard-headed as he is, and if the two of you live through all this, I guess itll prove to be a good thing for both of you. Alright. I hear ya. Done trying to talk you into things, but you just remember that the offer still stands, and it will until we part ways down there. Ok? Liz nodded, set out for the cabin. Einar was waiting for them, had loaded a few things in his pack and in Lizs, just a few basic supplies and enough food for the day. He handed Kilgore a small bundle of jerky strips, tied with a piece of Lizs nettle stalk cordage. Food for the road. What you did down there--thanks. Kilgore nodded, took the jerky, stashed it in his pocket and would have shaken Einars hand, but it was not offered. The tracker appropriately blindfolded, they started the descent, Liz leading and Einar following closely behind Kilgore as they took a path which skirted around a good bit of the difficult downed timber that had so slowed progress on their last trip. Two hours later, Einar was not only satisfied with their distance from the cabin, but was nearing the end of his strength, as well, having a difficult time staying awake, keeping on his feet. Taking the lead, he got them within sight of the valley where Liz had described finding Kilgores camp, stopped and motioned to her to remove the blindfold, collapsing to the ground. Kilgore and Liz joined him, sharing a few pieces of jerky and some water. Einar had remained motionless the entire time, had appeared to be sleeping, eyes closed and head bowed, but when Kilgore rose he surprised them both by getting to his feet, addressing the tracker. Road to your place is lined with big old ponderosa pines, isnt it? Kilgore looked at him strangely. Why would you ask a thing like that? Thought so. Well, you better go in the back way, if you got one, cause the feds are waiting for you up there. Ive seen them. Bet you have, too, you crazy old coyote. Ill keep it in mind. Take care, you two. You follow our back trail, Kilgore, and Ill have your hide stretched on that cabin wall before sunset. You know that, dont you? Yep, I know it. The two of them would, the tracker knew also, be lucky to make it back up to that cabin before midnight, let alone sunset, had a moment of doubt as he descended into the gully and lost sight of them, but kept moving. Their decision had been made. He wouldnt have been right to try and interfere any further.

Watching Bud Kilgore disappear into the timber, Einar wondered about the wisdom of returning along the trail they had taken down from the cabin, did not believe the tracker had any intention of following them back up to the camp, not that day, at least, but did not especially want to leave any more of a trail than they had to, should he decide to do so in the future. Taking a different route, though, would mean heading back onto that seemingly endless slope of downed timber that they had climbed when first bringing Kilgore to the cabin, and Einar just didnt know if he could do it, doubted he had the strength to haul himself over tree after tree, to deal with the inevitable and, considering the difficulty he was already having keeping on his feet, most likely frequent slips and falls which the trip would entail. Might as well just take a course similar to the one by which they had descended, it seemed, especially if he wanted to be able to make it up to the cabin before dark, which he really did, knowing that Liz would likely be unwilling to go ahead, to leave him, and wanting her to have the opportunity to be back at home for the evening, if possible. Which he expected it would be, if barely, setting off along their old trail but soon allowing Liz to take the lead, knowing that despite his best efforts she was likely to prove the more alert and ready of the two, less likely than himself to scare off the ptarmigan, grouse or rabbit that might otherwise serve as their supper. Liz saw no grouse, no sign of supper whatsoever on the climb, aside from a single deer that spooked and ran at the sound of her footsteps, fleeing through the timber before she could get a dart fitted to her atlatl. It was very nearly too dark by that point for her to have got off a good shot, anyway, and though Einar, if slightly less shaky, would have attempted it--he was a good bit more practiced at going after a target in the near-darkness or darkness, aiming by sound as much as sight--she knew that there would have been little point in her making a shot which would be as likely to miss or only slightly wound her quarry. Einar did not appear to have even seen the deer, having braced himself against an aspen as soon as she stopped, and releasing his grip on it only when she took his hands and pried them free, insisted that he start moving, follow her, interrupting a half-waking dream in which he stood in a serviceberry thicket, surrounded by heavilyloaded bushes and eating his fill as he watched a large black bear do the same, not fifteen feet from him. Had been a good dream, and Einar, knowing they needed the meat, the good thick hide, was a bit disappointed to discover that it had not been reality. Only for the moment, though, that it took him to realize that it was all he could do to keep moving. Not the evening for challenging bears. Nor, it seemed, for pushing himself up steep, timbered slopes in the near-total darkness, for no sooner had he set out after Liz than he was brought up short against a fallen tree and sent sprawling, bruising a knee before scrambling back to his feet in time to keep her from realizing that there was a problem. Come on, get serious about this, or youre gonna end up spending the night under a tree out here, both of you are, not gonna make it But they made it, reaching the lower meadow, the one that contained the tarn, just before dark and stopping, at Lizs insistence, for a drink. Einar did not want to join her in sitting on the dimly-visible rock that she had chosen beside the water, kept doggedly to his feet in the knowledge that he would be hard-pressed to rise again, at that point, and she brought water to him, helped him drink, as both of his hands were occupied in hanging onto the spear for support. Almost there, she told him. Just a few hundred feet of elevation gain left, less than a mile of travel.

Steep, he silently responded, but doable. Lets do it. Darkness, and he wasnt sure where he was. Air was a good bit colder than he had last remembered it being, that, or perhaps he was simply feeling it more acutely because he had stopped moving. Climbing. Which, reaching out and finding himself sprawled out the ground, spruce needles poking him in the back, he certainly seemed to have done, though he couldnt remember when or how the movement had happened to cease. Must have been a while, as he was realizing that he was awfully cold. Wondered where Liz had got to. Thought maybe shed finally come to her senses and gone ahead to the cabin where she could have a fire, more food, a comfortable night, and left him to curl up under a tree for the night, a sensible choice, if she had made it, but he wished she might have said something to him as she left, given him some indication of where she was going. Well. Didnt much matter. Last he remembered, theyd been at the tarn, and she certainly knew her way home from there, even, he expected, in the dark. If he was still alive at daylight--had his doubts, but for some reason it wasnt disturbing him too much-hed work his way up there, in time, make sure that shed got back alright. Good. It was all settled, and he could sleep. Had to sleep. And would have, had it not been for the light. Light in his eyes all of a sudden, hitting him with the force of a physical blow and burning through his closed lids, echoing painfully in his head, reminding him that he was woefully short on water. He groaned, rolled away from the source of the light--could it be that I slept through the night, suns up already? Didnt seem at all likely--but then someone had hold of him, was rolling him back towards the excruciating brightness, and he opened his eyes, prepared to engage the threat. Liz. He was terribly confused, temporarily blinded, but recognized her, wondered why shed come back for him but then his eyes began to focus and he saw the logs of the cabin, flame-light dancing on the beams overhead as Liz fed a small but growing blaze in the firepit. Huh. Must have made it. Sure dont remember that last bit And he smiled, sat up, much to her surprise, shielding his eyes from the fire. Welcome home, Einar. You made it. Ha! Sure I did. Could go further if we had to, coulduh Could lie back down pretty promptly, it seemed, had to, for the dizziness was overwhelming, and when Liz offered him a bit of water he took it gratefully, feeling suddenly parched and very hot. The jar, he noticed, was almost empty, but one other and both cooking pots stood full and ready for use on the flat hearth-rock in front of the fire, and Liz hurriedly got out the makings for some soup, threw them into one of the pots and slid it closer to the flames. Well take care of your foot after we eat, alright? He nodded. Knew the matter was pretty urgent, but doubted either of them would be feeling much like supper after the procedure. Better to eat first. But it appeared that they didnt have enough wood in the cabin to cook the supper, as he could see Liz weighing the supply with her eyes, turning to him. I need to go find a little more wood. Can I get you anything before I go, because I really

want you to stay in here and rest while Im gone, Ok? Just this time? Einar grinned, grabbed her arm. Ive got no intention of going wandering, not until this things better, had decided that while you were away a couple days ago but never got the chance to tell you, since I really had to come looking for you when you stayed gone all night, butwell, I know Ive been wrong to demand my own way so much, keep on my feet and then wonder why I cant seem to get the thing to heal, when here you were all the time trying to give me the answer and help out. Sorry. You know, I can be awful dense, sometimes. Yes, I do know. Hope youre not just saying this because youre tired and delirious, Einar--which I think you surely must be, on both accounts--because if you mean it, this is a big, big deal. You seem to be more or less yourself right now, so Im going to take you at your word And she left to gather firewood so they could begin what she knew was likely to be the first challenging night in what promised to be a rather difficult stretch of days, difficult, but, she hoped and prayed, doable. For both of them.

Bud Kilgore, still significantly stiff and sore from his scramble through the collapsed mine but able, at least, to use both feet, reached the valley about the same time Einar and Liz were covering the last hundred feet or so of elevation below the cabin, sat there in the dark watching the passing headlights and debating whether to call it a night, find a tree to shelter beneath and continue with his plan in the morning, or go on down there and pull out his cache. Could use the rest, he finally decided, but would be able to move more freely and with less concern about being sighted in the darkness, might as well head on down, retrieve his stashed gear and use the night hours to cover the ten or so miles into town, maybe show up at Bobs in time for breakfast. Maybe. Only if he got there in time to observe the place for a good hour or so first, make sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Would hate to walk into a trap, at this point, and, in contemplating the matter on the hike down, had found himself somewhat spooked by the fugitives assertion that the feds were waiting for him at his place, delivered complete with a description of the stretch of dirt road that lead to his driveway. Granted, Asmundson could have made an educated guess about the sort of trees and terrain that could be expected in the area, might just be playing with him, but he had seemed entirely sincere in his warning, and Kilgore knew better than to entirely dismiss it. Asmundson, it seemed, in treading for so long the thin, ragged line between living and dying--hed had his first massive dose of it over there in the jungle, both jungles, two continents, had continued walking that line voluntarily, as if he didnt know how to do anything else, anything less, upon his return with his acceptance of a job which entailed much the same sort of work hed been doing over there, only with less action and perhaps, ironically, more risk, then when he was through with that, with summers of daring climbing feats and those winters spent snowed in at his remote cabin, had gone directly from that existence to his current life on the run--had become more perceptive than most when it came to recognizing and being ready

to act on threats, probably had good reason to warn of the welcoming party. Kilgore had seen it before in those who had spent too much time straddling that line, knew that after a while they came to see the world through different eyes, couldnt go back, might, in another time and place, have been given special regard, seen as shamans, mystics, prophets, even, but in the current society, were simply looked on as defective, damaged, perhaps even dangerous. Not a just or right view of things by a society who depended on these same men, when times demanded, to stand in the gap and do the dirty work so that its members could go on living their nave little fantasies of the world as a safe, sane place, but it was the reality. Not--he shook his head, treading on dangerous ground here Kilgore, because youve spent more than your share of time on that line, yourself, could just as well be talking about yourself as Asmundson--that it mattered. Not for Einar, not anymore. He had, it seemed, quite effectively separated himself from that society. Irreversibly. For life. Which life might not, from the way hed looked at their parting, be going on for too many more days. Hoped he was wrong, knew people had recovered from worse, and under arguably worse conditions--the case of trapper Hugh Glass came to mind, who had been badly mauled by a grizzly and finally stripped of his gear and left for dead by his companions, only to pull through what should have been deadly infection in wounds so serious that bone was exposed in a number of places, crawling, unable to rise because of a broken leg, for miles, weeks, traveling on little food and finally reaching a fort some two hundred miles distant, living--but things werent looking good for the fugitive. Seemed to Kilgore that he was simply too worn down and malnourished to be reasonably expected to fight off the infection in his foot, and if he ended up loosing itwell, hed told the woman what he thought of Asmundsons chances, in that case. Slim to none, and once again, sitting there watching the occasional headlight beam trace its way along the narrow, night-obscured snake of the highway, he questioned his decision to take his leave without further attempts at persuasion. Perhaps he ought to have taken matters in his own hands, rendered Asmundson unconscious and gone to work on the woman with all the persuasive power he could muster, keeping at it until she consented to helping him talk or drag or otherwise convey the fugitive down to where he could get the help he needed. Shook his head. Knew hed made the right decision. They were on their own. Kilgore rose, eased down the slope towards the highway.

Returning with an armload of firewood from the stash they had squirreled away beneath one of the nearby spruces during cabin construction Liz stoked the fire, moved the soup pot down into the coals to speed up the cooking process and broke berberine roots into the other pot to begin simmering. Einar was sitting half asleep by the fire, leaning heavily on one of the upright beams and pretending to tend the fire, though it appeared to Liz that he would have been asleep within the minute, had she not returned just then. Together they ate, Einar grateful for the supply of jerky theyd put back but knowing they needed more fat in their daily meals, needed to be adding more to that stash, instead of attempting to live off of it, day to day. Kilgore had been right about that, had known what he was talking about when hed said they had only a couple months of summer left,

and the prospect of going into the time of the babys birth as far behind on their eating as they were, currently, was not something he wanted to face, or to subject Liz and the little one to. So. Got to concentrate on getting this foot better, then youre gonna be spending every day out there going after sheep, scouting for elk and bears, letting Liz do the berry picking and such, maybe even making a trip down lower for acorns, when fall comes. This can be done, but only if you get yourself back to a point pretty soon where youre a little more useful, good for more than lying around and stumbling blindly through the timber like you were doing today. To which end he worked his boot off while Liz cleaned up after supper, removing the bandages and easing the foot as close to the fire as seemed safe, supposing that exposure to some strong light could only do it good. If anything could do it good, at that point. The tracker, he knew, might well have been correct about that, too. But he sure had to try. Liz was speaking to him, holding out a small bundle of something and seeming to want him to take it, so he did, determining from the smell that it was willow bark. Supposed Liz must have harvested it on their climb that day, though he couldnt remember seeing her do so. What do you think, is it safe for you to have some yet? It might make the dressing changes on the foot a little easier on you, and wouldnt the fact that willow thins your blood actually be helpful, at this point? Help get more blood into the foot, speed up the healing? Einar shook his head, buried his nose in the little clump of sweet-tangy bark, its odor reminding him of crisp-cold mornings along the high, winding creeks where he used to trap beaver, muskrat, marten, first glance of sun on the willows releasing that fragrance, so sweet, alive, promising, hed always loved it Opened his eyes to dispel the daydream, looked up at her. Thinning the blood is what Im afraid of though, because even though I havent been bleeding for a few days, I dont really have any reason to think whatever caused that problem--made me so susceptible to bleeding--has gone away in that time. Dont think the foots inclined to bleed anymore, but something else might be, cant really risk reducing my ability to clot any further than underlying conditions have already reduced it, I dont think. Especially with the possibility that well have to that I might end up losing the foot. Got to think of that. Guess Id better be focusing on the nettles and other greens, instead, trying to increase my ability to clot. But this he indicated the little bundle of willow bark, tucked it into the small deerhide bag around his neck, where he kept tinder, bits of yarrow and the small collection of pebbles she had found with his friend Willis, Id like to keep this if you dont mind. Smell of it kinda reminds me of good times. Hey he took her hand, youre gonna come trapping with me in the valley this winter, arent you? Big valley just below us where weve looked down and seen the creek with all those beaver ponds? I can fix up a cradleboard for the little one, all padded and warm with rabbit skins and maybe a bobcat or two, one of us can wear that and the other a packgood times. Theyll be good times And he was asleep, one hand clutching the pouch around his neck, a little half-smile easing away some of the evidence of the pain his foot was bringing, and she hated to disturb him, but had to finish cleaning and bandaging the foot.

Seeing the state of Einars foot after the activity of the afternoon, it seemed time to Liz to try something a bit more aggressive than the berberine washes and hounds tongue poultices they had been employing for the past several days. Einar agreed, but insisted that he wanted to try more thorough scrubbings followed each time by the hounds tongue for a few days before resorting to more drastic means, such as--she shuddered at the mention, but knew it was probably a reasonable option--the use of maggots to clear out the decayed flesh and hopefully promote healing. Hounds tongue, he explained, has allantoin in it, which is the main thing the maggots secrete, so if we can do as well as they could in scrubbing the dead stuff out--this worked the time I got shot in the leg, though it took a while, and was a pretty painful process-then pack it each time with a hounds tongue poultice, we may be able to avoid resorting to the maggots. Not that theyre a bad option, really, but theres always a pretty good chance of them introducing another source of infection, depending on where we get them. Best would beI thinkif we have to end up doing itwell, I dont really care for the idea of sitting out in the sun and waiting for flies to swarm around the foot and lay eggs, because theyre not the cleanest critters in the insect world, you know, and youd have to wait several days for them to hatch, not wash out the wound or treat it with anything that entire time, and I dont know if Id make it through those few days at this point without the infection spreading to my blood and doing me in pretty quickly. So seems that it would be best to find the maggots already hatched, borrow some from a critter carcass or something, rinse them real carefully in boiled water--cooled, of course--then put them on here to do their job. Seems the least risky way to do it. But I still want to try just scrubbing and hounds tongue poultices for a few days, first. As long as things dont seem to be getting worse in a hurry. You willing to help me with that? Yes, of course. But I have to knowif you end up out of it for a whilehopefully that wont happen, but it has before, and I need your permission to. Ha! Yeah, if I dont make it, youre welcome to my atlatl and knife. Fine weapons, and I leave them to you, though you may have to cut my hands off to get at them, either that or wait a couple days after my death, because after a period of time, the muscles start to relax and Oh, thats not what I meant! You can really be horrible sometimes! I just need to know that I have your permission to go ahead with the maggots if the scrubbing and poultices dont seem to be working after a few days, even if you happen to be a little delirious or even unconscious at that timenot that I expect it, but Sure. You got my permission. Just dont let the things eat me alive, Ok? So far and no further, clean out the dead stuff, go a little deeper for good measure, and then they need to go. Id really hate to wake and find the infection all cleared up, but my leg eaten down to the bone all the way up to the knee, and Stop it! No more, not another word, or little Hildegard is going to lose her supper, and

she really needs it tonight, after that climb. The things that pass for humor, around here Einar shrugged, attempted without much success to feign innocence, and though she wasnt about to let on, Liz had to admit that she really did admire his ability to joke about the situation, even if she found the jokes to be in rather poor taste. Heating another pot of water and breaking up Oregon grape roots to sit in it overnight for a batch of berberine-the stuff clearly wasnt enough, wasnt doing the job, but she figured since she had to wash the foot, anyway, with each dressing change, she might as well use it--Liz added another log to the fire and crawled into the bed, urging Einar to join her. He didnt take much convincing. Exhausted from the climb, the night was a quiet one for both of them, Liz quickly falling asleep and Einar lying awake for a time wondering about Kilgore, picturing in his mind the possible routes into town and hoping hed made it without detection, met up with Bob, if that was his intent, and got ahold of a vehicle for the trip back. Hope you watch yourself on that trip, Kilgore, come up with a real good story to tell em about how your face came to look the way it does, if you intend on showing up back at your house and dealing with them in one way or anotherand for a good while sleep eluded him as his mind went over the possibilities, the chance that Kilgore might, despite the elaborate plan he had no doubt worked out, be brought in for questioning about the incident at the mine, might be put under a great deal of pressure to reveal anything he knew about it and might, under such interrogation, let slip that he knew the location of the fugitives camp Doubted it. Doubted theyd even think to ask a thing like that, or to suspect him in the mine debacle, either, but one never could be sure, and Einar kept pondering the matter until finally he fell into an uneasy, dream-troubled sleep. For the next several days Einar was very ill, foot looking terrible and smelling worse, despite Lizs faithful efforts to keep it scrubbed and packed with fresh poultices. After the first day, concerned that they werent seeing any progress, Liz had wanted to move on and try something else, but Einar had insisted that while the foot wasnt any better it really didnt look any worse, either, reminded her that such things could take time, that they must give it time to work, just another day or two. Or three. Though terribly antsy and wanting to get out and move between treatments, he stuck to his resolve--now that he had told Liz of it--not to go wandering around on the foot, even though she could tell he would have liked to, pain and fever and all. The stillness, though essential if the foot was to have much chance of improving, was costing him, depriving him of the usual means he employed for getting through the day and having a reasonable chance at some sleep at night--deliberately and methodically wearing himself out so that, through sheer exhaustion, he might at last find a bit of rest--leaving him to toss and startle through the long nights, troubled, it seemed--for he never would talk to her about them by light of day--by nightmares whose aftermath left him groaning and shaking and sometimes even weeping in his sleep, waking more than once in a cold sweat to grab for the nearest weapon, and when those times came she spoke to him, lit the candle in an attempt to drive back the darkness and tried to remind him where he was, and with whom, and as soon as she saw that he recognized her and the danger was past she would hold him, try and talk him back to sleep. The days were an endless succession of scrubbings and poultices, Einar helping for the first few times but then resigning himself to lying white

and rigid, staring up at the cabin-beams as Liz did the procedure, knowing that his clumsy hands were more of a hindrance than a help in the completion of the task, putting all of his focus instead behind breathing away some of the hurt, keeping still while she worked on him, and each time he succeeded, but was left drained and exhausted from the effort after each dressing change. Through it all he could not or would not eat, for days all he had was the slightly sweetened water Liz kept urging on him, a bit of broth now and then, and he grew terribly, alarmingly emaciated, even compared to his usual half-starved self. After nearly a week of it she found, to her alarm, that she could get the fingers of one hand around his upper arm when she took it to help him sit up, not a good sign at all. His bones, when she lay with him, were the sharp, painful protrusions of an almost-skeleton--part of the problem, she knew, must be due to dehydration, and she worked hard to keep him drinking the water that he seemed to have lost the motivation and desire to consume-hips, ribs, shoulders standing out so that sore spots developed where they contacted the bed of soft fir boughs, and she had to pad them with usnea and mullein leaves to prevent him ending up with open sores, but despite her efforts several of them developed, an additional risk for infection. Despite the progressing difficulties the spark never left his eyes, nor did he stop working, whenever he was awake, on various projects around the cabin, making repairs to his boots, slicing up the rabbits Liz brought and hanging the meat for jerky, and she could see that he was fighting it the best he knew how, prayed for hours on end as she went about her chores that he would have the strength to go on resisting until some healing could take place. It was during one of those days, the fifth day after Bud Kilgores departure, crouching beside a tripped deadfall to raise the stone for resetting after having caught a marmot, that Liz was first certain of feeling the child move. Shed had little flutters before, hints of movement, but had at the time been unable to separate them beyond doubt from the workings of her stomach, intestines; this time she was sure, and the moment was oddly affecting to her, tangible proof--not that she had doubted--of the life growing inside her, and it was that morning, thinking of Einar lying there for all appearances clinging very tenuously to life, that she began making plans for giving birth alone.

Liz did not at first even want to entertain the thought of giving birth by herself, as it seemed almost unfaithful to Einar to plan a life without him even as he lay fighting so hard to hang on, to recover, but with the child to think about, she saw herself as having little choice. The idea of giving birth alone, if it came to that, frightened her just a bit when she thought about it. Women had certainly done such before, all throughout history, in fact, and she was confident in her bodys ability to handle the happening; the process of labor and birthing itself did not hold any fear for her. Shed been there for the birth of Susans most recent grandchild, a little girl born right there in her living room, the mother, Susans daughter in law, surrounded by family and handling the birth with an apparent calm assurance which belied the fact that the child had been her first. The entire thing had given Liz a great deal of confidence in the process itself, in the ability of a woman, if healthy and left unhindered by the sorts of artificial human constructs that one

might see in a hospital setting--stay in the bed in what might well be the most unnatural position for labor and birth (wouldnt want to let gravity help out with the process, after all) dont eat or drink anything, watch the clock and start panicking if your experience doesnt fit some standard model of exactly when and how things are supposed to be happening--to handle birthing very well, and she expected the same for herself. Her real concern revolved most around the things that could potentially happen after the birth, serious bleeding, particularly, things that could render her unable to care for the infant, and the thought of ending up even briefly unconscious or worse, leaving the little one to its fatewell, it was almost more than she could bear, and she felt herself tearing up at the very thought of it. Knew that she had to do everything she could to prepare for such problems, to prevent and be ready to treat them should they occur. Aside from making sure she got lots of nettles and other greens to keep her iron and vitamin K levels built up--which she was doing--and drinking her raspberry leaf tea, she knew that shepherds purse, a mustard-family herb with tiny white flowers and distinctive heartshaped seeds was a traditional treatment used to help stop hemorrhaging after birth. The winged, mustard-tasting seeds being a common enough sight up there she soon found a few of the plants, marked the location in her mind so that she could return for more in a week or two but went ahead and picked a number of the leaves, knowing that they contained a good quantity of the vitamins C and K as well as the other compounds that helped stop hemorrhage after birth, and supposing that Einar might enjoy a few of the leaves in his stew. Once he was able to begin eating stew again. Which had better be soonmaybe tonight if I chop up some of this marmot liver and add it to his broth, hell actually be able to get something like a decent meal tonight. Its been too long. The shepherds purse leaves, tasty as they were, would have to be reserved for Einars soup, at the moment, because she expected it would be unwise for her to consume too much of the plant, herself, during the pregnancy, because of its ability to cause contractions. Wanting to begin building her supply she harvested another handful of the leaves, a few from each plant so that production of the seeds would not be inhibited, tucking them into her pack. She meant to collect, dry and set aside a good quantity of the leaves and seeds so she would have access to them that winter when the time came and the plants, themselves, were buried beneath a heavy layer of snow. From what Susan had told her, the fresh plant was best, both for making tinctures and tea, but the dry had the same effect, if you used enough of it. As she lacked the raw materials for making tinctures of any kind--maybe we could ferment some of the box elder syrup, then distill it down? Dont think Im going to be experimenting with that, right now--she supposed she would be consuming the shepherds purse as a tea, if she needed to use it. The next time she harvested shepherds purse--planning to return with more room in her pack--she intended to pull up a number of the plants so that she could have access to their crowns, which, judging by their looks, ought to provide a good source of plant material for drying. In addition to the shepherds purse, she expected it would be wise to have a good quantity of dried nettles on hand for the time after the birth, to help build her blood back up after whatever loss she did experience. She wondered, even, about the practicality of preparing a quantity of strong nettle leaf infusion when she went into labor, and setting it aside for consumption during the days after. As it would be winter at the time, and

refrigeration no problem at all, she saw no reason not to do so. It was on the way back up from that trip, carrying the marmot and her supply of shepherds purse and going over once more in her mind the possibility of bringing the child into the world without Einar there to participate, that Liz decided the time had come to take the treatment of his foot to the next level; the poultices and scrubbing, while apparently keeping things from growing catastrophically worse, were not improving them much, either, and she saw that the wait was costing him terribly, body deteriorating at an alarming rate and mind, it seemed, not too far behind, though he would have vehemently denied the latter, had she brought it up. Which she had no intention of doing. His answer, she knew, to the question of how much more of it he could take--how many more days of fever and illness and the almost complete inability to keep food and enough water down--would be something like as much as it takes, as much as there is, or a similar statement, and she knew, too, that hed be entirely sincere in his proclamation and his intent. Sometimes sincerity of intent, strength and determination simply werent enough, though, and it seemed time to take matters into her own hands, just a bit. Time to resort to the maggots. Which presented a problem of its own--where to get them? She had, several days prior, begun taking some of the remains of the rabbits and squirrels she trapped--bits of offal, things she would normally find another use for--and piling them up on top of a partially shaded boulder where the flies could easily get to them but other scavengers could not, hoping to begin cultivating a crop of maggots, and the time had come, she supposed, to go check on their progress. Not all fly larvae, she thought as she climbed out of the lower basin and up to the place where shed placed the bait, are created equal. There were, she knew, dozens of different types of flies living even up there at their elevation, not simply the metallic green blowfly whose larvae were ideal for the job, because, Einar had told her during one of his more lucid moments over the past few days, they limited their diet to already decaying flesh, and did not have a taste for the good pink living stuff as well, as did some of their relatives. She hoped that by using decaying animal matter for bait, she would have tended to attract the sort of flies whose larvae they were looking for, but knew shed have no way to tell for sure. Would simply have to use whatever sort they got. If they got any at all. Which, when she set down her cargo and balanced precariously on the little ledge that allowed her to see up on top of the boulder, was not going to be a concern, as the little gut pile was teeming with the things, white, wiggling and, when she listened carefully, emitting a rather disconcerting squelching sound as they worked to devour the rotting innards. She turned away, was almost sick at the thought of what she was about to do with a few dozen of the creatures, but managed to suppress the urge, began collecting the smallest of the wriggling larva--looked like there were already several generations going, there--and setting them on a pile of damp usnea which, wrapped in oversized skunk cabbage leaves, she hoped would protect and contain them until she could get back to the cabin. Einar, she could only hope, would see the sense in trying the new treatment without delay. Though darkness was complete by the time Bud Kilgore reached the highway, he had no trouble starting out on his trek to the drainage near which he had previously left a five

gallon bucket full of the items he had anticipated needing for the trip back home, after the mine operation. The location was a good seven mile walk from the spot where hed first made his way out to the highway, and, taking advantage of the darkness to cover his movements, ducking behind a screen of trees and on occasion lying flat in a ditch to hide himself from the lights of passing vehicles, he covered the distance. Was sore and moving pretty slowly by the time he reached and recognized the steep drainage-characterized by the pinnacle-like crags of eroded alabaster and black granite that stood out even in the light of the low-hanging sliver-moon that lit the sky that night, and he hauled himself gratefully over the guard rail which was intended to prevent vehicles from careening headlong into the twenty foot deep ravine in icy weather, and started his descent. Reaching a point some two thirds of the way down the steep and broken terrain of the ravine, Kilgore found the cache exactly as he had left it, location marked by the lean and twisted form of a little juniper that was struggling to eke out an existence there in the rocky steepness of that place. Moving the four or five slabs of fractured, grey and whitestriated alabaster with which he had hastily concealed the stash, he pulled out a black five gallon bucket, a gasketed screw-top lid both securing its contents against moisture and making them quick and quiet to access. Which he did, slicing open the heat-sealed mylar bag that provided further security against moisture in the event that the bucket might have experienced some catastrophic failure or developed a crack, pulling out a small, nondescript black backpack and stopping himself with a grimace just as he was about to settle it on his back. Nope. Not yet. Gonna break those scabs open if you try that. Can carry the thing for tonight, or wear it on the front, if you have to. Yep, better do that. Can move a lot faster wearing it than carrying. Setting the pack aside temporarily, he delved back into the bucket, pulling out the last three items it had contained: a pair of jeans, T-shirt and denim jacket. With much muted grunting and groaning he changed out of his old, badly torn-up clothes, and into the fresh ones. All he lacked was a fresh pair of socks. Had neglected to add those to the bottom of the cache with the other clothing, fished them out of the pack and got back into his boots. Aright. So far, so good. Now to go see Bob, watch the place for a while and decide whether I want to risk making contact

Because of the additional weight loss, which appeared to be continuing, Einar could not seem to stay warm, shivered almost constantly when not in the grip of the fever, so that Liz had become almost afraid to leave him at times, lest she come back to find that he had succumbed to hypothermia right there in the cabin, in the middle of summer-sounded unlikely, but observing him, she was not so sure--and perished. In his typical way, he never let on that the cold was bothering him much, and perhaps in fact it wasnt, but she was terribly concerned, nonetheless, and had been spending hours lying with him for warmth through most of the cooler mornings, helping him out into the afternoon sun for a few hours each clear day and packing hot rocks around him when she had to leave to get water from the spring or make a quick run of the trapline. That day, returning from her rare morning trapline run, its duration extended significantly by the maggot hunt, Liz

entered the cabin to find him purple and nearly unresponsive, sprawled out on the bare floor beside a dead fire--looked like hed taken it upon himself to dump a big double handful of dirt on the coals, apparently having heard something suspicious outside--and she rolled him back onto the bed, got a roaring fire going in the firepit. Einar had wakened as she moved him, was sitting a bit shakily on the bed looking confused and staring at her as if he was wondering what she was so upset about. Which indeed he was. Hoped he hadnt inadvertently slept through an escalation of the air activity that had earlier led to his smothering the fire, didnt hear anything, and didnt notice her paying any special attention to what might be going on outside--blood was rushing so loudly in his head at the effort of rising that he couldnt be sure of exactly what he was or wasnt hearing, at the moment--but he supposed hed have to ask her. And would have, had she not left the fire and begun trying her hardest to smother him with the ewe hide just then, insisting that he had to warm up, was dangerously cold, and when he thought about it he supposed he really might be, didnt have much use of his hands, which were purple and stiff, fingers like the talons of some great wreck of a bird, fallen from the sky, unable to take flight anymore--he laughed at the image, fly, fly you crazy bird, got to do it, because you got ground to cover, and how far do you really think youll be able to get, hopping on your one good foot somehow finding it immensely funny, laughter catching in his throat and leaving him to rock back and forth for a moment of silent mirth, lips drawn back and teeth showing in what appeared to Liz far more like a horribly pained snarl than the merriment hed intended, and couldnt despite a concentrated effort--really wanted to ask her if shed heard any aircraft while she was out that morning--seem to compose a coherent sentence. Or even get a few words out to communicate his intent. Not that such circumstances were particularly unlike those hed been facing for the past several days, but he seemed, just then, to have a bit more awareness of the situation than at most times, found himself wanting to fight it, if he could, try and regain a bit of his connection with the world around him. Well. Better let her have her way on this one then, scoot a little closer to that inferno shes got going, and maybe try a little of the broth it seems shes endlessly trying to pour down your throat Before long, the cabin well-heated by Lizs fire and by the piles of rocks she was heating in the coals and distributing around the place, Einar was on his way to being thoroughly warmed and Liz was sweating, wiping her forehead as she leaned over the soup pot. Anxious to tell Einar about the maggots and hopefully get them started on his foot--well, perhaps anxious was the wrong way to put it, as she actually dreaded the thought of introducing the squirming mass of tiny creatures into the mess that his foot had become, but knew that it was looking like the best option, and had to be done--she was reluctant to inform him of her plan before hed had a little something to eat, a bit of salty warm broth, at the very least, so that he might be in a better frame of mind when she brought the matter up. Meals over the past few days had largely been a solitary affair for her; she ate, if he couldnt, knew she had to keep at it for her sake and for that of the child, had cooked up numerous pots of rabbit stew, squirrel, grouse, and she kept him going with little sips of slightly sweetened water, nettle tea, berberine, a bit of broth with finely chopped liver in it when he seemed able--and interested--which was seldom, but she really wanted him to eat, before their discussion of the new treatment for his foot. Figured his mind might

be a bit clearer if he could do so, more receptive to reason. Which Einar would have found somewhat humorous had she mentioned it to him--was finding many things humorous, those days, even ones that seemed for whatever reason to greatly distress Liz, such as his recent nap on the ground beside the dead fire, and though he knew he really ought to be making some attempt to see her perspective on things so he could avoid--at least some of the time--causing her distress, the effort involved in such an undertaking was often more than he had the energy for. So, he just laughed. Didnt laugh, though, when, once Liz had eaten and hed done his best with a few sips of marmot-liver broth, she brought up the matter of the maggots.

Listening quietly and with undivided attention as Liz spelled out her reasons for wanting to try the new treatment on his foot--We just dont seem to be making any progress with the poultices, your foots not getting a lot worse, but it isnt getting any better, either, and if we keep this up its eventually going to reach a crisis where we may not have much choice about what to do. Its time to try something a little more aggressive-- Einar nodded, agreeing, scooting back from the fire and preparing to crawl outside, remove his bandages and wait for the flies to find him. Way the thing smelled that morning, he didnt figure it would take long. Liz stopped him. Wait. Ive already got them here. The maggots. Thought it would be cleaner this way, and involve less waiting, too. She showed him the little leaf-wrapped packet of moss, its contents writhing and wriggling when she pulled back one of the leaves. They looked hungry. Good thinking, Lizzie, real good. He took the packet in his hands, struggled, still pretty cold, to halt their shaking so he could get a better look, a grin slowly splitting his face. Couldnt keep his hands still, set the packet on the ground, lest he crush its valuable contents, and looked up at her, still grinning. Maggots on Demandsounds like a fine name for a little home business, kind of like an earthworm farm, you know, onlydifferent. You could raise them in bins out behind the cabin, feed em on little scraps from our hunting and trapping, make weekly runs down into town to fill orders. Youd carry a backpack full of these little leaf-wrappers every time, leave them at a pre-arranged drop location and trade them for stuff like snowboots, warm clothes, rifles, ammo, traps, Nutellammmbefore you know it, youll have more business than you can handle, and youll have to hire someone to Liz interrupted him, reaching over and retrieving the moss packet, whose squirming occupants were beginning to find their way out where one corner had come loose. Einar, you big goof, I sure have missed you these past few daysdont know how youre able to laugh about this, but Im glad to see it Well, lets not get ahead of ourselves, here. Before we can start marketing them, we have to do some tests to make sure our product is safe and effective. Would you like to be our first test subject? Hey, why not? Got nothing to loseexcept a foot, and it looks like Im gonna be losing

that pretty soon, anyway, if something doesnt change around here At which reality the laughter left his eyes, replaced momentarily, Liz thought, by just a hint of dread, a raw, staring fear that he managed to quickly conceal, pushing it aside, not useful, face going blank and eyes flat in what she knew must be by that time a rather well-practiced maneuver. She had become convinced that he probably fooled himself more often with the action than he did her, moved closer, drew the ewe hide back around his shoulders. Its going to change. Were going to make a change. Now. Before we get these little critters started, I want to rinse them like you were talking about, to minimize the new dirt and bacteria were bringing into the mix. And I was thinkinghow about washing them in berberine, rather than in plain water? Would disinfect them real well, for sure, but I wonder if it might kill em, too? If you boil it down real strong, that berberines effective as a de-wormer, will kill intestinal parasites of all sorts, worms, Giardia, so Im thinking it might be a little rough on these critters. Maybe if its a pretty weak solution Well try it. Ill dilute by half with water the stuff weve been using to wash your foot, and if they still diewell, Ill go get some more! There were lots more. Good. Well need more, Im sure. May be at this for a while, changing them every few days for a good week or twoif it works. If it doesnt work, thisll probably be the last time we have to mess with them As Liz simmered and then cooled a few cups of berberine water for disinfecting the maggots, Einar, feverish and worn out after the longest conversation hed managed to engage in for several days, struggled to remove his bandages, setting them aside for the boiling disinfection to which Liz had been subjecting them after each change--he hoped it was enough, knew there was some chance he was making things worse by re-using them, but had little choice, and besides, theyd been applying fresh usnea and poultices between the bandages and the would, each time--and retrieving fresh ones from their drying rack above the fire. The wound, he supposed, ought to provide nearly the ideal environment for the maggots, rotting, oozing, moist, and he used some plain boiled and cooled water to wash away the remnants of the most recent hounds tongue poultice, not wanting it to interfere with the new treatment. That was it, then, everything was ready, and Liz, using a pair of boiled and sterilized bone awls, began transferring the little rice-grain sized white bugs from the pot she had rinsed them in, to his foot. Einar, imagining that little Hildegard might object to the sight and set Lizs stomach to churning, offered to take over, but she shook her head, swallowed hard, continued, and he sat back against the wall, grateful, knowing that he would have ended up dropping a good many of the maggots into the dirt, the way his hands were still shaking. After individually grabbing and placing a number of the creatures, Liz resorted to spreading the skunk cabbage leaves with which she had originally contained them beneath Einars foot to catch any that fell, and shaking the remainder directly onto the wound. A much more effective method, as it turned out.

The maggots in place, Liz lightly moistened a few fresh bandage strips and wrapped them very loosely around the end of Einars foot, hoping to help keep things from drying out, and help keep the creatures in place, also. It seemed, though, that they would need little assistance in that regard, as they had already gone to work and appeared quite satisfied with their new environment. Alright. It was done. Begun, rather, for Liz knew from what Einar had told her previously that the process, even if it worked, would likely involve many days and many washings and applications of fresh insects, as the present batch grew and matured and were ready to move on to the next stage of life. Suddenly feeling an overwhelming need for some fresh air Liz covered Einar with the ewe hide, which, feverish, he had tossed off again, told him she was running over to the spring for some water, and left the cabin. Without any of the water jars. A fact that she noticed only once she had covered nearly half the distance to the spring at a dead run. The cool, evergreen-scented air--a great contrast to the death-stench in the cabin--had revived her significantly, settled her stomach a bit, and she turned back to collect the water jars, reasonably certain that she was no longer in immediate danger of losing her breakfast. Einar appeared to be asleep again when she entered, and she moved carefully so as not to wake him, gathering up two jars and one of the pots for filling. The vessels would provide enough water to last them through the rest of the day, which was good, because she wanted to stay close as much as possible that afternoon, make sure everything was going alright with Einars new treatment. Which was to prove a very fortuitous decision, indeed. For a good while Einar drifted in and out of sleep as the maggots began their work, sick with fever and only half aware of his surroundings when he was awake, accepting as if in a dream the little sips of water Liz seemed continually to be offering him. Eventually-relaxing a bit in the knowledge that they were doing what they could for the foot, were hopefully about to see some progress--he appeared to sleep, and Liz busied herself with projects outside the cabin so as not to disturb his rest. For a good while she worked on the most recent batch of hides that her trapping had produced, the marmot, three rabbits and a squirrel, removing them from the tree where, lacking time to deal with them in any other way when fresh, shed tacked them to dry. Moistening the flesh side of each hide she began rubbed and stretched each one, working them in turns until all were dry and relatively soft. The method, shown to her while back by Einar, had turned into a favorite of hers for dealing with the numerous small game hides produced by her snares and traps, and the pile of finished hides that waited securely stashed away in the rafters of the cabin was growing almost daily. They would prove an invaluable resource, she knew, when it came time to making warm things for the baby and, if any were left over, for the two of them, as well. Liz, as it turned out, need not have worried about disturbing Einar by going in and out of the cabin, for he soon did it himself, waking with a start to stare wild-eyed and shaking at the ceiling-logs above his head, dimly lit by the glow coming in through the door, which, because of his position--shed wanted to keep him out of drafts, if possible, considering the difficulty hed been having maintaining a normal body temperature whenever the fever eased off some--he could not see out of. The air in the place was close, stagnant and hot, sweat trickling down to sting his eyes, and cautiously he moved a hand, slowly

easing it out from beneath the rough covering theyd thrown over him and swiping at his forehead, wanting to stop the tearing of his eyes so he could get a clearer look at things. Not that there was much to see, as he soon found that the blurriness of his vision had less to do with the sweat stinging his eyes and more with his general condition, couldnt get it to go away, so he used his ears instead, scanning the place and the area immediately around it for any sign of human presence, any indication that he was being watched. Which he did not seem to be. Heard the vague sounds of work outside, wood pieces clacking together as someone moved them, probably gathering firewood, the ubiquitous whine of a mosquito in his ear--didnt even bother to try and swat it, would have been pointless, considering the thousands that no doubt waited to take its place, and besides, he could feel that his strength was terribly limited, leaving every motion a costly thing which must be carefully planned and executed so as to extract the maximum effect--and he finally decided that it was safe to sit up. Tried, failed, made another attempt and managed to raise himself up on his elbows, leaned forward. Foot hurt. Everything seemed to hurt, to some extent, body consumed by a vague but pressing ache, head pounding--dehydration was taking its toll, he knew, but there wasnt going to be much he could do about it until he somehow managed to work his way outside--but the foot seemed to be the source of the worst trouble, and he wanted to get a look at it. Managed that, pulled one of the bandages back just a bit, just enough to release a cloud of stench and a few maggots, which caught his attention as they tumbled onto the dirt floor. He lay back down, suddenly very dizzy. Didnt matter about the maggots. They were, he knew, more of a blessing than a curse, represented, actually, his best chance of surviving the festering wounds that covered his legs, back, his wrists and ankles where they had bound him, suspending him from the ground until the ropes cut into his flesh--nearly to the bone, on the outside of one wrist--the flies and their offspring providing him, after a fashion, the medical attention his captors had consistently denied, and he was grateful to them. So grateful, in fact, that he found his eyes dimming once more with tears, brushed a sleeve roughly across his face and chastised the weakness that allowed for such absurdity. Couldnt quiet seem to stop the tears though. The flies and their larvae, he reminded himself rather forcefully, just like the clouds of mosquitoes that tormented him endlessly during the cool night hours, were neutral. Werent on his side, their side, anybodys side. They simply wanted to eat. Live. Recognized that fact, yet could not help but feel an overwhelming gratitude for their presence, for the chance they were giving him at continued life, and, lying there with his eyes pressed tight against the dizziness, he gave thanks. Drifted for a while around the shadowy edges of sleep, woke to a stinging in his eyes as more tears tried to come, but could not. Too dehydrated. You need water, Einar. Real bad. Water, and something to eat. Been too long. Youre losing it. Got to get out of here, because you know if they find you like this, theyre gonna take full advantage of it. This is what theyve been looking for, waiting for, waiting for you to get to this point. Gonna smell that weakness a mile off, root it out and exploit it. Knew he could get ahold of plenty to drink and possibly even something to eat, too, if only he was free of the horrid, stinking enclosure that had served to confine him for the past days. Thinking about it, he was filled with a sudden rage that lent strength to his movements,

got him up on hands and knees to explore once more--dozens of times, hed already done it dozens of times, and to no avail, but another could not hurt, might just be the one that finally produced some fruit--the edges of his enclosure, probing for any weakness, any flaw that he could hone in on and exploit as they had been attempting, so far without success, to do with him. Sooner or later, he knew, they would find it, and he wanted to be the first one to do the finding. Needed a way out. And this time, he found it. Took it. On hands and knees, holding his bad foot up out of contact with the ground he scurried over to the door--impossibly large gap, must be a setup, a trap, but he really didnt care anymore, had to try it--glanced around for obvious signs of danger and saw none, slipped out into the water beneath the shelter. Couldnt feel its wetness against his body--was that way sometimes, with the swamp water so warm andthickand he so used to being constantly damp--couldnt, when he tried scooping some of the stagnant, stinking stuff up in his cupped hands, seem to bring a drop of it to his mouth, which disturbed him a bit more, considering his terrible thirst, but he just shrugged, kept moving. Could drink later, if he lived through the next few minutes. Had not been seen yet so far as he knew, and had to keep it that way. Had to, or hed soon find himself engaged in a struggle during which, apparently unable even to gain his feet--couldnt remember why, but it seemed somehow critical that he not put any weight on that right foot--he seriously doubted his ability to prevail. Knew hed try anyway, if it came to that, absolutely must not allow them to get their hands on him again, searched the ground and came up with a sharply fractured stick of some sort, didnt quite look like bamboo and somehow he doubted it would be as durable, either, but was plenty sharp, would do the job. Good. Move. Which he did, and almost made it, too. Einar was within a step or two of the dense bush at the edge of the clearing when he heard the voice, and he would have dropped to his stomach and hoped to conceal himself, had he not been so sure that hed already been seen. The voice, strange and distorted, was clearly addressing him, and no sooner had he heard it than he was up and running, two more steps, and youll have it, can lose yourself in that dense growth, have at least some chance, wonder why hes not shooting yet, pretty strange, keep moving, yeah, doesnt matter anymore about the foot, use it, got to use it if youre gonna have any chance at all, and then there he was, had reached the cover of the undergrowth, dived beneath it and began squirming forwards, hoping to lose his pursuer but the man had him by the ankle, was pinning him down, crushing him into the ground and Einar, in a feat of almost superhuman strength, wrenched himself free and attempted to drive the sharpbroken stick into the mans neck, but he was quick, had rolled to the side and got to his feet, and Einar launched himself, dizzy, the world trying to go black, in his assailants direction, but the man moved again, danced to the side and caught him hard in the shoulder with something very solid. Knocked to the ground by the force of the blow Einar scrambled frantically for his weapon, which hed managed to drop, couldnt find it, couldnt see anything very clearly and then there he was in his own familiar woods, thin, spruce-scented air catching in his throat and Liz, eyes fierce and dangerous, sitting on his chest, pinning his arms rather forcefully to the ground. He stopped struggling, lay still as the reality of the situation began to sink in just a bit. Foot hurt. Hed messed up big, didnt even need to wait for Liz to tell him, and hated that hed disappointed her like that.

Again. Cautiously, seeing that he didnt have any more fight left in him, Liz eased her grip, helped him--could tell that he was struggling for breath, hoped she hadnt broken any ribs, but had considered it a priority to halt his untimely flight--to sit up. Didnt even need to ask what hed been thinking, scrambling to his feet and taking off like that. Could see it in his eyes. Come on, lets get you back inside. But he wasnt ready to go.

For a long time Einar and Liz sat together in the sunny clearing out front of the cabin. Einar had wanted to huddle down in the thickest brush he could find, but Liz, seeing that he was already quite cold, had insisted on the sun, had finally talked him into moving and had stayed with him there, wanting to tend to his foot, see how much damage had been done and go get fresh maggots if need be, but seeing that he needed a bit of time, first. Waiting, she had worked her way in behind him, rested her chin on his shoulder and held him--hed objected at first, stiffened up and felt as if he was going to take off running again, but hadnt done it, and shed persisted--until she felt him begin to relax a little under the gentle ministrations of the sun. The afternoon was warm, still, its silence broken only by the soft dancing of aspen leaves in an otherwise-imperceptible breeze, a gentle drone of honeybees in the scarlet paintbrush, yarrow and lupine, and occasionally the hollow, faraway crackle of a jet so far overhead that it appeared as a tiny speck when they looked up, white trail hanging for mere seconds in the clear, purple-blue mountain sky before vanishing. Very nearly a perfect summer day, aside from the darkness that hung almost visibly over Einar as he sat there, chin on his knees, wanting desperately to say something to Liz, to try and make things right, but feeling awfully lost, not knowing where to start. She spared him the trouble. Im going to go get you something to eat. You really have to eat. Part of your trouble comes from being so far behind on food, I think Einar shook his head, turned away so she couldnt see his face. It was too much, her little act of kindness in the form of an offer of food--more significant to him perhaps that she was even able to realize--after what hed just done, and he wished very badly that he was somewhere else, anyplace where he wouldnt have to face her, answer her. Dear Lizzie, you sure do deserve better than this, but I dont know how, just dont know how to do it Knew he had to try, though. Couldnt get up and run as he wanted so terribly badly to do, wasnt in his nature to run from challenges that were placed in his path nor from duties, either, and here he had both all wrapped up in one package and sitting right there behind him, and he with no clue as to how to tackle the thing. She was asking him about food again, getting up, presumably to fetch some, and he took her arm, pulled her back down beside him. Ill eat later. Sorry forstartling you like that. Should have just let me go, you know. Sure didnt mean to mess up my foot like this. Meant it when I told you Id stay put. This wasI just woke up and

Ok. Its alright. No. No! Not alright. Want to do better by you, and the little one, but sometimesah, not sure how to say thissometimes I just dont know how to do it. Can figure just about anything out, you know, make things work, scrounge and build and create and do what it takes to stay alive, keep us free, but this Threw up his hands, stared at the ground. I know. Can youdo you want to talk about it, what happened just now? Not much to talk about. You saw. Listen, I want to help you, but she took a deep breath, oh, help me please, dont let me get this wrong, or he may not talk to me for weeks dont you think maybe there are some things you need to deal with, things you never really let yourself think about, but theyre still there, all the time, and sometimes like this afternoon, they She felt him prickle, stiffen up a bit, hoped she had not made a mistake in even broaching the subject. What do you mean? Well, some of the things you told me before about what happened over there, when theyyou were a prisoner of war, Einar, and I dont know if youve ever really come to terms with that. Dont you think maybe He gathered himself angrily, drew away from her. That doesntI wasntthey only had me for a few days. Doesnt count. I took care of it, I got away. Was over pretty quick. Were guys they held onto for eight, nine years, heck, there are guys who never came home. Still being held over there, and Im sure not gonna But were not talking about them, were talking about you. And you Were not talking about me, you are, and Ive had just about enough of it. Enough. He scooted away from her, sat staring out at the last hint of sun on the nearby spruces, angry, shaking, struggling to slow his breathing and get ahold of himself. It had been a mistake, bringing those things up. There were places, Liz realized, where he still would not or could not allow her to go, dark corners apparently best left un-probed, and she sat quietly for a time, left him alone, but the sun was close to setting, had disappeared from the clearing, and it was time to head inside and get a fire going. Einar made no objection when she came to help him to his feet, led him back to the cabin. It was dark inside, cold in the shadows, and she lit the small pyramid of sticks that she had earlier prepared, glad when the walls began glowing a friendly orange, darkness scattering. All except, she noted a bit wryly, for the dim corner in which Einar had deposited himself, eyes empty as he stared into the flames, still not speaking, because he didnt know what to say. Liz

shook her head, returned her attention to the fire. Preparing a pot of soup and one of tea, Liz hovered over the fire for a time, stopping occasionally to try and figure out a strange crunching sound that had been coming intermittently from the area just behind the cabin, footsteps, it seemed, in the past years fallen aspen leaves, and she wondered about the nature of their visitor but did not especially want to get Einar going again by running to take a look at it, thought it might be about time to set some traps around the trees where she tacked her rabbit and marmot hides to dry. Wouldnt do to have a bobcat or lynx robbing her of any of those hides, as she was really counting on each and every one of them for keeping the baby warm that winter. Tea was ready, a mixture of raspberry leaves and nettles, and, putting the sounds out of her mind for the moment--they could be investigated later; perhaps shed even go out after dinner and set a deadfall or two --she rose to take Einar the pot, but he was already working his way towards her, sat down by the fire and took the tea when she offered it. When she propped his foot up and started unwinding the bandages, he stopped her. Let me do it. Youve done enough. And, seeing that his hands appeared quite steady-one useful side-effect, apparently, of his strong objection to her recent line of questioning--she let him do it, expecting to see the foot a terrible mess and all of the maggots gone, but pleased to find that they appeared to be just fine, if a bit fewer in numbers than before. He had not, it seemed, put too much pressure on the injured end of his foot. Must have been running on his heel, and she breathed a sigh of relief, didnt know how he had managed that, but was glad they werent going to have to start all over on the foot. Especially, she thought to herself, seeing as we may be starting over on a number of other things. Like him trusting me and being willing to talk about things other than what were going to have for supper A reasonable concern, but one in which she was, thankfully, mistaken. Outside, the noises had started up again, footsteps in the leaves, more distinctive this time, closer and more insistent, and Liz was on her feet, hurrying to the door with Einars spear in one hand, and, dusk having faded nearly to darkness, a flaming stick from the fire in the other. Small eyes wide and stunned in the light of Lizs hastily improvised torch, the bear, a mid-sized black, sat back on its haunches, whuffled in alarm and scooted quickly into the darkness, Liz, seeing in its hulking form more fresh food than theyd had for weeks, about to charge after it with the spear. Einar grabbed her arm, stopped her. Whoa, slow down there. Let it go. Ive killed a bear with a spearspear, atlatl and spikes, to be more accurate, and Im telling you, that wrestling match is not something you want little Hildegard participating in. Not until shes a few years older, anyway! One good swat of that paw, and Youre right. Right, and I guess it wouldnt have too much fat on it anyway, this time of year.

Oh, I dont know about that. Not as much as right before hibernation, for sure, but enough to make it real worthwhile. Some fat, a lot of meatplenty for us to eat fresh, smoke, dry into bags and bags of bear jerkybut itll be back, almost certainly. Must have smelled that soup of yours, had to come check it out. Hmm. First sign Ive seen of one up here. Id better go bring those hides in before it comes back and tears them up. Ill come with you. Here, lets he felt along the shelf-log until he met the growing pile of pitch chunks that they had been collecting whenever the opportunity presented itself, placing a few of them on a hot rock near the fire and waiting for them to begin melting, lets make a better torch, and Ill come out there and make sure the critter doesnt bother you while you get the hides. Liz wanted to tell him that it wasnt necessary, that she could handle herself quite well while accomplishing the task, but seeing that he was intent on helping her--and rather relieved to see him shaken from the grim silence that he had largely maintained since their earlier conversation--she waited, helped him make the torch, wrapping strands of brown, shreddy aspen bark around and around the end of a branch, smearing them as they went with layers of melting pitch until Einar was satisfied with the torchs size. Ok, you head on out, and Im gonna come along behind you he tried to rise, slumped, dizzy, back to the floor, may be crawling, but Ill hold this thing up good and highso you can see what youre doing. This should keep give the bear-critter pause, for sure, if hes still in the area. Which he seemed not to be, as they neither saw nor heard further sign of the bear as Liz hurried to remove the drying hides from their tree, glancing around the camp by the light of Einars torch to make sure there was nothing else the creature would likely take an interest in. They returned to the cabin then, Einar, extinguishing the torch in the dirt as Liz stashed the hides up in the beams, paused to stare up through a gap in the spruces at a night sky brilliant with countless stars, still and unblinking through the thin atmosphere, and it was only with great difficulty that he fought an urge to leave the cabin, drag himself, somehow, up into the rocks behind it, and spend the night in silent vigil, watching. Needed that, would have done it--with possibly fatal results--had he been by himself, but Liz was calling, something about soup being ready, and he turned, hauled himself inside. As they ate, Einar making a great effort to consume what Liz gave him, though nauseous and not finding himself altogether successful, Liz studied the door opening, which they had been covering, at best, with a few crossed branches and occasionally one of the hides during the night. Finally she stood, measured the opening with her arms. We need a door. That bears just going to walk in here some night and help himself to our jerky if we dont secure this place a little better.

Yep, he is. Ive been thinking about a door, because were gonna want one anyway when colder weather comes. Looks like it just got more urgent. Dont think the critter will come back tonight. Ill build us a door tomorrow. At which, thoroughly exhausted, he sank to the floor, asleep, passed out, perhaps, she couldnt tell for sure, spear clenched in his hand as if awaiting the bears return. Liz sighed, tried cautiously and without success to wake him--shed wanted to get good cup or two of berberine solution into him before the evening was over; he felt hot again, and she knew the fever wasnt done with him, yet--and finally settled for rolling him up onto the bed of fir boughs, instead. He already had some berberine this morning, and well do more tomorrow, hope to keep the infection from spreading any further while the maggots do their work. Adding a few sticks to the fire and bracing several stout branches at angles across the door opening--at least now well hear that bear, if he tries to get in--she crawled into bed with Einar, praying for a quiet, peaceful night for both of them. And they did, their rest disturbed only occasionally by Einars shivering when his fever eased, and, on its upswing, the occasional dream-induced groan or growl, but for the most part, they simply slept. Morning came, morning of the second day of the maggot experiment, and Liz put another mark on the split deer leg bone shed been using for some time as a calendar. The day before, shed begun recording the maggot treatment, as she had the previous use of the hounds tongue poultices, by adding a little dot above each centimeter-long dash with which she marked the start of each new morning. Whether the information would be particularly useful or not she could not say, but it seemed better to have it than not to, and, determined to keep track of the passage of days and months so she would know approximately when the baby could be expected--and, after the day came, have at least a good guess as to the childs birth date--she was keeping the calendar, anyway, so it was no trouble to add the little dots. The little morning ritual, though she knew Einar might see it as somewhat silly if he was aware of it--which he probably was, though he hadnt commented--was somehow comforting to her, was a good way to start the morning. Alright. Day two. Its a start. Hanging the bone back up by its rawhide thong on the little branch-protrusion in one of the wall logs where she had been keeping it, Liz was relieved when she was able to sneak out of the bed without waking Einar, starting a fire, breaking up a few strips of jerky for soup and checking outside to see if there was any sign of the bear having returned. Which there was not. One set of tracks only showed in the dust just out front of the door, and beyond the clearing, she saw where the animal had turned several rocks over in search of grubs and ants, tearing chunks out of a punky log that had sat just behind the cabin. Inspecting the remains of the log, turning them over with her foot and leaning down to pick a handful of leaves from a small growth of mountain sorrel, Liz saw that the bear must have missed a few grubs, which sat still and sluggish with cold on the ground beneath the ruins. She considered the four fat little grubs, knew that Einar would have snatched them up and hurried them to the stew pot had he been there, might have even gulped them right down as a morning snack, but knowing that they had plenty of other food available to them that morning, she couldnt quite bring herself to do so. They reminded her too much of those maggots. She shuddered, rolled the rotted log segments back into place. I would much prefer bighorn sheep and nettle soup. And soon her stomach growled at the thought of

it, I have a feeling that soon we may be eating great big bear steaks blackened over the fire and served up with mashed serviceberries, bear stew thick and rich with fat, big slices of sizzling, dripping liver, cooked up with wild garlic and eaten fresh off of a flat hot rockoh! Little Hildegard sure is getting hungry all of a sudden! Id better get in there and finish making breakfast. Maybe Einar will even be able to enjoy some of it. He seemed to be doing a little better with his eating, last evening. Hes probably sitting in there just waiting for his breakfast. I hope so Einar, though, wasnt even awake when she bounced cheerfully back into the cabin, depositing her sorrel leaves on the cooking rock and stirring the soup, moving it closer to the flames so it could begin simmering. The smell, she hoped, would wake him. The walk had been a long one, and Bud Kilgore, legs sore and cramping, sat hunched against the night chill at the base of a tree on the low ridge above Bobs trailer, watching, waiting for daylight. The place looked run down, almost abandoned, and he wanted, before approaching too closely, to see if anyone stirred with the coming of morning, knew there was at least some chance Bob could have made a mistake or two somewhere along the way during Operation Laundry Day, as theyd dubbed it, leaving sign that could be traced back to him. In which case his residence was the last place Kilgore would want to be, but if he could convince himself that all was well down there, a quick breakfast and re-supply at Bobs place would be just the thing, before starting out for home in the van Bob had promised to provide. They had already arranged it all, Kilgore intending to take Bobs van to a little town just shy of the state line, leave it at a truckstop for Bobs retrieval, and hop a bus back down to Flagstaff. If it didnt work out, there were other means he could use to get home, although, he mused to himself, yawning, shivering, turning up the collar of his denim jacket against a thin early morning breeze that was whispering its way though the evergreens, if it didnt work out because theyve captured Bob, I may not be going homemay end up right back up there on the mountain with those kids. Though I doubt poor old Asmundson, even if that foot doesnt kill him, could take having another body around the place. Dont know how he and the girl manage to live in the same space, but they seem to be getting along alright, more or less. Ok, come on Bob. Isnt it about time to get up? Skys getting lighter way over there to the east, wind is picking upcome on, man, time for some coffee! As if on cue a light went on in the trailer, a creak of the floor as the buildings occupant began moving about, and after a few minutes more lights appeared, including one at the end of the trailer that Kilgore took, judging by the exhaust fan outlet, to be positioned in the kitchen. His suspicions were soon confirmed when the fan went on, spewing the incredibly welcome odor of sausage, eggs and freshly brewed coffee into the early morning stillness, and it was all the hungry tracker could do to keep from limping down that ridge and heading for the house for some breakfast. He waited, though, wanted to give it some more time, make sure it was indeed Bob in that house--didnt see his truck, and was suspicious--before making his presence known. Another half hour of waiting and his patience was rewarded as the man--definitely Bob, he saw--exited the trailer and headed for one of the small sheds that stood out to the side of it, uncoiling a garden hose and hooking it to a sprinkler head that had been hanging in a tree. He watched as Bob set up the sprinkler--not, for the moment, turning it on--and further uncoiled the hose,

dragging it with him over to a small but by all appearances thriving garden plot which to Kilgores surprise contained not the crop which had made Bob locally famous, but a lively array of tomatoes, carrots, squash and potatoes. Well. Looks like the fellas got a lot of new hobbies. Good deal. And he stood, stretched--previously injured leg was cramping up again, giving him a good deal of trouble after the past days hike and a night of trudging along the pavement--started down the slope.

Letting off what seemed to Liz and the ever-hungry Hildegard an incredibly appetizing odor as it bubbled and simmered, the breakfast-soup failed to rouse Einar, as did Lizs voice and gentle shaking when, ready to eat and knowing that he needed to do the same, she attempted to bring him to wakefulness. No matter. She would just let him sleep for a while. He certainly needed the rest, and perhaps the more sleep he could get the better, as it would help him pass the otherwise-onerous time during which he must remain off his feet to let the maggots do their job. Sleep, and Ill save you some breakfast. An hour later, though, Lizs breakfast long finished and the stretching and softening of the most recent marmot hide finished, Einar still had not wakened, and she was beginning to grow quite concerned. Knew he needed to eat, stir around just a bit and get out into the sun if he was going have any chance at keeping warm--had begun shivering again, hands and face cold to the touch--and she finally took matters into her own hands, easing him off of the bed and lifting him, positioning herself behind his back with hands under his shoulder, dragging him out into the sunlight. Einar opened his eyes at that, looked up at her in surprise and confusion and growled his protest, tried hard to get to his feet, but the effort did not last for long. Dizzy, he lay back down, allowing her to help him onto the deer hide and very quickly slipping back into something like sleep as she covered him with that of the ewe. Making sure his bad foot stayed in the shade so as to avoid drying out the maggots, she propped the foot up slightly on a log which she padded with her spare knit cap, noticing that his lower legs and feet-even the uninjured one--looked a bit swollen that morning, puffy. She tried to tell herself that the trouble must be largely due to his unaccustomed lack of movement over the past hours, but she knew that, in reality, the edema was yet another clear sign that his body was breaking down from lack of nutrition, had likely endured nearly all it was able. Lack of protein, she knew, was the immediate cause of the swelling, and was also the reason she hadnt noticed it before in him, as their typically high-protein diet--even when at times consisting of no more than a few bites of jerky every day or so--had helped prevent his starvation from manifesting in that particular way, and she wanted to wake him, to see if he could manage a good cup or two of broth, if nothing else. Tried once again to do so, speaking to him rather insistently and--dangerous, but she was beginning to grow a bit desperate--grabbing the spear that lay across his chest, attempting to open his hands and take it. No response, other than a tightening of his grip, and finally she gave up, soaked a bit of clean cloth in the warm broth and dribbled it into the corner of his mouth, relieved when she saw him swallow. For several minutes she gave him broth this way, finally stopping when, regaining just a bit of awareness but not enough to allow him to

understand what was actually happening, he growled, rolled away from her and threw an arm over his face as if to shield himself. Alright, I hear you. Ill stop. At least that was something Morning was working its way towards afternoon, and Liz needed to check the snares, especially considering that past nights visit from the bear. She didnt want it to discover her snare line, have a few snacks and come to regard it as a potential regular source of food, as that would entirely destroy the only source of fresh meat they had at the moment, force her to entirely move it, change its course and hope the creature did not discover the new one. If bears were even inclined to do such. She wasnt sure, though is sounded plausible and wanted to ask Einar, only he wasnt awake. What to do? She knew what he would say--go! What are you doing hanging around here when there are things to do, I can take care of myself--and she supposed in this case, though he clearly couldnt take care of himself at the moment, he would have probably been right to urge her out to check the snares. They were, if something wasnt done in a hurry to increase the supply of meat they had coming in, going to end up woefully behind when it came to getting a supply set back for winter, for the coming of the baby, and she could not justify abandoning the only steady if slow source of food they currently did have, to spend the entire day sitting there with Einar. That, then, was her answer, and she used the hide to help her lift Einars upper half, getting him back into the cabin and tucking the second hide in around him, making sure his hat was pulled down to his eyebrows for warmth, a jar of water set nearby should he waken. Leaving him a quick note on the stone slab they had previously used for such purposes she left, bracing a number of branches across the door and then searching the nearby timber for more, continuing until the place was quite well secured Glancing through a gap one last time to check on him she set out at a good pace, not wanting to leave him too long alone lest she come back to discover either that the bear had returned hungry and--she shuddered, shook the sight from before her eyes-thought him easy prey, or, more likely, that its return had wakened Einar and left him deciding that he absolutely positively must challenge the creature, single-handedly bring it down and skin it out before she returned. Youd better not attempt anything of the sort, you hard-headed old fool, or Ill scrape up whatever the bear left and finish you off with my war club, you hear me? Which he did, after a fashion, smiling in his sleep as he dreamt of roasting bear, crackling over the fire. Liz returned, peering through the door to find that Einar had not tried to go anywhere in her absence, was lying where she had left him, eyes wide open but vacant-looking, dream-haunted, staring hard at the network of branches with which she had attempted to bear proof the door opening, and it took quite a bit of speaking on her part before she could get him to acknowledge her presence, to answer, to finally convince her that shed be safe in tearing down the improvised door and entering, despite the way he held that atlatl. The task accomplished without incident, she brought the fire back to life, finely chopped and began boiling the liver and heart of the single rabbit shed taken that morning with her snares, wanting Einar to have at least some of it and knowing that whatever he didnt consume would be greatly appreciated by the growing child, and by her own body. A fact not lost on Einar, and, though only half awake and not able to effectively communicate to her his reasons, he refused to take more than a few sips of the

broth when she brought it to him, put a hand out and touched her stomach, turned to face the wall. He slept again, then, the sips of warm, salty-rich liver broth easing slightly the pained emptiness of his stomach and giving him just enough energy that he felt he could let go and allow himself some sleep without too much concern over the prospect of not waking up again. A number of times lately, he had not been so sure. Liz ate a good bit of the cooked liver, setting some aside in a jar of cold water to stay fresh should Einar show a bit more wakefulness later and be able to eat it. Which he did not, became more and more difficult to reach as the day went on, curling up on the bed and retreating within himself, growing increasingly combative whenever she tried to give him broth, water, anything that might help keep him going, hiding his face and clenching his teeth, muttering and grimacing and clearly not recognizing her, looking, in fact, eyes strange and glazed with fever, as though he might well be plotting her destruction, seeing her as an obstacle to his escape. Watching Einars struggle, it was clear to Liz that he would have been up and out of there a number of times already, had he not believed himself trapped, and she spoke to him, tried to remind him where he was but could see that she wasnt getting through to him. Liz, growing frustrated and near tears at the cold contempt with which Einar regarded her every time she approached or spoke to him, would have simply covered him up and let him be for the remainder of the day, had it not been obvious how badly he needed hydration. Resistant as he was, she had been able to get the occasional sip into him-there were times when, weary with the struggle and seeing no way out, he would appear to become briefly resigned to her insistent presence, allow her, though protesting all the way, to pour a bit of broth down his throat, and she hated to do it to him, but knew shed better keep at it, lest his condition continue to worsen. Sorting through her pouches and packets of dried herbs, raspberry leaf, mullein, Oregon grape root, shepherds purse for the birth, she had an idea, pulled out the packet of yarrow and started some water heating. If only she could add a good dose of yarrow to his broth, get him to drink enough to begin growing sleepy and strange, as he claimed happened to him when he drank the stuffwell, maybe hed forget his preoccupation with escape and with resisting her every action, simply allow her to help him get water and a good meal down. Hed be angry with her for it later, if he found out , but she wasnt sure hed have too many chances at later, if she wasnt able to get him to settle down and accept some more water and broth, find a way to keep him from sneaking out the door and disappearing into the timber at the first opportunity. Knew he wouldnt do it if he was awake and thinking straight; hed given his word on that, and she believed him, but in his current statethe yarrow was starting to look like her only solution. The water was ready, steaming and bubbling, and she moved it back from the heat, crumbled a good half-handful of the dry, pungent-smelling leaves into it, breathing clouds of aromatic steam as the tea steeped and watching Einar through its billowing whiteness. Shook her head. Couldnt do it. Knew it would be a major betrayal of his trust, even if he never found out what shed done. Liz wept as she pushed the pot aside, setting it on a rock to cool its contents for later use as a wound wash, feeling as though in abandoning the yarrow plan, she might well be passing up on her last chance to save him. But knowing that she was making the right decision. If he went on refusing the water, got up and ran

out of there to hide in the timberso be it. He had, in the days after Kilgores departure, finally trusted her enough to let go a bit--an incredibly difficult thing for him, she knew-and allow her to provide the help she had for so long been offering, longing, even, to provide, and she was not going to return the favor by forcing on him without his knowledge the one thing he had consistently refused. Wouldnt have been right. He had let go, and now so must she. But Im going to need Your help, we both are, because I dont know what more to do for him, and I really just cant imagine how much longer he can go on like this She left, then, needing a minute to herself, made a quick trip over to the spring and refilled one of the water jars, washed her hands, face, feeling better after the little break. When Liz returned to the cabin it was to discover, much to her surprise and relief, that Einar was sitting up on the bed, broth pot clenched in both hands as he stared into its depths as if knowing that he needed some, but not quite sure how to access it. He looked up and saw her, grinned, and the grin was his own--slightly goofy and a bit sheepish at having been discovered staring into the stew as if it was some foreign substance--and not the frighteningly cold and scornful one with which, believing her sent by his captors, he had earlier greeted her. She sat down beside him, lifted the pot so he could drink and after a moment he took it, nearly draining it of the remaining broth. Oh, hey, that sure is good! Mmmjust what I needed. Did you get plenty, already? Yes, plenty. And she was about to go on and tell him how long shed been trying to wake him, to make some connection and speak with him, but refrained, accepted the change as an answer to her prayers and brought him a jar of water, urged him to drink more. Later, he told her, rightly explaining that he was stuffed after that broth, had no room for anything else. Figure wed better get started on a door for this place, anyway, the way that bear showed up last night. Now Ive been thinkingif we can get six or eight fairly straight little aspens, dont have to cut live ones, standing deadll be fine, fallen ones even, if theyre in pretty good shape, and get them down to approximately the same length as each other, we canwhew stopped, struggling for breath and blinking hard against a sudden dizziness, shook his head and continued. We can lash em together with cordage, make ourselves a pretty stout door. Rawhide would be even better than the cordage, soak it, weave it in there while its wet and itll draw together and tighten as it dries, hold everything real secure, as soon long as we paint on some pitch to protect it from wet weather, but we dont have any rawhide right now, do we? Nope, so the cordage will just have to do for now, and well replace next time we get a large enough critter that we can spare some long strips of rawhide. If you can bring me the aspens, Ill cut them to length and do the lashinghow about it? Well, that sounds like a sure way to discourage bears from walking in here at night, doesnt it? I know where there are some little trees that ought to work just fine. Standing dead, but small enough that theyre pretty easy to push over and drag back here. Ive already done that with a couple, for firewood. Be right back! And she hurried off to

collect the trees, hoping to be back before Einars sudden and unexpected surge of energy wore off and he went to sleep again. Or decided to leave the cabin and take matters into his own hands. Together they worked on shortening the small trees and lashing them together, creating a straight, strong door which, once secured in place, would keep out all but the most determined of black bears, if not all of the wind. Chinking would solve that problem, though, whenever they got around to it. Which Einar intended to be soon, as it sounded like an ideal project for him to work on while allowing the foot to heal. If that was what it was doing, under there. He had to hope. Didnt get very far on the chinking, though, because, solid as his intentions were, he found himself drifting irreversibly towards sleep within minutes of making it back into the cabin, having thoroughly exhausted the meager store of energy provided him by the small meal, his body having little with which to back it up. Liz, had she known that this was to be the last time she would see him awake in quite some time, might have tried to delay his sleep a bit longer, might, even, have been tempted to say something which would have served as a good bye. But she did not know. All through the evening and night Einar slept, tossing, grumbling, but never fully waking. The foot, when Liz unwrapped it the next morning after three days of work by the maggots--time to exchange them for fresh ones, she was sure--was looking a lot better, a good bit of the black, decaying flesh gone, devoured by the hungry little insects and showing beneath it the healthy pink of living, healing tissue. The job was by no means complete, some areas still stinking and looking very nearly untouched, and Liz knew that it was time for a fresh batch of the creatures so the healing could, hopefully, continue. Einar, though still hot, his pulse frighteningly weak and fast, seemed to be resting a bit more comfortably that morning, the pain-etchings on his forehead and face somewhat softened, and she hoped the apparent improvement was due to an actual lessening of the pain, and not simply to the fact that he was growing weaker, slipping deeper into unconsciousness. Which he did seem to be, no longer even stirring when she changed the dressings, bathed his face with cool water and dripped bits of it into the corner of his mouth, trying desperately to keep him hydrated, and she feared that the improvement in his foot might very well have come too late. That day was a long one, as was the next, Liz continuing with the tasks necessary to keep the two of them going, collecting firewood, hauling water from the spring and making a valiant effort to keep Einar from becoming too dehydrated, but fearing that she her efforts were not going to be enough. Watching him lie there pale and sunken-faced, unmoving, she could not help but wonder how much longer he could possibly hold on like that, but then five days into the maggot treatment and nearly two weeks after Bud Kilgores departure, one morning in late July-she knew it was July, for she had been keeping track, a mark on a stick every day since leaving Susans the last time, and then marks on the deer leg bone she was currently using--he woke with clear eyes, the fever gone, and when she looked at the foot--a miracle, it seemed--the most recent batch of maggots had eaten their fill and begun dropping off, the inflammation down and a good bit of healthy pink showing where before there had been only rot and blackness and the stench of death. He was going to make it; the maggots had worked. Weak, shaky but very determined, he hauled himself up to a sitting position, took in a great breath of the warming, sun-on-spruce scent of the

morning, and asked Liz--much to her delight--whether there might be anything available for breakfast. Einar was, finally, hungry. And a little scared. Knew, mind clearer than it had been in many days, that theyd lost an awful lot of time, had a tremendous amount of catching up to do before the brief sub alpine summer flared and faded to fall-grey, before the baby came. Once she got over her surprise at Einars sudden escape from the bonds of fever and halfconsciousness which had been holding him down and largely cutting him off from the world for the past week or so, Liz got right to work on a big batch of stew--knew he shouldnt and probably couldnt eat too much of it just then, but wanted to have it ready-stopping periodically in her work to stare at him in thankful amazement, just reveling in the fact that he was alive, cognizant and appeared reasonably likely to remain so. Provided he got some good nourishment, and without much more delay, too, from the looks of him. He had, she was now able to admit to herself--now that he was awake and improving, or about to be--come terribly, almost irretrievably close to the edge of the precipice this time, the point of no return, had spent a number of days dancing precariously if without fear along the dividing line between life and death (if there was indeed such a line; she had, over the past days, become less certain of its solidity, almost felt as though she had journeyed with him partway across that line and back, a time or two,) and he looked it. Well. She shook her head, glanced away, noticing that he was watching her strangely. Wed better get started. He needs to eat, and the foods ready Einar was hungry, felt as though he could have devoured the entire contents of the stew pot and then gone on to finish half of the sheep jerky that remained stored in the rafters, but Liz would allow him only what seemed a miserably small taste of strained broth sweetened with what he would later find out was the last of their precious box elder syrup, just enough to whet his suddenly massive appetite and leave him clutching as discreetly as possible at his twisting, cramping stomach. She wouldnt give him any more, though, put the pot out of reach and handed him instead a jar of water, insisting that he drink. His first inclination was to react angrily--irrational, he knew; she was only trying to keep him from stuffing himself too soon, knew he might well lack the strength to do the restraining himself, just yet--but he kept still, quivering at the odor of the remaining stew and inexplicably close to tears at the sudden denial of further food. Get ahold of yourself, Einar. Done this before, youll get through it just fine. Justthink about something else for a while, why dont you? Which proved not to be necessary at all, his mind momentarily diverted by the fact that he found himself--operating as he was on extremely short rations and having had nothing to drink for several days, other than the bits of water Liz had been able to drip into his mouth--suddenly very shaky, a little dizzy, allowed Liz to help him back onto the bed, almost but not quite resisting the urge to grab a handful of jerky from the supply Liz had been keeping near the fire to add to stews. She took his hands as he curled himself into a fetal position around them, intent on protecting his stash of jerky, eased them open. Ok, take it easy there. Im so glad to see that your appetites back, but you dont need to try and gobble everything up at once. Weve got plenty to eat, and its not going anywhere.

He nodded, grinned, looking somewhat abashed at his actions, reluctantly allowed her to reclaim his double handful of jerky. I know. Sorry. We do have plenty, thanks to you and your snares, and were gonna have more real soon. I been lying around like a bump on a log for way too long here, letting you do all the work, you and little Hildegard soon as Im up on my feet again Im gonna be out there with the atlatl, bow--maybe both, even--taking us some deer, sheep, elk, and before long, that bear. Some bear, or other. Were gonna be feasting. You are. Ill do the cooking, you can just sit back and relax, you and the little one. Itll be Einar! Hey, that sounds great, but first lets get that foot finished healing up, put some meat on your bones so youre more than a meal or two away from complete starvation, and then Well Im trying to work on the eating bit, but what do you do? You snatch it all away and put it out of my reach every time I go to take a bite, so how do you ever expect me to Slowly and patiently, at least for these first few days, thats how! And she went at him with the rabbit stick as if to emphasize her point, playfully swatting him in the shoulder but he grabbed the thing, twisting it with a speed and agility that took her off guard and pulling her down beside him, where they lay staring at each other for a good minute, laughing. Einar was, he finally realized, exhausted, didnt know just what hed been intending to do, but was pretty sure he didnt have the energy for it, regardless. Not just then. But that was going to change. As quickly as possible. Had to, if they were going to have the resources to make it through the swiftly-approaching fall and winter, be ready for the little one, and He sat up, face going grave, serious, suddenly appearing painfully gaunt and pale in contrast to its recent hilarity. (Dont do that, Liz silently pleaded, you look so much more alive when youre laughing) They were--he could see it in the color of the aspen leaves visible through the open door, a darker green than they wore in the early summer, dimmer, as if they were already beginning to fade just a bit-well into the second half of the brief summer already, wondered if Liz knew just how far, supposed, remembering that he had seen her daily taking down her deer bone calendar and carving another notch--that she probably did, but decided to save the question for later. Wanted to accomplish a few things before he found out. The first of which consisted of getting his feet under him, making sure that he was able to move, keep his balance, cover ground if need be; it had been too long. Could tell it was going to be a challenge--was, in fact, proving a major challenge simply finding the strength to go on sitting up--getting to his feet, but knew he had to do it, for a number of reasons. Liz disagreed. Took his hand and prevented him from rising, told him it could wait, would have to wait. If you mess that foot up now, get it infected againwell, think about it! Think about what youre doing. Give yourself more time. He let out a great breath, tuned away, a bit exasperated. The fact that he was not surprised at Lizs reaction did not make it any easier for him to take, especially

considering his prior resolve--hadnt forgotten it, despite the long days of fever and halfconsciousness--to slow down and allow her to provide the help she had so patiently and insistently been offering. At least until the foot was better. Ok. He sat back down. Can wait. If you let me have some of that stew Pouring a bit of the stew into an empty water jar, a quarter cup of the stuff, no more, Liz handed it to Einar, leaving the cabin with the excuse that she needed to go get more water. In reality, she simply recognized that Einar could use a few minutes alone with his food, was finding it difficult and somewhat embarrassing--which it need not have been, as hed been there before, and she with him, had come very close to finding herself in such a state, a time or two--to have her watch him engage in that particular struggle. He would, she expected, take advantage of her absence to secure a good sized pile of jerky in his sweater or beneath the bed, somewhere hidden but within easy reach where he could guard it, but such actions were, she knew, largely harmless. He wouldnt eat too much of it, not yet, not all at once. Knew better, knew the dangers of not easing back into eating with some care. He had experience with the consequences, and would surely, she could only hope, do all within his power to avoid them. Which Einar, alone in the cabin and drooling over the sight of those bags of jerky, had every intention of doing, carefully pacing himself as he sipped the several teaspoons of broth that Liz had given him, digging the chunks of meat from the bottom of the jar and consuming them one by one, savoring each. Needed more, needed it terribly badly, knew Liz was right, in principle, to want to limit him, but knew also that his greatest danger would have come in consuming large quantities of carbohydrates after a long period of extreme paucity such as the one he had just endured. His body might well, in that case, experience a shortage of phosphates severe enough to cause dangerous breathing difficulties and heartbeat irregularities, not to mention seriously interfering with his ability to fight off and heal from infection, a sideeffect which he certainly did not need to be dealing with at the moment. Not a problem he was likely to run into though, with their current diet consisting almost entirely of meat, and he needed more. Needed liver, blood, anything that would help remedy the anemia which it seemed he hadnt been able to shake since his last serious bleed during the most recent work on his foot, and which he knew would have worsened during the last week? Two? Dont really know during which he had been able to consume so little food, leaving him weaker and more slow to heal than he otherwise would have been. Didnt see any liver sitting there handy, though, aside from the little chunks--rabbit, he expected--that Liz had included in the stew, and he was strongly inclined to raid the pot for whatever bits might remain, might very well have done it despite what he knew would be Lizs certain displeasure, except for the extreme weariness that seemed to have crept over him again without any warning at all, leaving him barely able to sit up and keep his eyes open, let alone sift through the leftover stew to filter out and eat bits of liver. Seemed, in fact, to be having a hard time swallowing the bite he was presently working on, his last from the portion of stew Liz had given him, put a concentrated effort into getting it down and was left with just enough energy to snag a pouch full of sheep jerky before collapsing back on the bed, entirely spent. And more than a little frustrated. Had

fully intended, in addition to eating, to make himself useful around the place while Liz was away, start a second batch of stew perhaps, or, seeing that Liz hadnt quite got it done, finish the chinking project on the door, change the dressings on his foot--hadnt even got a look at the thing since the most recent batch of maggots had worked their magicmaggot magic, ha! That sounds funny and wanted to see--or at the very least add a few sticks of wood to the fire. Couldnt seem to get much further than raising himself on his elbows though, finally sank back down on the bed, arms locked protectively around the pouch of jerky and a little smile on his face as he drifted quickly towards an exhausted sleep. Not good at all. You were awake for...what? Half hour at most, and here you are useless againgot to work on this But not, it was appearing, before a quick nap. And at leasthe was smiling againhe had that supply of jerky close at hand, concealed and protected beneath him where no one would be likely to find or take it. Safe. At least for the moment, and what more could a person really ask for? And he slept. Einar was asleep for no more than a few minutes when Liz returned, the sound of her pushing aside the heavy cabin door bringing him back to wakefulness with the unsettling realization that he had idea how long hed been out. Had been experiencing that quite often of late, hated it, but supposed he ought to be encouraged by the fact that his wakeful periods were lasting longer that morning, mind seeming clearer and more able when he was awake. He seemed headed in the right direction. Still did not care at all for the heaviness that seemed to permeate mind and body, leaving him perpetually vulnerable to slipping back over the edge of the precipice at whose rather crumbly, unstable edge he had been struggling for the past weeks, was glad when Liz sat down next to him with her water jars and what appeared to be a handful of freshly picked serviceberries (though, as he was soon to find out, there were far more outside.) Her proximity would, he hoped, serve to keep him awake, in the present, prevent that otherwise-inevitable slide back towards too-deep sleep. Liz saw that he had begun to shiver a bit, drew the ewe hide closer around his shoulders. I let in a lot of cold air just now, but it should start warming back up pretty soon, the way this fires going. The door works well! Aw, its alright, and he allowed the hide to slip from his shoulders to add emphasis to his point. I need to start working to get used to the cold again, I prefer being cold, really, but these last couple of weeks he shuddered, threw up his hands. Well, the cold just might have been the end of me this time, if you hadnt been around. Was like I completely lost my ability to resist it there for a while, to work with it like I always have, were times when I wasnt real sure I even wanted to resist it Well, carefully ignoring the second part of the statement, didnt know quite what to say to it, its really no wonder you lost some of that ability for a while. You lost almost all of your body fat if you hadnt noticed, which means you were mighty short on insulation. And still are. Here, get that hide back up where it belongs, or youre going to end up burning more calories with that shivering than youre taking in!

He nodded, yielding, finally, to her efforts, allowed her to huddle with him there in the hide, warm him; knew she was likely correct. But knew just as surely that he really must begin working as soon as possible to regain his former affinity for the cold, as the exercising of it had, along with copious amounts of hard exercise--not too difficult to come by, in the life hed embarked upon--been one of his primary means of keeping life livable. Which, the fever and infection that had nearly taken his life aside, the past couple of weeks very nearly had not been. Though there seemed to be a few large and inexplicable gaps in his memories of those days, he could certainly remember enough-some of it extremely vividly--to be certain that he had no wish to repeat the experience, especially not in Lizs presence. Couldnt, in light of some of his actions during that time--the ones he did remember--even begin to comprehend what was keeping her there with him, wanted to say something, let her know how he appreciated it, sat there for a good minute staring at her in bewildered gratitude, the words tripping over themselves and getting all tangled up before they could find a voice. An awkward moment, and one which was dispelled unknowingly by Liz when she rose, suggesting Einar come outside into the sunlight and help her sort serviceberries for drying.

Liz had amassed quite a quantity of serviceberries on her walk to the spring, the first to come ripe that season, their ripening time shortened and their size increased by their proximity to the water, had left most of them outside while she went in to check on Einar. She was anxious to sort through them, remove any that looked diseased, and spread the rest out on sunny rocks to begin drying. Following her out into the clearing--she hadnt offered to help him move, had given him some space, not even watching as he figured out how to get himself up and moving, and he was glad--Einar sat shivering and blinking in the sudden intensity of the midmorning sunlight, stretching chilled hands and arms in an attempt to limber them up so he could be of some help. Not an easy task, but he managed it, scooted closer to Liz and her basket full of berries, prepared to begin helping her sort out and dispose of the inevitable percentage of bad ones that had fallen from the bushes along with the good. Serviceberries in the area had over the past few years been widely affected by a type of rust fungus which manifested itself in orange, spiky patches on the leaves, often turning a majority of the berries into hard, inedible lumps of orange and brown, spiked and shedding spores of the fungus so that the ground below them sometimes took on an orange tint. Not so good to be adding to the food supply. The rust seemed, Einar had noticed that spring, to be on the decline, more of the bushes in any one patch showing leaves that were largely clean of the affliction, and it was with great delight that he saw, looking over the result of Lizs efforts, that the berries were making a healthy return, also. Fingers moving quickly through the pile of berries, which Liz had poured out onto the deer hide, they removed the bad ones, Liz flung hers into the surrounding timber and Einar reluctantly--would have preferred to eat them, really, and then dive after those Liz had tossed aside, rust fungus or no--did the same. There were plenty of berries and, he expected, many more to come, too, if her half hour of work was any indication as to the

supply. No wonder that bear had found its way into camp, with so much food around to attract it. Almost time to go after that critter, trap him or take him with the bowcould probably just spend some time waiting near where Liz found these berries, watch for him to come along, and he jumped, raised his head and looked over at Liz, realizing that she had been talking to him, was apparently waiting for an answer. Trouble was, he had no idea what shed said, having been very nearly asleep there in the strong sunlight, drifting towards the ground. He grinned, shook his head and went back to sorting berries, hands clumsy and inefficient, but at least moving. Liz wasnt giving up, though. Well, could you, or do you need to go inside and get some sleep? Sleep? No, Ive been getting way too much sleep, feel like Ive been doing nothing but sleep for the past month or so. Got to move, now, get things done, got tocould I what? Stay out here and watch the berries while I go check the snares real quick. We need to take advantage of the sun to get them drying, but I saw a few ravens around earlier, some jays, and Id hate to come back and find out that theyd devoured all of our berries! Oh! Sure, I can do that. Ha! Armed with my atlatl and spear, the bird-critters will have no chance, and maybe well even end up with some crow to eat with our supper! Liz rolled her eyes--no doubt--brought him the atlatl and a jar of water, and left to check her snares.

Bob, busy tending his flourishing tomato patch and heaping additional dirt around hills of rapidly-growing potato plants--it was not for nothing that he had honed his horticultural skills over the years, and such skills were, it seemed, every bit as applicable to food crops as they were cash crops--was startled when, without any warning of approach, a voice spoke up from behind a pile of leaves, spruce needles and other debris hed raked up and piled for later burning when clearing more ground for his garden that spring. Got any of that bacon left? Stuff sure smelled good. Guess youve probably gone and eaten it all up. That figures. Bob froze, hand dropping to the pistol hed taken to wearing at all times over the past weeks, but he knew the voice. Still couldnt see its owner, but that was no surprise; Kilgore, despite his age and that partially healed injury to his leg, moved like a whisper of wind over the ground, like a shadow, a ghost. Speaking of which, Bob was reasonably surprised that it was, apparently, Bud himself and not his apparition that had showed up for breakfast that morning, hungry for breakfast and ornery as ever. Hed been pretty sure that the tracker had regarded the mine operation as his last mission, had neither planned nor expected to come out the other end, the likely finality of it lending impetus to

the focus he had put on working with Bob to improve his tracking and other tactical skills. Bob was glad to be proven wrong, sat down on a tree stump and waited. The tracker would show himself when he was ready. Yep, theres some bacon left. Want to come in for breakfast, or should I fix you a sack and leave it in the van? The burn pile moved, a human face, of sorts--not much of it was visible, and what Bob did see appeared somewhat torn up, scratched and scarred--emerging from between piles of rubbish. Better just leave it in the van. Not smart for me to risk being seen around the house, even though it doesnt look like theyre watching you. Stick it in the van, park down at the end of the driveway and it should be ready for pickup down in the Junction late this evening, if all goes well. Will do. No sign of trouble down hereaside from the random roadblocks theyve been setting up between Culver and Clear Springs since the big day. Wont say what they expect to find, so I guess they just want to look like theyre doing something about it. You did a real number on them up therewhew! Id like to hear the story sometime, but guess youre anxious to get moving right now Yep. Ok, Ill go move the van. Youd better head North out of here, avoid Clear Springs altogether if you dont want to risk one of the roadblocks. Theyve been setting them up every day at one time or other, seems like. Really adding to the local good will when the morning commute to Clear Springs goes from a one hour affair to three because of them tying up traffic like thatha! What a mess. Kilgore made the drive without incident in Bobs old van, leaving the mountains and heading straight down I-70 for several hours before ditching the vehicle at a truck stop just shy of the Utah border, hitching back into town and waiting to catch a bus down to Flagstaff. So far, so good, and between the big floppy wide-brimmed hat he used to conceal the worst of the damage to his face and a pack, baggy coat and bedroll that clearly said homeless drifter, no one even gave him a second glance on the ride. Changing clothes at a convenience store around the corner from the bus stop, Kilgore spent the remainder of the day working his way over to a spot just outside of town where he stored a dirt bike in a friends old barn--they never did use the place, didnt know the bike was there and thus wouldnt notice its absence; good to have a lot of options-making quick work of the miles of scrubby high desert hills that separated him from his home. A good mile from the start of his driveway, Kilgore concealed the bike in a narrow little wash, setting out on foot with the intention of doing a good bit of observation before approaching by more conventional means.

Half-dozing in the sunlight, atlatl across his knees and bola close at hand should he be

presented with the opportunity to take a bird as it tried to raid the drying serviceberries, Einar sat with his back against a boulder, face upturned to catch the sun. Was, much to his dismay, terribly, crushingly weary after his short stint at berry-sorting, would have been asleep already, despite his valiant struggle to stay awake and watch the berries, had it not been for the hunger. It had been with him, of course, for many days, had become a familiar companion whose presence he accepted to the point of failing, at times, to even notice it, a situation which had made it far easier, in his feverish and somewhat confused state, to refuse Lizs offers of food and water than to go to the effort of accepting them. A dangerous situation, but he hadnt realized it then, had sometime within the past week reached a point where most of the time he no longer even felt his bodys weakening demands for nourishment, the twisting, grumbling pains gone, leaving him drifting, content. Still wasnt entirely sure what had brought him out of it, though he had his theories, but now that he had begun eating again, the food-demands were a loud, clamorous thing that never seemed to stop, left him tightly wound and shaking, looking around almost frantically at times for more to eat. Which situation, though unpleasant, was certainly serving to keep him awake to guard the berries--though he would have much preferred to guard them, wonderfully sweet and tempting, by stuffing them in great hands full down his throat, just like a bear, if you cant catch a bear just now, you might as well go ahead and eat like one, stomach full, good sweet purple juice dribbling out of your mouth as you drift off to sleep--and for that, he was glad. Especially when the ravens began showing up. At first the large black birds merely circled the clearing, a pair of them, crossing back and forth, tipping their wings and soaring, playing like hawks on a rising column of warm air, and Einar watched them, more relaxed and nearer sleep than ever, now that the threat was before him, visible and thus not nearly as threatening as it had been when still unseen, theoretical. He had always enjoyed watching ravens, had often in the past, the birds curious, swooping low to observe him, met them in the high, windswept saddles and on the flanks of great peaks as he climbed, had dreamed of them during his fever-time in the cabin, and in the dreams they had spoken to him, and he to them, though he could not now remember any of the words. Just as well. They had not, it seemed, been words for the going-on-living, but for one who was ranging far, making a lengthy and tenuous journey along the ragged edge between worlds, and though he had no fear of what lay beyond that edge--had actually felt at times over the past weeks a joyful anticipation at the thought of being received there, of going home--he had every intention of sticking around for as long as possible. For Liz, and for the child. Hardly wanted to make that passage while lying nearly helpless in the dark interior of a cabin or cave, anyway, whenever the time came. Meant, if he had any say in the matter at all, to make a good end of it, to go out fighting in one way or another, or at least to be out under the wide free sky as his friend Will had been. Enough. Quite enough of that. Not going anywhere right now, and look at this Those ravens seem to be working their way in closer, berries must have caught their eye and they figure they might as well take advantage of the fact that the watchmans slouching around daydreaming instead of doing his job At which he stretched, sat up straighter and waved an arm at the birds in the hopes of scattering them. They didnt seem to be

taking him too seriously though, could read in his motions, perhaps, some of the weariness that still weighed heavily on him, did not regard him as much of a threat. And had definitely seen the berries. Einar stood, shouted and shook his fist as they swept lower but he stumbled, too dizzy to go on balancing on one foot as he was attempting to do, sinking back to the ground like a great crippled crane, arms and legs poking out precariously thin and bird-like in all directions as he tried to get himself sorted out, untangled, sitting back against the boulder, suddenly out of breath. Birds were still there, werent giving up. He leaned forward, swept the sweat from his forehead and struggled to slow his breathing, to bring the wild and somewhat erratic fluttering of his heart--not out of danger in that area yet, it seemed, would take a while to get things back into balance so that the electrical system was working correctly and reliably again--back under control. Right, Einar. So how do you expect to take a bear here in the next few days, if youre not even capable of keeping a couple of blackbirds off these berries? What a joke. At which he stood, leaning on the spear and swinging the bola, taking aim at the closer of the two ravens, the bolder one, leading a bit on the creature and letting the weapon fly. Success, and the bird came tumbling to earth, tangled, Einar--recognizing food, instinct taking over--diving in its direction and quickly dispatching it. The other raven, when he looked up, was nowhere in sight, having apparently got the message. Einar, breath coming hard, braced himself tenaciously on trembling hands and knees, took three tail feathers from the raven, a large male, and held them up, inspecting their dancing colors, greens, reds, in the sunlight. Taking a coil of sinew from his pocket he bound the feathers just below the point of his spear. Another smaller one he took and wrapped to a bit of hair that was hanging down over his face, pushing it out of his view and sitting there, chin on his knees, half in a daze until he finished catching his breath. Then, untangling the raven and checking the bola for damage--there didnt appear to be any--he began plucking the bird, knowing it was a job best done while the creature was still warm. Wasnt sure what Liz would think of having raven for their supper, but had no doubts, himself. Was looking forward to the meal, was, in fact, having a rather difficult time restraining himself from digging in like a half-starved coyote, tearing off great bites of the stringy meat with his teeth and swallowing it, raw and warm andhey, knock it off! Youre not taking a bite of this until Liz comes back, and not before you cook it, either, since that is an option right now. Carrion eater like this ought to be cooked whenever you have the chance, and you know it. Einar knew that the quickest way to prepare his catch would be to skin the bird and simply cut out the breast meat, but he had time, figured he might as well pluck and gut it so that the entire bird could be boiled, allowing them to extract the maximum nutrition. Would have hated to waste the bones, marrow, the little bits of meat in the ribs and leg areas. The meat, he knew from past experience, was generally rich, dark and more reminiscent of guinea fowl than chickennot quite as good as grouse, perhaps, sometimes a bit strong or bitter tasting, depending on the birds diet, but a fine meal nonetheless. Only hoped Liz would agree Finishing with the preparation, he hung the skinned bird in the shade to keep it cool, scattered a few feathers around the drying berries, pausing to roll and stir them to keep them drying evenly, and sat back down

against his boulder. Figured Liz ought to be back any minute, hoped so, as he was starting to grow almost irresistibly sleepy again despite the hunger that had been further intensified in him by the thought of cooking up that raven, had no intention of sleeping on duty but wasnt honestly sure how much longer he could hope to hold out. Had an idea though, began easing his right boot off. Foot had been far less painful since the maggots had done their work, less painful, in fact, than it had been in many weeks and not until the hurt had begun significantly subsiding had he realized just how much it had been affecting him. Was incredibly good to be on the downhill side of that one. Despite the improvements, though, the thing was still awfully tender, let him know instantly when he was putting too much pressure on it, and he knew that working the boot and bandages off for a look would certainly keep him from coming anywhere near sleep. Boot and bandages finally removed he studied the foot, propping it on a log and inspecting it, seeing that despite the healthy, living pink that covered most of the wound area, there were a few spots around the edges that still--or perhaps once again--showed some discoloration, a bit of concerning brownish-black, and he wondered if another course of maggots might be a good idea. Was pretty sure that, when used in a modern hospital setting, maggot treatment could take many, many applications over the course of weeks before the wound was thoroughly cleaned out and beginning to heal over. He didnt want to give it that long, knew he had no time to lose, really, when it came to getting back up and on his feet. Sure cant afford to end up again like I was last week though, the infection, fever, the bit about nearly dyingnope, sure cant go back there if Ive got any choice, so I guess its time for another day or two of maggots. Have to see what Liz thinks, but sounds like a good idea to me. It was fine for the moment, though, and after allowing the healing area to have a few minutes of sunlight he wrapped it back up, eased the foot into his boot, not wanting to be caught with the thing off in case there should suddenly arise some urgent need to get to his feet. Boots were in sorry shape, he observed, both of them, and no wonder, after the spring and summer of hard use hed given them, and he doubted--though having to admit that he really hadnt looked lately-that Lizs could be in any better shape. Perhaps even worse, considering that she was now carrying more weight than he. The boots could not, unless set aside almost immediately, be expected to last the winter, and that was a real problem. Got to put us together some moccasins, save these things. But I guess wed better plan on taking another deer first to get some spare hide, because were just about freezing sometimes at night as it is, and I dont guess either of us would look forward to chopping up either of the hides we already have, until theres another one available.

The presence of the vehicle just below his still-locked gate puzzled Kilgore, a single van and not the assault team he would have certainly expected for a greeting party, had they managed to connect him to either Operation Laundry Day or the blast at the mine--nor the complete absence of activity he would have expected had they been attempting to take him by surprise--but he wasnt taking any chances, knew the low-key presence might well be a ruse intended to put him at ease, reel him in He turned, took off down one of the many steep-sided, brush filled drainages that wound in convoluted splendor

through the hills around his land, retreating some distance and making his way to a spot where he had left a bucket cache similar to the one he had placed below the highway outside of Culver Falls. Observing the location for several minutes to make sure it showed no signs of being compromised--doubted it, hed been extremely careful when placing his caches, but one couldnt be too cautious when the feds were literally at the gate--he worked his way closer, retrieved the bucket from its hiding place amongst the rocks. Lots of good stuff in there, but he left most of it, for the time, his attention focused on the radio and antenna setup that were carefully protected in a sealed Mylar bag near the bottom of the bucket. Freeing them of their packaging and digging out some batteries for the radio--the bucket contained a small solar panel as well, just enough power to run the thing, as well as to recharge its batteries, but he left it in place for the time being, knowing that hed not be spending much time in the sun that morning, would be keeping to heavy concealment--stuck an ear bud in his ear, and started listening. Fifteen minutes later, he was certain beyond all reasonable doubt that there was not an ambush waiting for him up at the house; the feds merely wanted to talk. Hed talked with them before, knew he could handle himself. Was a bit less sure, though, of how he was supposed to explain the state of his face, which was still pocked and streaked with the aftermath of having all those rock shards dug out of him.

After a time--Einar didnt know just how much time, as he had spent a good bit of it fighting hard against a growing need to sleep, fighting, also, to stop the cold-induced tremors which had come over him with what should have perhaps been alarming rapidity as a few clouds began drifting across the sun--Liz returned, empty handed. Einar wasnt surprised; snares were a good means of taking some meat while allowing a person to carry out other tasks as they worked, but their success was at times fairly unpredictable, and in light of their emptiness that day, he was delighted to be able to present Liz with the already-prepared carcass of the raven. Was not so delighted, though, at his near inability to communicate to her--had been intending to call the bird a ptarmigan as a joke, and see how long it took her to figure out what it really was--his success at bird hunting. Was shaking so hard that there was no concealing it no matter how diligently he tried, his words a jumble when he tried to get them out, and finally he gave up, clamped his teeth to stop their chattering and nodded in the direction of the bird. Liz saw but--somewhat to his dismay, as he was reasonably proud of the acquisition, considering the circumstances--barely acknowledged its presence, insisting instead on helping him to his feet. Im sorry for leaving you out here like this, I didnt realize it was going to cloud over and get chilly, or we could have taken the berries inside so you didnt have to sit here like this and freezecome on, lets go in, Ive got a fire all ready to light. At which, had he not been so dizzy--couldnt seem to get to his feet without threatening to black out, which infuriated him--he would have pulled loose from her grasp, climbed up on the boulder that had been supporting him and sat there until he had found some way to bring himself back under control, to chase away the shakiness and prove to

himself that he could still do what needed to be done. Dont say things like that Liz, its not chilly out here at all, its early afternoon on a summer day, and if I cant take it, well, thats my own doggone fault, and I sure dont need you fussing over me like this. He was dizzy, though, could tell that striking out on his own at the moment would end in a quick fall, so he cooperated with Lizs efforts to assist him, disgusted with his lack of ability to keep back the darkness, keep to his feet without blacking out. Liz recognized his frustration and wanted to explain to him--as if he didnt already know--that it was normal, that he was doing great just being awake and alert and as active as he was, that the rest would come, but supposed her telling would only frustrate him further, so she simply helped him inside without comment. Sitting close to the fire--it really had been growing chilly out there in the absence of the sun, a storm front of some sort beginning to roll in, and Liz, too, was glad of the flames, sat there with him after retrieving the berries--Einar worked on the pot of tea Liz pressed into his hands, warming, finally managing to bring the tremors back under control and speak intelligibly. Ravens came after the berries. Tried to chase them off but they werent taking me real seriously. Bola works great for birdsyou ever had raven stew? Liz laughed, wrinkled up her nose. No, but I hear its not quite as bad as coyote! Lets give it a try. Coyote, mmm. Ive eatenfew coyotes in my time. That second winter I was out hereboy was I glad to snare a coyote. Awful hungry then. Meat wasntreal tender, but the tastewell, it seemed fine to me! Nodding, no doubt, Liz watched with concern his seemingly ineffective struggle to stay warm, saw how hard he was trying to keep it from her and wished she had something more to give him, a good thick bear hide or a finished rabbit skin blanket to wrap him in, worrying that though the worst of the danger seemed to have passed when it came to the foot, fever gone and signs of infection nearly so, she might still lose him to the aftermath of the prolonged starvation that had resulted from his illness. Well, not if I have anything to do with it! Time to eat. And she went back outside for the raven, intent on keeping Einar talking long enough to tell her how best to prepare boiled raven (somewhat better than boiled crow, Id think) and then urging him to take a nap while the stew simmered. Not that he would need much urging, was already lying down as she reentered the cabin with the bird, eyes glazed and unfocused as he stared into the flames, and she could see that he was near sleep, didnt want to disturb him, draped an extra sweater and the ewe hide over him, and went about her stew making. Raven stew couldnt be that difficult to figure out Which it almost certainly wasnt, but Einar, knowing that Liz had been a just a bit skeptical about the birds edibility, wanted to be up and helping her, willed himself to move, to rise, but to his great frustration, nothing happened. He drifted off to sleep with the thought that it was taking too long for him to get things back in order, both body and mind, the knowledge that he needed to help the process along. Knew what he had to do, and--seeing it quite clearly in the moment before sleep--already had the spot picked out.

Knew also that hed have a difficult time getting away from Liz and escaping her notice long enough to carry out the task--wasnt sure that it would even be right to try, not fair to her to disappear like that--and perhaps an even more arduous undertaking convincing her that it was necessary, if she discovered his plans beforehand. So, pondering it, he decided to tell her, to include her, even, hoping his efforts might make her more willing to accept.

Returning to the spot where hed concealed his dirt bike, Bud took off up the wash, over a low slickrock intrusion and down the adjacent gully, covering country with the speed of one who knew its intricacies well, stopping at a place where he was still a good two miles from the start of his driveway and well out of earshot of anyone who might be observing it. He stashed the radio and his pack, briefly considering the situation. Didnt take him long to reach a decision; hed been pondering it on the ride over from his friends barn, on the walk back from his driveway just now, and had a pretty good idea of how things were going to go. Choosing the spot carefully--a gravelly-dry bend in the streambed, wide, no trees, boulders or other major obstacles in the way--he turned around and retreated some distance back up the creek, sped towards the bend and took it way too fast, intentionally, keeping things as controlled as possible, slid out on the creekbed and went sliding, gravel in his teeth, dust in his eyes, scraped and bruised but not seriously injured, bike beat up but still operable, a near perfect outcome. Kilgore got stiffly to his feet, brushed off some of the dust and surveyed the scene. Supposed, seeing that his clothes and bike now more nearly matched the previous damage to his face, that it would have to do. Now for the hard part. Groaning, sweating, Bud Kilgore walked the bike up and out of the ravine, taking a shortcut as he headed for his driveway. Halfway into the journey and thus fully committed--couldnt risk starting the bike at that point, as the men in the van might well hear--he was beginning to seriously doubt his ability to finish the task but he kept at it, supposing that the more worn out, sweaty and dusty he looked upon reaching that van, the more believable his story would appear. Wasnt much of a story, as stories go, a simple mishap while riding two (was it two? Might have been more, didnt know exactly how long hed lain there unconscious under that juniper, that part was still a little blurry) days prior which had left him injured and disoriented with a bike that wouldnt start, wandering for a time before he figured out where he was and which way he needed to go to get back home. After which, he had of course retraced his steps, returning for the bike and bringing it with him, having been too stubborn to leave it for later. It was thus that Kilgore, almost too-convincingly playing the role of the battered, disheveled and dehydrated accident victim, finally dragged himself up onto the road and started towards his gate, catching sight of that van and the man inside and responding as if hed never seen anything more welcome in his life. Leaving the bike Kilgore hurried at limping run for the van, hailing the agent with a raised hand. Boy, am I glad to see you! Whoever you are Mind giving me and my bike a ride up this hill? Been out for a couple days, had a little mishap and Im afraid were both a little worse off for the wear

The agent, a young kid who Kilgore figured from the puzzled look on his face must be on one of his first assignments--yet more evidence that they were merely here to talk, and not, having discovered something of his role in the laundry and mine incidents, to bring him in--regarded Kilgore for a moment with a look of mixed alarm and confusion, hastily glanced through a sheaf of papers on a clipboard in the seat beside him, and composed himself. You shouldnt go out there in the desert without letting somebody know where youre going, you know, and when youll be back At which Kilgore wanted to burst out laughing, but managed to restrain himself. Kid, I was going out there in the desert and the jungle and the doggone bleeding lion-infested bundu without leaving notes or maps or getting permission from much of anybody when you were still in crawling around in diapers. Now you gonna tell me what youre doing here with that behemoth of yours blocking my driveway and keeping me from getting by, or am I gonna have to wring it out of you? And what about that ride you promised me? The kid looked a little nervous at that, fingered his radio but thought better of calling for backup. Oh, no, sorry sir. Ill give you the ride. Robert Collins with the FBI Field Office in Phoenix, here. The young agent went on to explain that Kilgore was needed in Culver Falls, presented him with a signed letter from the Agent in Charge that and explained that hed been sent to escort him to the airport. Airport, huh? Kid--Agent Collins--Ive been wandering around out there in the sticks forwell, probably longer than youve been sitting waiting in that van, anyway, and Im glad to come with you and perform my civic duty, here, but I need a few minutes up at the house first to wash off some of the grime and patch myself up, maybe have a drink of water because its been awhile, and Yes, of course. Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital? Nah, no need for anything like that. Been through worse, this isnt nearly as bad as the time you fellas nearly dropped that rocket on me up above Culver. Youre not gonna do that again if I come help you out, are you? Ha! Didnt think so. Ok, give me ten minutes in the house to get cleaned up and pack a bag, and Ill be good to go. Which apparently sounded pretty reasonable to the agent, as he helped Kilgore load the crippled bike into the van, gave him a ride up to the top of the hill and waited in the vehicle as Bud went to the house. Interesting. Definitely not treating me like the subject of an investigation A quick inspection of the place assured him that no one had made unauthorized entry while he was away, further convincing him that the agents story was likely legitimate. They just wanted to talk, possibly to try and persuade him to go up to the site of the mine blast, even--wouldnt that be interesting?--and see if he could pick up a trail, any sign that the fugitive had lived through the explosion and its aftermath. They certainly would not have waited around for a day or two for him to show before they entered and searched his place, if theyd had even the slightest inkling of suspicion as to

his involvement in the recent mine blast. He packed his bag, rejoined his federal escort for the ride to the airport. Well, this is gonna be fun

Stewed raven was not, as Liz discovered that evening, particularly bad tasting at all, especially not when cooked up with ample amounts of wild garlic, serviceberries and nettle leaves. The meat was slightly chewy, a problem which she expected could have been remedied through more hours of cooking, but she was hungry, knew Einar needed to eat, and supposed any experimenting would have to be done on the leftovers. If there were any. She was, the weather cooling significantly ahead of whatever storm seemed to be trying to roll in and her own appetite better the fact that Einar was able to eat again, pretty sure she could have consumed the entire contents of the stewpot herself, was already planning on making a second batch of sheep jerky and more berries when they finished the first. Einar had other plans, though, saw that with the storm they likely only had a few hours of daylight left, and was anxious to get started. Wanted to take another look at the foot and change the dressings before setting out. The walk would not be a long one at all, might very well not, he realized, take as long as would convincing Liz that he must do the thing.

Working together quietly, Einar and Liz cleaned up after their midday meal of raven stew, listening to the wind sweep with increasing force up through the spruces, buffeting the cabin walls and reminding them, Liz especially, how grateful they were for the good stout logs which were serving quite well to keep out the weather. Einar was very quiet, a fact which Liz at first attributed to his being tired, which he no doubt was, but he seemed unusually fidgety, too, kept stopping in his work and staring at her as if he wanted to say something, and finally she stopped, too, gave him her full attention. Need your help with something Liz, if youre willing. She nodded. Of course. Ive got to go up to the dropoff there above the spring for a while. Youve got to do this now? Its storming, starting to rain. Cant it wait? No. I need the rain. Youll be able to keep pretty dry under the timber, and you can come back here to wait, after. Einar, youre scaring me. After what? He reached into his pocket and produced a little coil of nettle cordage, handed it to her. Need you to tie me to a tree. That scrawny old limber pine out in the clearing there near the edge of the dropoff. Wont take long, and then you can head right back on down here

and stay dry. I could do it myself, more or less, but thought maybe if you came along What are you talking about? Has your fever come back? It must have. Come here, let me see She felt his forehead, gently took his face in her hands and turned it so she could look in his eyes, but his temperature seemed normal, possibly even a little low, and she recognized in his eyes--clear and steady if immensely weary and a bit sad--the solid, unshakable determination she had so often seen there when he knew what he was about and had no intention of turning another way. Very reluctantly, she nodded. I dont understand, but yes. Ill help you. Einar gave her a nod of thanks, rose, ready to go, but she caught his hand. How long do you plan on staying up there? Just for the night. The night? The whole night? Einar, I cant be a part of it, cant do this to you please. Youll be doing it for me, not to me. I need this. Think of it asan ordeal. Makes you stronger. You come out the other side stronger. Need to start getting my strength back. Yes, but dont you think youve been through enough ordeals lately? He shrugged. Guess not. Its not the same. Not the same as what? As dying? As freezing in the wind and dying? Einar, you really are crazy, arent you? Maybe Kilgore was right, maybe he was absolutely right, and we should have gone down with him, knocked you out and dragged you down there by whatever means necessary and she wanted to say it aloud, all of it, wanted to hurl it at him but knew she would have been speaking hastily and in anger, managed to keep quiet. She knew he didnt want to die, could see it in his eyes. Wanted very badly to live, was going about it in perhaps the only way he knew how. Hope you know how, hope you know what youre doing And was inviting her to participate, to walk with him in a way she had almost come to believe he was incapable of allowing another person to walk; he was, finally, letting her in. Alright, I will go with you. I will come, but how about this--you see that there are still four or five hours until dark right now, and its already very windy and cold, if thats what youre looking for. Would you consider staying up there until dark, and then coming back in? Einar studied her for a moment, barely believing that she had not tried harder to dissuade him; he had expected a real fight, had dreaded it somewhat, gave her a bit of a smile. Yes. If it is enough. I will have no way to know until Im in the middle of it, but if its enough, Ill stop at dark. You can come back and check at dark, if you really want to.

Together, Einar moving slowly and relying heavily on his spear to avoid putting too much pressure on his healing foot, they walked up to the spring, to the rocky little open area just beyond it, a bit of a saddle, wind-channeling, always gusty, from which large areas of the basin were visibly on a clear day, and Liz saw the tree. Had noticed it before, its formidable starkness standing there all alone, black-barked, bowed and in places nearly devoid of needles, trunk twisted from a lifetime of struggle and hardship out in that battering, killing wind, yet still it stood, lived. As did Einar, at least for the moment, but when she glanced around she couldnt find him, discovered him after a bit of searching just below the spring, stripped down to his shorts and sitting in the little pool which he had previously created by damming up the water with rocks and mud, bad foot carefully propped where it wouldnt get wet and he rose, struggling, she could see, to avoid blacking out at the effort of it. The walk to the spring and dropoff had taken a good deal of exertion on his part, after so many long days of stillness in the cabin. They returned together to the clearing, to the tree, Einar taking his clothes, knife and belt, which hed been carrying, and handing them without a word to her. Liz couldnt believe that he intended to stay up there entirely unarmed, as he had never once let that knife out of his sight--or beyond arms reach--since Susan had given it to him months ago before they made their escape through the waterlogged tunnels and into the mountain, but that appeared to be exactly what he had in mind, stepping away from the tree and driving his spear into the ground some twenty feet from it, right at the edge of the dropoff. Empty handed he returned to the tree, stood with his back against it, wrists crossed behind the rough trunk, nodding to Liz. She shook her head, wanted to make another try at dissuading him, but did not, wrapping the nettle cord as he had requested, tying, but not tightly. This cannot possibly be a good idea Already, dripping spring water and buffeted by a raw and rising wind, he looked terribly cold, eyes distant and unreadable as she turned to go. While Liz couldnt bear to watch the unfolding of Einars self-imposed ordeal--this is ridiculous, do you have any idea how ridiculous this is, Einar? Cant you see what youre doing? I can see it so plainly, but dont know if I dare try and tell you, because the last time I attempted to bring up something even remotely related to the subject, it went rather badly--she couldnt leave him, either, worried that it might become too much for him, the wind and the storm and cold, and she wanted to be nearby if he needed help. Not that he would be likely to let her know, but still After making a pretense of leaving she stayed near, concealing herself in a stand of heavy brush beneath the timber well within hearing distance of the clearing, huddling--it was cold, couldnt, she was pretty sure, have been much above thirty five degrees; she was surprised the rain hadnt turned to snow--beneath the protective, rain-shielding branches to wait for dark.

Despite her resolve not to watch--didnt want Einar realizing how close she had remained, and feared that he might feel her eyes on him, discover her--Liz found herself peering through the rain and stealing a little glance, curious about what he intended to do. Wished shed never looked. It was horrible seeing him standing there unprotected in the icy wind, appearing so frail and emaciated with his legs like sticks, knees looking

disproportionately large, ribs and collarbone still protruding painfully despite several days of better eating, trapped, immobile, defenseless, and she wanted very badly to go to him, wrap him in one of the hides and hurry him back down to the cabin, hold him until she found some way to talk him out of this madness. Knew she must not violate his trust by doing any such thing, though, and soon, watching, she came to realize that he was far from defenseless, seemed, in fact, to be somehow drawing strength from the struggle itself, from his willing participation in it. A mystery whose workings she knew she might never entirely comprehend, but which was clearly very real to him, its practice perhaps even essential in some way to his continued existence. After a time she looked away, feeling as though she might be intruding by continuing to watch, sat there huddled in the dry shelter of the spruces, reasonably warm, waiting, praying, bring him safely through this, bring him back to me, help him find his way The first gust of wind that tore up across the little saddle--its course no longer broken by the timber as it had been down near the spring--blasted against him with a physical force that made the breath catch in his throat, and Einar greeted it with his head up, eyes closed, come, cold, Im ready to meet you, and come it did, wind howling mercilessly in the treetops and through the natural channel of the saddle, Einars initial ecstasy soon encroached upon by an uncontrollable and increasingly violent trembling as his body struggled to compensate for the heat that was being lost, torn from him by the wind and wet. He was finding it impossible to keep up, tried for a time to improve the situation with the breathing exercises that he had so often used to keep the blood circulating and produce additional heat when he needed it, but the power of the wind was too much, was overwhelming his efforts, piercing right through him, his still-emaciated body unable to protect itself to the degree that he was used to expecting. No matter. Hed regain that ability. This was all part of the process, and he blinked away the cold-tears, met the next blast of icy wind with clear eyes, welcoming, accepting it. Was starting to get a little scared though, despite himself, after a good half hour of such battering, felt that he was beginning to lose control and pressed his back into the trunk of the tree, his shoulders, attempting to wrap them around it from behind, but the tree was too narrow to do him much good as a windbreak, to provide more than the tiniest amount of warmth, and, the skin over his backbone beginning to grow raw and bleed with shivering against the pines rough bark, he stepped forward away from it by a few inches. Weary, terribly weary all of a sudden, had known it would be coming but was still somewhat shocked at the force with which it hit him, managed to hold his position and remain upright, but could feel his grasp slipping, mind slipping, the world starting to grow strange and dark around him, narrowing--which indeed it quite literally was, the rain coming harder, closing in and cutting off his view of all but the nearest terrain features--until he remained there alone and isolated in the close darkness of his little world, trapped, tied, the tree and the rain and his own bound hands--suddenly hated them, fought until his wrists bled, but to no avail; the nettle was strong--his only reality, his struggle against the cutting, killing power of that wind. And it was in that very wind-paradox, absurdity, life upon deaths tree--that he found his solace as the evening went on, its simple presentness serving to bring him back to the present, to drive back the jungle-images that tried to come, hot and pressing and irrefutable to overwhelm him as he

struggled futilely against that nettle cord, the storms icy touch scouring away the stench of that place when it rose to smother him and keeping him rooted, realizing where he was, and why. Little by little, he was able to push that other thing aside, examine it with something approaching objectivity and keep it where it belonged, maintain his focus on the waves of wind as they sang with a growing storm-fury up out of the basin, his own heart singing with them, wildly, joyfully. After a time he had very nearly ceased to feel the cold, breathing with it, keeping the blood flowing to extremities which had some time ago passed beyond pain and into numbness, bringing them back, tingling, alive, but finally, his meager resources having grown badly exhausted with the struggle, the cold returned in full force so that he felt the it more keenly than ever, lacking, he expected, the strength to go on resisting it much longer. Yet, he must. And did. Couldnt stop shivering, was used to being able to do so, if only momentarily, when he really concentrated on it, but it didnt matter; he knew hed lost a lot over the past weeks, would have to work at regaining it. Darkness was still a good hour away, by Einars estimate, when his legs finally lost the ability to support him, cramping, leaving him to sag forward uncomfortably, arms pinned behind him, and in a moment of weakness, suddenly afraid as he felt himself slipping back towards the strangeness that had nearly swallowed him earlier--didnt want to go there, didnt even want to get close, and he wasnt sure that he possessed the strength, anymore, the focus required to keep himself in the present if those memories really began pressing upon him in earnest--he considered trying seriously to work his way loose. Knew he could probably do it with enough effort, doubted she had tied things as securely as he had requested, as reluctant as she had been to do it in the first place, but when he tested the ties he found them quite firm, considered in a moment of near-panic calling out for Liz on the chance that she might still be within hearing distance but he refrained, kept quiet--must keep quiet--still, breathing, give me the strength to endure, thats all I ask The weakness passed and he got his legs back under him as he knew he must, huddled there for a moment in a pained half crouch as he felt the blood supply being cut off to his arms, wished he could continue that way, ignore the arms--he could do it now, knew he could, without risking consequences, except to his arms themselves, of course--and sink as close to the ground as his situation would allow, huddle with knees pressed to chest to conserve as much warmth as possible, what little he had left, but he resisted the temptation, worked his way to his feet, and stood. Darkness, and Liz hadnt been able to hear him for a good while, the occasional violent rattling of teeth absent, the strained, half-groaning breaths by which she had been keeping track of him--one of the more difficult things required of her by recent circumstances, but she kept reminding herself that she had, by far, the easier end of the bargain--making sure he went on living, and as soon as she could honestly say that darkness was complete she hurried to him, half afraid of what she would find. He was still there, though, still awake and standing, if barely, sagging forward against his bonds, and she freed him, supporting him lest he topple to the ground, immensely relieved when he made no protest against her decision. It had, apparently, been enough. Together they made the short walk back to the cabin, Einar moving stiffly, silent, too silent, she thought, too composed, barely even shivering--it would come, she knew--and she was afraid for him, hurried, having helped

him through the door and deposited him on the bed of fir boughs, to get a fire going, stripped down, threw the hides over the two of them and wrapped herself around his coldstiff frame as she waited for him--and the cabin--to begin warming. The end, at last, to what had turned into a rather long day. Einar, his temperature finally beginning to rise after a good half hour of shaking and huddling with Liz and a big pile of hot rocks from the fire--had he been by himself after such an ordeal he would have been quite content to simply get into some dry clothes if there were any, wrap up in whatever was available and allow his body to slowly work itself warm again over the course of however many hours the task might take, but Liz would not hear of it, said hed better have some help with the process and, considering the circumstances, he knew she was probably right--was asleep long before he finished warming, too weary even to make much of a dent in the pot of tea Liz had urged him to drink, the reheated raven soup. Hungry, she ate alone there beside him in the bed, the little one--Hildegard? Oh, I really hope were not going use that name, but for now, it works as well as anything--demanding a good meal after her long vigil out in the chilly wind, and after another futile attempt to wake Einar so he could help her with the last swallow or two of soup, she gave up and finished it, herself. His hair, despite her efforts to use a spare hat as a towel, was still quite wet, and Liz knew that hed likely wake up freezing and in trouble again later when the fire died down and the cabin started cooling, if she didnt find some way to get more of the water out of it. Sopping with spare socks, placing a few warm rocks in the fir boughs beneath his head and snugging a dry hat down nearly to his eyebrows, she supposed she had done all she could really do, without waking him and dragging him over to hover near the fire for a while, which did not appear at all likely to happen. Well. Youre probably worrying too much, anyway. If he could stay standing through all those hours out in the rain and wind, hell certainly have no trouble making it through the night in a snug warm cabin, now will he, even if his hair is still wet? And if he does, Ill just get up again and bring the fire back to life, make another pot of soup for the two of us. Which actually sounds pretty good to me right now, and I cant even imagine how much energy he must have expended trying to keep warm out there, so he could definitely use more, too And she drifted off to sleep dreaming of raven stew, roast raven, five and twenty blackbirds baked in a piesmiling at the thought, if it stops raining in the morning and Einar ends up out there guarding the drying berries again, we may just find ourselves with enough ravens for a pie, crust made of grouse eggs and starch from dried spring beauty cormsand Einar, feeling her arm tighten around him, smiled too, his own sleep blessedly devoid of dreams. Rain continuing through the night, its soft pattering sounding on the spruces and, winddriven, against the walls on occasion, the two of them slept, Einar waking a few times in the dark-early hours of the morning, cold, legs wanting to cramp up, but he managed not to disturb Liz, breathing through the cramps and pressing closer to her for warmth, content as he listened to the next round of rain whispering through the timber, soon sleeping again. Morning, and he was up early, navigating by a faint grey storm-dulled daylight as he left the bed to kneel trembling in the raw, damp morning chill over the cold firepit, breathing a tiny flame to life in the tinder, watched it grow and spread crackling orange and lively into the sticks hed arranged above it, most of the smoke finding its

way out the chimney-hole in the wall above. Needed to do something about that hole, build an actual chimney, preferably, and a stove of some sort to go with it, something like we had back in the bear cave last wintermaybe I can get started on that later today. Start finding rocks for it. For the moment, though, he was intent on making breakfast for Liz, who lay for all appearances still fast asleep beneath the hides where he had tucked them back around her on leaving the bed. Moving as quietly as he could--was still awfully clumsy, limbs stiff and aching after that past evening--he retrieved a packet of jerky and some lily bulbs from their place in the rafters, mashed up a handful of serviceberries and tossed everything into a pot of heating water. A fine stew. Those three ingredients made up the bulk of a lot of the stews the Utes and others ate in the winter time, and the provide pretty good nutritiononly problem is that their versions all had some sort of fat in them, usually a good bit of it, and ours doesnt. That, and the fact that it isnt winter at the moment, far from it, and theres no way we should be eating this stuff right now. Ought to be saving it for times when the fresh stuffs all buried under the snow. My fault that were not. Got to keep this foot headed in the right direction so I can get out there and actually contribute to the food supply. Liz, despite appearances, was awake, lay watching him through mostly-closed eyes as he busied himself with breakfast preparations, glad that--despite still looking pretty badly chilled and awfully tired--he appeared to be doing well that morning, in more ways than one. Perhaps, she allowed herself to admit, shivering at the thought, tucking her nose back beneath the ewe hide for warmth, he had been correct in deciding to carry out the strange and--to her--somewhat frightening ritual of the past evening, wished, curious, that she could talk with him about it, but expected that the whole matter might be best left in the past, unless he happened to bring it up himself. Then againshe rolled over, curled up to savor the last few moments of warmth before risingmaybe his taking me along and including me like he did, instead of just disappearing and doing it by himself as he almost certainly would have preferred--and as I expect hes probably done before, more often than Im aware of--was an invitation to talk about the whole thing. Maybe hes ready to do that. I dont know. But I do know that Im ready for breakfast, and whatever hes got going over there is starting to smell incredibly good! She rose, hurrying over to the fire and crouching there beside him, rubbing chilled hands over the flames. Einar met her with a big grin, handing her a steaming pot. Have some tea. Raspberry leaf. Little Hildegard told me she wanted some. Is that what she was trying to say? She wouldnt stop kicking me this morning, and shes took his hand, pressed it to her stomach, here! Shes still at it. Einars eyes went wide, face filled with a wonderment the likes of which Liz had never quite seen from him, but the grin came back in a hurry as he glanced up to meet her eyes, shook his head and gently placed his other hand on her stomach. Hello there, little oneshesheshow long has this been going on? Ive been feeling little flutters off and on for the past couple of weeks, but the kicks are certainly getting stronger. Its a good sign!

Oh, sure is. Guess that means youre mostly getting enough protein and all. Got to make sure it stays that way. Ill make sure. Gonna be getting us a deer real soon, another sheep, maybe even that bear. Lots of protein in a bear, and fat, too. You probably need more fat. We both do. All three do. Huh. Not sure how you sleep with all that kicking going on. So far she mostly seems to sleep when I do, so it hasnt been any problem. But really, I ought to be used to it by now dont you think, the way you shiver and shake and thrash around most nights! See? Without even knowing it, youve been helping me get ready for this! An unintelligible growl from Einar as he returned to his soup-stirring duties, still somewhat in awe at the presence of the third person there in the cabin that morning, a little life that was making his (her? Who knows?) existence more and more clearly known all the time. A bit of an overwhelming concept if he stopped to think about it, but at least it gave him a clear missionwell, several of themas the time approached. Had to make certain that Liz kept getting plenty to eat, ensure that they had a good supply of food set aside should circumstances arise which might render him for whatever reason unable to provide as well as he would need to after the birth, finish winterizing the cabin, take critters and prepare hides for blankets, coats, moccasins, gloveshe startled, shook his head, realizing that Liz was talking to him. Something about the soup being about to boil over, and he glanced down, saw with a sheepish grin that she was right, took care of the problem. Breakfast was ready; the planning would have to wait. Eating, seeing that the pile of firewood in the cabin had nearly been exhausted, Liz ducked outside to retrieve more from their stash beneath a group of nearby spruces, surprised to see that, despite the continuing drizzle, the bear had apparently made another visit to their camp sometime in the night, overturning rocks in the area where they had been drying the berries and leaving a series of soft, almost human-like tracks outside the cabin door and around the back side where the creature had apparently been doing a bit of exploring. Returning to the fire with an armload of wood she told Einar about the bear sign, at which he promptly rose and began sorting through the lengths of cordage and sinew that they had hung and stored up in the cabin beams, considering how they might best go about getting their hands on that bear. Seemed it was time. Liz noticed that he was moving awfully slowly, apparently finding it difficult to bend over when he needed to and she expected that the difficulty was due to muscle stiffness as a result of his time standing out in that icy wind, but when she noticed him increasingly taking an odd posture, shoulders back and stomach forward as if attempting to keep his sweater from contacting his back, she insisted on having a look. Einar didnt particularly want her to see, didnt want her touching him just then, crossed his arms to keep her from pulling the sweater up but she was insistent, got him seated by the fire and finally talked him into letting her help him out of the sweater, Einar holding his breath and staring at the floor to avoid wincing as she pulled it loose from the crusted blood in the wounds along his spine. The damage done the skin over his backbone by its

prolonged contact with the tree that past evening had gone largely unnoticed by Liz after their return to the cabin, her focus being on getting him warmed up and the wounds being mostly scabbed over at that point, but they had opened up in the night and begun oozing blood again, leaving a crust nearly the entire length of his spine. When Liz mentioned the fact, Einar just shrugged. No big problem. Itll be alright. What are you talking about? Youve got tree bark embedded in your back. That cant possibly be comfortable, and if its not a big deal now, it will be when it starts getting infected Here, let me help you. Another shrug, which she took as assent, and he leaned forward, elbows on the knees of his crossed legs, allowed her to do her work. Soaking a recently-boiled cloth strip--one that had been set aside for bandaging his foot--in a bit of warmed berberine water, she began dabbing at the crusted blood, softening it, gradually freeing and washing away the bits of pine bark. Einar held himself rigid the entire time, still, staring into the fire, eyes distant and face a passive mask, heedless of the tears that were suddenly coming unbidden, unwanted to blur his vision and dampen the ground in front of him; her kindness, the gentle touch with which she sought to cleanse and heal--it was all very nearly unbearable. Liz saw, stopped, asked if she was hurting him but he said no, and indeed, he was barely feeling any of it. Liz finished--his back was going to be alright, probably wouldnt have sustained nearly as much damage, she expected, had his skin not been so fragile from lack of nutrition, the bones so near the surface, but it would heal up alright--moved on to the raw, bloodcrusted spots on his wrists where he had fought the nettle cords. She worked gently, cleaning, bandaging, Einar staring at her as if in a daze as she worked, not, it seemed, even seeing her, not really there. Not good, she thought, not now, and, wanting to bring him back to the present, spoke. Einar, these injuries. Did you do this on purpose, or did it justhappen while you were up there? He startled, glanced up, shook his head. What? Dont know. Maybe. Anyway, its done. Is it? Yes. Yes, it sure is. Which she really doubted, but he clearly didnt want to talk about any of it just then, was suddenly quite animated, rising, giving her a big grin and catching her by the hand. Come on, lets go see if the rains quit, maybe go after some more of those serviceberries if it has. Seems theyre just perfect right now, and it wouldnt do have the bears eat em all out from under uswho knows, maybe well find the perfect spot to set

up a deadfall, start working on getting us a bunch of bear meat while were out there! Whoa there, slow down! She pulled out of his grasp--hed very nearly got her pushed out the door before she knew what was happening--ducked around behind him and sat down quickly beside the fire. Sounds like a good idea, but first will you let me take a look at your foot? I glanced at it last night but couldnt tell much in the dark Einars foot, fortunately, appeared no worse for the wear; hed been careful of it, and the healing seemed not to have been significantly interrupted by his chilly hours out in the rain, wound looking very good aside from a bit of darkness around the edges, the entire thing appearing to have begun granulating, staring to heal over. A tremendous relief to both of them. Liz wrapped it back up, padding the toe area with dry usnea and cloth strips in the hopes of preventing Einar from damaging the healing tissue as he moved around, helping him back to his feet. Outside the rain had all but stopped, a fine drizzle sweeping in occasional waves up from the basin floor, but the cloud cover was thinning, ragged white streamers clinging to the high rockiness of the basin wall opposite them, and they gathered containers--two of the water jars and a deep, narrow willow basket that Liz had made during the past week while waiting for the maggots to do their work on Einars foot, and he looked at it in admiration; she had some real skill when it came to such things--and set off for the patch of serviceberries just below the spring. Einar, using his spear for a walking stick and moving with a care and restraint of which Liz would have previously thought him incapable--he seemed to be taking the healing of that foot very seriously, and she was glad--took a good while to reach the place, but Liz did not mind, walking with him, happy and relieved to see him up and doing something, a bit of light in his eyes, instead of sitting back there in the cabin brooding and growing increasingly strange as he had seemed to be doing over the past couple of days. He was, in fact, quite talkative on the walk though struggling at times for enough breath and clearly dizzy, pausing here and there to sit on conveniently placed boulders and logs and pick ripe clumps of berries, going on and on about the benefits of serviceberries, Saskatoons, whatever you wanted to call them, and she pulled herself out of her musings, turned her attention to his words. Should try to dry as many as we can, because it sure looks like a good year for them, and they havent had a good year since Ive been out here on the run. That rust fungus has taken its toll, and then two years ago it was just such a dry summer that they hardly set any fruit at all, but look at this! Just look! Were not even over to the spring yet, and these bushes are just loaded with them. Not ripe yet though, most of them, not like those you brought back and the sugar content just keeps getting higher the riper they get. We could use that sugar, good energy for when it gets cold, adds some nice variety to all those critter stews well be eating, so we ought to wait and get them when theyre ripe, dry them, set them aside up in those cabin-raftersyou can wait and let them dry on the bushes, too, of course, my brother and I used to do that, pick them off the bushes in the fall once theyd dried, let the sun do all the work for us. Wed call those dried berries raisins, and they were awfully sweet and good, a lot more like dried blueberries than actual raisins, but of course they were just a treat, we werent relying on them for part of our food supply, and in our case it wouldnt be wise to wait that long, because the birds

and the bears might well eat them all up that way, and then She stopped him. Waityou said you and your brother? You have a brother? Got two of them, and a sister, too, last time I checked...which has unfortunately been a good while You never told me! Cant exactly recall you ever askingand thought it a subject perhaps best to avoid, considering that you almost certainly have family out there who you havent seen since deciding to take up with a wild mountain critter like me, brother, sisters, didnt want to make you sad by reminding you of the fact. Nope, Im an only child. I still cant believe that you have brothers, and didnt tell me. Are theyare they like you? He laughed. You mean ugly and scrawny and wild? Nah, they turned out somewhat more civilized than their oldest brother, the wandererme. Though I guess in some ways were all similar, all a little weird in the same sorts of ways, all except for our sister. Or at least folks said so when we were growing up. Never could really figure out what they were talking about, myself. Oh, I sure wish I could meet them! He narrowed his eyes, gave her a look of mock suspicion, laughter peeking out conspicuously from behind it. Why? Just curiosity, I guess. Im having trouble imagining what they must be like. Ahgot to admit I really dont know either, anymore. Havent seen as much of them as I ought to have over the years, I guess. Started after I came backoh, I expect they meant well, but I sure didnt realize it at the time, and theywell, I just needed a lot more space for a while there than they were willing to give me I guess, and I had to do some pretty loud and insistent talking before they got the message. Sister still didnt get the idea, tried to get other folks involved to push me into seeing things her way, and it went real badly. Thought she was doing me a favor I guess, but Didnt much want to have anything to do with them for a number of years after that, except for my youngest brother Jakob, whod occasionally come out and do a little trapping with me when I had the cabin, once every few yearsyoud probably like him. Good kid, real smart. Well, not a kid anymore. Hes the youngest of the bunch, fifteen years younger than me, so yeah, definitely not a kid anymore, not by a good many yearsha! Time sure does keep moving on, doesnt it? She nodded, pulled him back to his feet. Looks like this area is pretty well picked out. Lets go get those berries.

 Enjoying the warming day as increasingly the past nights storm clouds broke up and were carried off in ragged wisps and streamers by the wind, Einar and Liz spent a good while harvesting serviceberries there below the spring, clothes and faces showered occasionally with water droplets that had been trapped in the leaves as the rain passed through, Einar pausing occasionally to study the ground where the bear had clearly been through just ahead of them, leaving tracks in the soft mud and breaking branches in the serviceberry shrubs as he gobbled the sweet purple berries. The bear would definitely be back, and, mind freed for contemplation as his fingers kept busy with the harvesting, Einar debated with himself the wisdom of trying to take the creature soon, versus waiting and allowing it to fatten up through the summer, taking it in the fall during its last big push to put on pounds for hibernation, when it would not only produce many more pounds of the good white fat that they needed so badly, but have a far thicker, richer coat, as well. Seemed to make sense to wait, except that he had no way to know for certain that the bear would stick around their basin that long. Doubted it, actually, expecting it would finish up the berry time there, heading down lower when acorn time came. By which time he very much hoped that hed be in fine condition again, able to follow it down there, take it and haul it back, but then there was the matter of their immediate need for meat, for the fat which the bear, having been eating well for weeks, would have already put on, and for a hide whose fur, if lacking the luxury and thickness that would come with the cooler fall weather, would provide them significantly more protection on the colder nights than did the deer and ewe hides. Which they really needed for the making of clothing and moccasins, anyway. Better plan on taking that bear, it seemed, and pretty soon. Which left only the matter of how best to accomplish the task. Opportunities, he could see, would likely be quite plentiful, making contact with the creature as simple as sitting near the berry patch through the early morning hours, and, still somewhat eager to test himself, prove his returning strength, the spear and atlatl came to mind as his weapons of choice, but he quickly dismissed them. Not a good idea. Not with Liz and the little one counting on his being around for a few more months at least, not his best option, even if the most attractive one. The bow would be a better one, if he could position him above the berryeating area, perch on a rock or up in a tree and get in a good shot at the critter. Was out of practice, arms, to his great frustration, pretty weak after the long days of illness and near starvation that hed just come through, and he knew hed better do some serious practicing, and in a hurry, work to strengthen his arms if he hoped to get in a killing shot on that bear. The other option, constructing a deadfall trap, was looking better and better all the time. Would involve the dragging and lifting of some heavy aspens, but hed done it before--when, and he found the fact somewhat reassuring, hed been in arguably worse physical condition than he was at the moment, shoulder and ribs badly injured--was familiar with the procedure and knew that the trap, if done correctly, would produce. And could easily be baited with the remains of a rabbit or two, some berries that would provide the bear with a concentrated scent to focus on, lead him to push his way into the trap and slam! Theyd have him, and could begin the task of skinning and fleshing the hide, drying the meat to add to their supply.

Well. Settled, then, and he could see no reason to wait to get started on the trap, the area below the spring clearly being a part of the bears daily routine at the moment, and, suddenly realizing that hed lost his place in relation to the ground, was reeling dizzily, world spinning, he sat down in a hurry to consider the exact placement of the deadfall. Couldnt exactly make a good judgment on the matter though with things spinning the way they were, and he put his head down, focused on breathing in the hopes of restoring his balance. Took a while, but it worked, and thankfully before Liz, absorbed in her own berry picking, turned around and noticed his difficulty. Wouldnt have wanted to have to explain things to her, have to deal with the possibility that she might try and talk him into heading back to the cabin. There. He saw the spot, liked it, a gap between the aspens that skirted one side of the berry patch and a stand of dark timber nearby, a natural channel for large creatures to pass through in their goings and comings, and, rising with a good deal of help from the spear, he went and inspected it, gratified to see the faint scuffing impressions of bear feet there in the rain-damp spruce duff. The place would do just fine, and he searched around until he found a spot where the trunks of four good sized aspens formed a rough rectangle, the trunks on the short sides of the rectangle no farther than a foot apart. They would, he knew, serve to act as a frame for the deadfall log, guiding it and keeping it in place as it fell. Good. All we need now is a fallen tree to slide in her between these trunks to form the bottom of the trap, another tree of a similar size for the weight, couple of sturdy sticks for a brace and trigger stick, roundish rock to set the upright brace on so it wants to roll and fall when its disturbedand some bait. And well have it. Have the pieces, anyway, though of course some assembly is required, and I dont want Liz and little Hildegard having to do all of that heavy lifting. No reason why I shouldnt be able to do most of it myself. Im in a lot better shape than that summer when I last tried to put one of these things together, dont have any busted ribs at the moment nor an injured shoulder, so working together, this thing ought to go pretty smoothly. Perhaps, he hoped, they could return later in the day and begin scouting for the appropriate trees, perhaps even start the setup work for the trap. For the moment, though, their jars and Lizs basket were full to overflowing with berries--he snatched a small handful from the jar he had most recently been filling, scarfed them down like a bear preparing for hibernation, glancing furtively at Liz to make sure she hadnt noticed, which she had, and was smiling at him--and it was time to head back to the cabin and get them drying. After a short rest, some water and a few sips of leftover broth from breakfast they sat together in the cabin, sorting berries on the spread-out deer hide, having agreed that with the ground quite wet and each gust of wind bringing showers of leftover rainwater down from the spruces, that days berry drying would best be done inside. Sitting, sorting, Einar suddenly found himself fighting to keep his eyes open, shaking his head and repositioning himself so as to put a bit of pressure on the still-healing foot, just enough to ensure that he wouldnt be drifting off to sleep. Lots of work still ahead of him that day, and it certainly wouldnt do to have Liz taking a notion about him needing to stay behind and rest when she went for the next batch of berries. He meant to go along, to help, and hopefully to at least locate the parts for his deadfall trap, if not move them into place and begin the setup. All of which Liz had long ago guessed at, and she smiled at him as he

balanced precariously in his uncomfortable-looking crouch, handed him a jar of water sweetened with a small handful of crushed serviceberries. The walking, though carried out carefully in order to spare his foot, was taking a definite toll on Einar, his physical endurance still lagging far behind his will and determination, and Liz understood the situation, had no intention of trying to keep him in the cabin--it would be a mistake, for both of them--but diligently reminding him to keep drinking, providing him with the small, frequent snacks that he needed to go on recovering from his long period of extremely short rations, delighted when he seemed to be having no trouble consuming them. That the foot still hurt him she had no doubt, could see it in the way he moved and in the lines that would occasionally deepen between his eyes and at the corners of his mouth when resting, but the pain appeared greatly lessened, a thing he could often push aside, live with, and she was glad. He was rising; time to go. On the return to the berry patch Einar, speaking a bit breathlessly between increasingly weary steps, described to her his plan for the bear trap, beginning his search for the needed trees while she began filling another jar with berries. Some distance from the trap frame Einar found a fallen aspen, too heavy to move, from the looks of it, and longer than they needed for the bottom section of the trap, the bottom blade of the scissors which he hoped would take the bear, a twenty foot section of tree which had been snapped off from the main trunk in a heavy wind and deposited on the ground a distance from it. When he got down on the ground beside the tree and attempted to move it, though, he saw that it was going to be possible, if the two of them worked together. Possible, but not necessary, because in a sudden flash of remembrance--you fool, how could you have forgotten about it?--he recalled the axe which had played such an important role in the construction of the cabin, rebuked himself for not thinking to bring it along. Which of course I couldnt have done, if I didnt remember that we had it in the first place, but thats beside the point. Guess Im making another trip back down to the cabin. He rose, grunting, from beside the aspen, started down into the timber, on his way to the cabin. Liz paused in her berry picking, stopped him. You heading back? Yeah. Forgot the axe. Need to shorten this tree here, so itll be easier to drag in and use for our bear trap. Let me go. I have to empty the berry jars anyway, so I might as well bring the axe back with me, give you a chance to scout around for the other tree Einar nodded, knew what she was doing but saw also that her proposal made sense, figured she was right about him finding that second tree. It was alright. He had plenty to do. Sure, go ahead. Here, you got room to carry my berries too? Liz took the berries, started down the trail to the cabin, and he sat for another minute there on the aspen trunk catching his breath, rose, studying the thing, curious. He wondered, braced himself, lifted and made an experimental effort at dragging the thing

forward, succeeded in moving it by a few inches and hurried to get a better grasp, choosing the knobby black protrusions where branches had long ago fallen off for traction. Struggling, straining, bent nearly double as he backed towards the trap frame, he made slow, steady progress, surprised when he ran backwards into one of the small trees that had been his goal. Lost his grip for a moment, struggled for a better one and maneuvered the tree in where it needed to be, braced firmly between the four little frame trees to act as the trap floor. At which he promptly crumpled to the ground beside it, exhausted, shaking, head on his knees and heart pounding with a nauseating rapidity, a flighty, unpredictable thing, world going black around him. Several minutes passed before he found himself able to move again, to raise his head and swallow some of the nausea, glad for the cooling freshness of the little breeze that swept up from the basin below, began drying the sweat on his face. Whew! Long way from being back to normal still, arent you? But hey, look at this! Got it donenow for the next tree. That one will need to be heavier, green, preferably, if its going to be able to deliver the killing blow to this critter, so Im gonna need to wait for Liz before I try and move that one. Speaking of Liz it seemed she was coming back; he heard her footsteps in the timber, rose to greet her. Ambling, shambling, moving more slowly by far than even the increasingly pregnant Liz could be imagined to move--oh, better not let her know I was even thinking about it in those terms--the big cinnamon stepped out of the thicket and headed for the berries, shuffling, snuffling and barely even seeming to notice Einar, who sat once more hunched over on his trap-log, having grown instantly and overwhelmingly dizzy on rising to meet Liz. Hed realized as soon as he rose that the movements in the timber were much too heavy to be hers, had known, in the same instant, whose they must be. He had the spear, his atlatl and knife, sat watching as the hungry bruin began noisily munching the nearest clump of berries, weighing his options. Wanted to take the critter, knew that, despite his weakness, there was still a reasonably good chance that--well practiced with the weapon and hungry enough to have a great deal of motivation behind his throw--he could be reasonably certain of getting in a killing shot with the atlatl, as close as he was to the creature, and at a perfect angle, too. Trouble was, if he happened to be even a few inches off in his aim, or if he failed to put the necessary force behind his dart--entirely possible, on either account, as he had enough sense to realize that his body was still intent at times on betraying him, was not yet a thing to be relied too heavily upon--the dying could take a rather long time, leaving Liz to be surprised by an angry, injured and fleeing bear as she returned to the berry patch. Not good. Patience, Einar. Critters not going anywhere, isnt a threat to you and clearly doesnt view you as much of a threat (not necessarily a good thing, but reality at the moment) so theres no need for hasty action, here. This is a regular feeding area. If having the two of you around, your scent on the trail and all over these bushes hasnt warned it off yet, sent it moving on to find another berry patch, its not likely to be disappearing anytime soon. Deadfalls still the best way to go about this. That, or waiting until you know for sure where Liz is, and that she knows what youre up to, before you go at it with the atlatl or bow. The decision grated on him, the lack of action, the missed opportunity to put several

hundred pounds of meat up there in the rafters to dry, the good thick red-brown fur--not winter quality, for sure, but still quite useful to a couple of human critters who often spent portions of their nights huddled together beneath scanty covering and more than a little chilly--but he saw the wisdom in waiting. Again he rose, breathing carefully, leaning on the spear to avoid falling down again with dizziness. Success, but still the bear went on with its eating, seemingly unperturbed by his presence, and, not wanting Liz to step out of the clearing unawares and startle it--she might, he had a good idea, be viewed as more of a threat than he--he addressed the massive creature. Hello there, bear. Time to move on, hey? Find another snacking spot, let us have this one for a while? Raising its head in some surprise--had not, apparently, believed the scrawny human-critter capable of speech or much movement, either--the bear snuffled in his direction, blew a great breath out through its nose and lips, and turned disgustedly, shuffled off into the aspens below the spring, stopping to take one look back at him. Einar, not wanting the animal to reconsider, raised the spear above his head and shook it, shouting--go on! Get! Come on clear out of here--restraining with difficulty an urge to dash at the bear and throw the spear--it was downhill, after all, he could get a good run at it, get some momentum behind the throw--as the bear took one more good wide-eyed look at him before picking up its pace and disappearing into the timber. Liz had heard his shouting, heard the crashing of brush as the bear finally decided that the crazy human was perhaps a thing best to be avoided, after all, if not necessarily feared, and she hurried, axe over her shoulder and empty berry jars rattling around in her pack, fearing the worst. Leaving the timber at a cautious run she saw Einar where he had collapsed back onto the log, hurried to him, still not understanding the crashing and shouting that had caught her attention, but very concerned at the grey pallor of his face, the fact that he seemed unable to get his breath. He gave her a bit of a strained grin, struggled to his feet just to show her that he really was alright, but she pulled him back down beside her, insisted that he have some water. What happened up here? I heard shouting, andwas that you running at full speed down through the spruces? I sure hope not, but from the looks of you, I think it might have beenwhat on earth were you up to? Nah, nothing of the sort. No running on my part. That was just me having a little conversation with a bear, then him taking off finally when he decided hed had enough of my blabbering. Apparently I must not be quite as convincing as I once was, and he wasnt sure at first whether I was worth leaving over, or if hed be better off just ignoring me, sticking around and munching these berries. Didnt want you stepping out into the clearing and surprising him Talking with a bear, were you? I know your sort of talking. Hope this conversation didnt involve the atlatl and a few darts Hey now, I know how to talk when need be. Fact that I know more than one language-ha!--well, that doesnt mean I dont know when to use words instead of actions No!

No darts. If it had been that sort of a conversation, do you really think Id be sitting here like this right now, instead of up and tracking down our soon-to-be supper? Ahbear steaks for dinnerI wish! Yes, she wanted to say, I expect youd sitting there, or worse, because you dont look in any condition to be doing anything but sitting there, if that, and Im afraid the bear might have got the better of you this time, if youd insisted on going after him but she kept quiet, shook her head. Well, Im glad he finally listened to you and went on his way. Guess this must an ideal location for that trap, just like you said! Whats this though? How did this big old aspen get all the way over here? You dragged it? Thats why I was bringing the axe, so we could shorten it, and then I was going to help you Einar shrugged, stared at his hands, had known she would likely be a bit annoyed at him for having gone ahead with the project, but did not regret doing it. Didnt do any harm to the foot. I was real careful of the foot. The foot? Good, because the foot is important, very important, but how about the rest of you? If you could see yourself right nowEinar, youre lucky your heart hasnt just given out on you one of these times, you know? But apparently he didnt know, that, or simply found it more effective to go on behaving as though he didnt, and she made no attempt to steer him another direction. Not this time. He had, she realized, exercised remarkable restraint in not going after that bear, and as it seemed a step in the right direction, she hated to give him a hard time about the details. Even if he had been a complete and total fool for insisting on moving that tree all by himself! She took his hands, helped him up. Want to go after that second log? I expect you have one all picked out Together they worked to shorten the second aspen, a recently wind-felled green tree Einar had picked out as the top piece of the trap, knowing that its greater weight would be more effective than an equivalent dried tree in delivering the killing blow that they needed to take that bear, chopping and breaking until Einar decided it to be the right length. The problem then became one of how to move the still very heavy length of tree, Einar finally positioning himself on the forward end and--took all his strength, but he managed it-lifting, Liz pushing from the other end at his instruction, and slowly they worked it into place just in front of the trap frame and the first log, ready to be maneuvered into position, lifted and placed on the trigger. Not that day though, not, least, before the two of them headed back to the cabin and had some decent nourishment--Einar would have gone on with it, had she not been there to suggest they take a break--and they started down the slope to the cabin. Three times on their way through the timber to the cabin Einar and Liz crossed the bears trail, recent scuff marks and tracks showing its course where as it had hurried to get away from the shouting, waving creature up by the berry patch, and Einar saw that, while the creature had started off at a pretty good pace, its enthusiasm for fleeing had quickly waned, leaving its trail to wander, far more bear-like, back and forth across the slope as it went on, finally seeming to forget that there had been any hurry at all. Seemed, in fact, to

have set a wandering course for the cabin as it roughly paralleled the winding trail that they were themselves taking. Einar, though weary, out of breath and having a hard time keeping up with Liz after the significant exertion of moving those two trees, picked up the pace, covering the remaining distance to the cabin in a matter of minutes. Too late. The door was down, rawhide hinges loose and hanging from the wall, packets of jerky tattered, scattered, mostly empty, all over the ground in front of the cabin. Liz saw the mess, let out an angry cry and tried to run and gather up what remained of their sheep jerky but Einar restrained her, pushed her somewhat roughly behind him and took the axe, approaching the cabin quietly with it in one hand, spear in the other, Liz following right behind him with the atlatl. Cabin was empty; the bear had moved on. He saw the impressions of its passing in the soft ground just below the cabin where it had headed back into the timber, leaving. If there had been any doubt as to the pressing need to trap that big cinnamon, the cabinwreck removed it entirely, left Einar angrily chastising himself for failing to take a shot at the bear when he had the opportunity. Had reasoned through it at the time, done what seemed wisest in waiting, but had, it appeared, been wrong. The place was a mess, food and drying berries scattered all over the place, one of their water jars broken, the cooking pot that had held their leftover breakfast sporting a big tooth-pocked bulge in its steel side, and--the furrows at the corners of his mouth deepened at the discovery, eyes flashing; wouldnt have been so angry had he not seen the entire incident as his fault--the deer hide appeared to be missing. Searching the dim and damaged cabin interior, stepping carefully to avoid further mashing the little heaps of partially dried serviceberries that the bear had somehow overlooked, he found the ewe hide tucked away safe in the rafters where they had stowed it that morning before leaving, put a relieved hand on it and shook his head. Looked like Liz and little Hildegard wouldnt--no thanks to him--have to spend that night without any covering, after all. Good thing, too. It was clouding up again, wind coming sharp and thin down from the peaks, and he expected to see more rain before sunset, left the cabin grim-faced and silent to assist Liz as she salvaged what was left of their jerky. Not much, but the bear did seem to have overlooked a few strips here and there, tossing them aside in their wrappings of aspen inner bark, and Liz appeared to have scraped up a good pound of so of the stuff. Liz could see that he was angry, wanted to tell him that it wasnt his fault, that they were both responsible for the loss, but left the matter alone, supposing he already had his own thoughts on it. Finishing with the salvage, Liz took the salvaged jerky back into the cabin, stashed it up high and began collecting the spilled berries, scraping together those that were little more than mush and plastering the purple goo onto a clean rock slab near the firepit, thinking that, despite a degree of embedded soil and a few fir needles, the stuff was probably worth drying and saving for later use. She could certainly remember more than a few times that past winter when a chunk of dried, mashed serviceberry, gritty with dirt or not, would have seemed a prize of incalculable value, hoped never again to find herself--or Einar--in such a situation, but knew it was a possibility. The bear had not, to her relief, bothered tampering with her stashes of roasted, dried avalanche lily or dried spring beauty corms, which appeared exactly as she had left them, ready to provide much-

needed starch and sugar to add to their winter diet. All in all, the consequences of the raid could have been far worse; her greatest concern at the moment, actually, was for Einar, who stood out in the clearing with one of the empty jerky wrappings in one hand, spear in the other, staring off into the timber. He looked cold, worn out, needed to eat, rest for a while, but she doubted he would be willing to tend to either of those needs until he had settled whatever question had him studying the surrounding trees so intently, and she prayed that he had not decided that he must without delay hunt down that bear and deal with it. Or at least that he would allow her to accompany him, if such was his intent. Which it was not, and he turned, ducked into the cabin and took a seat by the dead-cold firepit, pressing chilled hands together and fixing Liz with a weary stare when she sat beside him. Gonna go after that deer hide. Figure the critter probably didnt get far with it before losing interest, and we need the thing. You Ok staying here to watch the place? Dont think the bearll be back anytime real soon, but Ill leave you the spear, and Im not worried. I can make an awful racket when I need to, plenty of noise to scare off a hardly-hungry bear like this one must be by now. You go ahead. Einar nodded, made no immediate move to rise, and when she offered him some water and a stick of the remaining jerky, he took them gratefully, sitting there for a minute too tired to know what to do with the items, mind wandering and eyes doing the same, until he spotted Lizs scraped-up pile of berry goo, which she had not yet taken the time to spread flat on the rock for drying. Suddenly wide awake and mistaking her attempt to salvage the stuff as a step towards throwing it out, he grabbed the rock and set it protectively behind him, arms out to the side as if to shield the little pile of dirt-gritty berry pulp, looking at her with an unspoken accusation in his eyes. Liz burst out laughing despite her better judgment, the entire situation striking her as quite hilarious, particularly because she had anticipated just such a reaction had she taken it upon herself to dispose of the stuff as she probably ought to have, instead of making an effort to save it. An effort which he had clearly misinterpreted. Einar didnt see any humor in the situation, inched away from her, pushing the rock along behind him until he came up short against the wall. Liz got hold of herself, stopped laughing upon seeing that he wasnt joking, looked genuinely hurt and perhaps even a little frightened at the thought that she had been about to get rid of those berries, his eyes clouding up so that he had to quickly look away to keep her from seeing, and she was suddenly sorry for trivializing what to him appeared to be a very serious matter. Einar, hey, you can relax. I was just piling the stuff on that rock so I could spread it flat for drying. Thought it would make a good berry cake to add to stew, later. Einar visibly relaxed at that, let out his breath and returned to sit with her beside the dormant fire pit, grinning apologetically and hoping somewhat irrationally that she hadnt guessed at his thoughts. Thanks, good idea. Ought to dry real well when we get a fire going tonight. I, uh He took a bite of the jerky, coughing when he tried to swallow it too quickly, before letting it have enough time to soften. Better go follow old Cinnamon

now before it starts raining again, see if he didnt drop that deer hide. Be back soon. Starting down through the timber at the edge of the tiny cabin-clearing, Einar made easy work of tracking the bear for the first fifty or sixty yards, its big scuffing tracks easily visible on a slope that was steep enough to have caused just a bit of skidding as the creature descended. Following the trail, Einar doubted that the creature would have actually gone so far as to have eaten the hide, as much real food was available at the time, hoping it had dropped the thing as soon as all the berry juice had been licked from it. Hoped not. At the rate things were going--which is gonna improve real soon, cause within two or three days well have a bear hide to work with--they were really going to need that deer hide. Einar having gone after the bear--well, after the hide taken by the bear, at least--Liz continued neatening up around the cabin, sweeping the packed dirt floor of berry fragments and the glass shards that had been left behind when the bear tipped over and broke one of their water jars. She hated to have lost the quart jar, one of three intact ones that they had been carrying and using since finding them in the rubbish heap outside the old bunkhouse just before the first time they had met Bud Kilgore, but she knew they were very fortunate to have had the use of the jars, in the first place. Yet another example of how many things she had taken for granted down there in civilization, in her former life. When she thought of the perfectly serviceable containers--bottles, cans, jars, vessels of plastic and metal and glass--that were thrown away every day, and the wealth represented by them to people who were required to make everything from hand and use, at times, elk stomachs for their cooking vessels and deer intestines as food wrappings well, she could only shake her head in amazement at the dichotomy. The jar, she knew, could be replaced, if not by something of equal construction then at least by a vessel of similar utility, corded, coiled aspen inner bark, perhaps, coated on the inside with pitch so as to be water tight, a coal-burned bowl or pitcher similarly protected, or--she wondered; was there any clay available up there in the land of rock and tundra?--perhaps even fired clay. She had very little experience with pottery and had no reason to think Einars background in that area any more extensive, but supposed they could hope to learn, with enough experiments and failures, how to produce and fire a functional product. If only the raw materials were available to them, which she rather doubted, but the project was something to keep in mind should they ever find themselves down lower where clay deposits might be found in the eroded paths of creeks and other small waterways. Alright, she told herself, stop daydreaming and get back to work, because it would be good to have this place all cleaned up and back in order again before he gets back, so he doesnt see a need to do it himself. He was barely able to keep his eyes open a minute ago while he was trying to have a snack, and itll definitely be time to rest, when he gets back. Which hopefully will be soon, the way that winds picking up. Definitely something blowing in, and I really dont want to have to go looking for you this afternoon, Einar, because you dont show back up and I start wondering if you might have got a notion to take on that bear single-handedly and challenge him to a wrestling match. You wouldnt, would you? Not now, I dont think so. And she was able to say it with some confidence, really believing that he had meant it when hed told her several days ago how

serious he was about letting the foot heal up, about doing his absolute best to be there for her and for the child as the time approached, as evidenced by the fact that he had apparently had the opportunity to take a shot at the bear up there by the berry patch, and had refrained, hopefully in an act of common sense and recognition of his condition. (Thankfully she did not know the real reason for his hesitance, the fact that he had refrained only because he had feared the danger an injured and fleeing bear might pose to her should it meet her on the path, for it would have only caused her more worry in relation to the present situation.) Einars current mission, she had reason to hope, would remain limited to what he had mentioned to her--recovery of the deer hide. Which she very much hoped might be in one piece still, or close to it, as they really did need its protection during the long chilly hours that passed for summer nights up there. Finished with her sweeping of the cabin floor, Liz was about to dump the bits of refuse out behind the cabin but she stopped, realizing that as glass was in rather short supply up there, she had better save at least some of the larger of the fragments from the broken jar, supposing that Einar would have uses for them. She had seen him form razor-sharp arrowheads in the past by chipping away at glass until its shape was right, and guessed that some of the jar fragments might be put to a similar use. Sorting the larger chunks and splinters of glass out of her trash pile she set them aside on the shelf-log that ran along the back wall of the cabin, took the remaining pile outside and buried it beneath some needles where neither of them would be likely to step on it, and climbed a few steps up into the timber--keeping close enough to notice and ward off any hungry bears that might happen along--in search of just the right tree. They needed, it seemed, some place other than the cabin in which to store some of their food, at least until they took care of the problem bear and secured the door more firmly to its hinges, and the best option that could be done right away and with minimal work seemed to be a simple tree cache. Eventually perhaps they could erect a regular log cache, a tiny cabin on a high platform, accessed by climbing a notched log so that bears would find it more difficult to raid, but for the moment, they would have to be satisfied with simply suspending portion of their food supply from a branch. She found a satisfactory tree, returning to the cabin to package up a portion of the remaining jerky, and most of the spring beauty and lily corms. Following in a swath of bent and broken underbrush the bears trail, Einar came across bits of torn and shredded aspen bark and rawhide, remnants of the wrappings with which Liz had carefully secured their jerky supply, Little fragments caught and fallen here and there, but, at least for the first several minutes of his search, he found no sign of the hide. Whats the idea here, Cinnamon? You hauling that thing back to your den to use for bedding? Chew toy? Souvenir of your conversation with a crazy human critter? Bears dont do that sort of thing, come on! Drop it already. You got yourself a good thick hide, a decent layer of fat even this early in the season, and you sure dont need any deer hide to keep you warm, but we two-legged furless critters are a different matter. Im trying to grow fur you know, working on it, but as you can see, its just not enough. Not quite. Works pretty well for me, but thats just because I dont much care whether I wake up in the morning half frozen, or not. Used to it, but Lizzie not so much, though she makes a pretty good effort, and Im telling you, I mean to get that thing back. Now, where have

you gone with it? Einar was to have his answer some half hour later when, weary and beginning to grow bleary-eyed in the sharp wind, he stepped out into a small clearing in the aspens which he had been traveling among, and saw the log. The bear, he saw, had stopped to search for grubs and ants, had flipped over several flattish slabs of granite and torn into a punky, mostly rotted aspen log, and in doing so, had entirely lost interest in the deer hide. Relieved, thankful, Einar snatched the hide up, slightly torn in a few places and damp with bear drool, but largely intact, and threw it over his shoulder. Suddenly breathless--had been struggling to get enough air, it seemed, for most of the past hour, but had been too focused on the search to give it much mind-- he sat down heavily on the remains of the bears lunch-log, resting his head briefly on his knees and huddling for a moment against the bitter chill of the wind as it swept up through the aspens. Staring at his feet he saw a grub, fat, white and wondering what had happened to its home, which the bear had somehow overlooked, and he snatched it up, quickly swallowing the nutritious morsel and glancing around for more, but there werent any. Ok, time to move. But he needed a minute, still, knew hed be risking blacking out if he rose just then, so he sat, waiting, pondering At the end of every trail is the creature that made it--unless, retorted Einar, mind wandering a bit in his weariness, you happen to be tracking a bird, in which case at some point youll just find yourself clean out of luck--and he wanted to continue, to find the end, to bring home the hide of that bear. With the wind howling the way it was, he figured the critter had probably holed up somewhere to sleep out the storm, or soon would be, expected if he maintained a pretty good pace and looked sharp so as not to lose the trail and have to retrace his steps in order to find it again, he could probably catch up with the bear before dark. Knew such a move would be unwise, though, seeing as hed left his spear with Liz and was armed only with the atlatl, three darts and his knife. Not the time or the place to challenge the bear, even supposing he could ultimately find it, could keep himself on his feet long enough to do so, which was, when he allowed himself to look at the thing honestly, beginning to look a bit doubtful. Had the prize hed come after, safe if slightly mangled, and it was time to head back. Yeah, time to head back before you end up the same way--safe but slightly mangled. Cause if you show up back at the cabin all torn up from a fight with that bear but still alivewell, I have a strong suspicion that Liz may want to finish the job with her war club, instead of fixing you up! Has to be getting awful tired of having to fix you up No need to fret about the bear, anyway. It clearly isnt very frightened of human scent or presence at this point, and will be back. Probably real soon, too. You head back up there, get some sleep and then in the morning--or this evening if the storm holds off a while--go finish putting that deadfall together. That slope was a lot steeper on the uphill side than it had been on the downhill, or so it seemed to Einar when he started back up with the deer hide, following the bears trail simply because the creature had seemed to pick the easiest route around some of the worst of the deadfall aspens that lay crisscrossed on the otherwise-open slope. He hadnt followed that bear for even a mile, was sure of it, shouldnt have any trouble repeating that almost-mile, but climbing was an entirely different story than the descent had been,

and he struggled to get into a rhythm that would carry him up the slope, couldnt find one and finally sat down on a fallen spruce, nauseous and gasping for breath. The rest did not last for long as he found himself quickly growing chilled, legs cramping--its the middle of summer, doggone it. Guess you need to get serious about doing a whole lot more training, seems you must have got a little soft lying there in the cabin all that time--sat staring up at the wind-swayed spruces for another minute before rising a bit dizzily, wishing he had the spear. Seeking out a suitable aspen branch for use as a staff he broke and tried it, set off, much aided by its support. Foot was doing a good bit better as it healed, itched most of the time now instead of hurting, but all the walking hed done that day was taking its toll, bringing some of the pain back, and, worst of all, the leg was terribly weak from disuse, was not able to keep up with the demands he was placing on it. A situation hed definitely have to work at remedying, and just to prove to himself that he could, he picked up his pace, maintaining it for the rest of the climb. By the time he stepped out of the timber and just below the cabin--badly winded, heart racing alarmingly, but jubilant at having kept up a good pace--the wind was blowing in earnest, setting spruce-tops to dancing wildly, waving and bowing with more flexibility than one would expect from trees of their size, and Einar knew they had better hurry if they wanted to get that deadfall trap finished before the rain began. Looked like it was going to be quite a storm. Which meant, of course, that the bear might hole up for a while during the worst of it, but he wanted to have that trap ready for the next time the creature ventured up to the berry patch. Didnt like the idea of one of them having to remain behind at the cabin for bear duty every time the other went out somewhere, and figured the oncoming storm gave them a great opportunity to finish work on the trap without much worry of the bear returning in their absence. Not that there was all that much left for the critter to steal, anyway, and he shook his head ruefully at the thought of how much of that sheep jerky theyd lost. Could have been worse, though, and he tried to remind himself of the fact; the bear could have gobbled up all of Lizs carefully roasted and dried lily and spring beauty corms, which, unlike the jerky, were all but irreplaceable, at least for that year. The lily greens had already died back, concealing the locations of their corms, and though spring beauty foliage could still be found in the cooler, shadier areas of the basin, their harvesting would be a good bit more difficult and time consuming than it had been that spring, as well. Liz, it seemed, must have been waiting for him at the door because she was there beside him as soon as he entered the clearing, exclaiming over the fact that he had managed to locate the deer hide and taking him by the arm, trying despite his protests to help him into the cabin, and out of the wind. She had a fire going, tea simmering and the place all cleaned up, door hung once again on its hinges, and Einar looked at her with a bit of wonder showing in his eyes. You sure got a lot done! Look at this place. Would hardly know we just had company Well, what was I supposed to do? Had to keep busy just to prevent myself from starting out after you, you know. All I could think about was the possibility that youd decided to

track that bear down and take him on, and if youd been gone much longer, I think I might have had to go check. Hope youre not mad at me for admitting that Would have liked it to go that way, alright! Part about me tracking down the bear and taking care of business, I mean, not so much the part where you follow me and cave my skull in with that war club. Oh, now I didnt say anything about Bet you were thinking it, though! Maybe! Could be I ought to go ahead and do it, just to keep your mind on the right track for next time youre tempted to go and do anything like that. Here! Come here! And she shook the rabbit stick threateningly, made a mock dive in his direction, causing him to roll reflexively out of the way and very nearly end up in the fire before he got his balance, leaning back against the wall, laughing and panting for breath. Whoa, hold on a minute. Might want to consider waiting an hour or so on that, because I was really hoping you might come with me and help finish with the trap setup real quick here before it rains. All weve got to do is get that top tree into position, lift it and balance it on the trigger, but Im thinking the job might go a little faster if Im not dealing with a busted head at the time She relented--had mostly been joking, anyway, despite her fearsome demeanor--put away the rabbit stick and sat down beside him, offered the pot of tea. Ill come help with the trap, sure, since it doesnt look like Id have much chance of talking you into waiting. First have some tea, though. You feel like ice after being out in that wind for so long. Ha! He shrugged off her efforts to wrap the ewe hide around his shoulders, edged closer to the door, where a significant draft was finding its way in around the edges, a result of the bears recent assault. Winds good for me. Just what I need right now. But he took the tea anyway, shuddered at the warmth of the first swallow, glad to see that it contained some nettles. The way hed been feeling on that climb, it was clear to him that something was still badly out of balance, his electrolytes, he supposed, and perhaps even to a degree that could be endangering him, if the problem wasnt corrected. Nettles would help, would be a start, but what he really needed was a good big bowl of stew. Several of them. Well. Later. At the moment, the trap was pressing business, and they left the cabin together, Einar satisfied with Lizs suspending of most of their food up in the high branches of the nearby spruce, doubting that the bear would make a return visit that night, especially considering the coming storm, but glad that he wouldnt be able to much further dent their food supply, if he did. Reaching the trap site they took a minute before beginning work to refill their two remaining water jars, drinking, listening to the rising howl and blast of the wind in the trees, somehow seeming more hollow, more forlorn than usual. Sitting there, Liz caught Einar eyeing the cold, pooling water behind his improvised dam with what she took to be

just a bit too much interest, quickly diverted his attention lest he decide the time was right for a good soak before spending the next while working in the wind. Which, though he had no intention of letting on to her, was exactly what he had been thinking. Hearing her voice, he turned away from the water. Not the time or place for it. Got work to do. I was just asking what were supposed to use for bait? Are we just going to pile up some berries, and hope old Cinnamon finds them more tempting than the ones still on the bushes? Nope. Here. And he handed her a small aspen bark-wrapped packet, the stench of which was enough to tell her that it had once been alive, but not terribly recently. What is that? Its certainly stinky enough, the bear should have no trouble at all finding it! Guts of the last two rabbits you brought back. I had them stashed up in the rocks, planning to use them for this but figuring youd just object and throw them out, if Id tried to keep them in the cabin. Which its a good thing I didnt, because the bear probably would have just gobbled them up this afternoon, along with everything else. Figure well kinda wrap this gunk around the trigger stick, wait for the critter to pull and chew at it, whichll hopefully trigger the trap and do him in. Then all thats left is for us to free him from the trap, skin him out and start processing meat At which thought his stomach growled painfully; should have had some more to eat back down there at the cabin, but I feel bad taking food from little Hildegard like that, until Im sure were gonna get this critter, have a good way to replace what he stole from us. Searching the nearby woods for a stout branch that could be used as the upright brace for the top log of the trap, Einar found a section of spruce branch that appeared suitable, used the axe to shorten it and chose a bait stick, thinner but still stout so the weight on the upright brace wouldnt crush it, around which he planned on wrapping the half-rotted rabbit entrails. Now for the hard part Ok Liz, weve got to lift this second tree now, get the end of it up high enough to fit the brace underneath, then the bait stick under that, and that last bits gonna be a bit tricky, because itll take some balancing to get everything to stay in place. The four frame trees will help with that, though. Figure well do this in two steps--first lift the end of the top tree and get the brace under it, rest a minute, lift again and slide the bait stick into place underneath brace. You ready? Which she was, and they got into position, struggling with the dead weight of the green aspen, lifting slowly, straining, Einar finally straddling the bottom log and getting his back under the thing, hissing at Liz to get that brace into place. Done, and he eased the top tree down onto it, nearly losing control of it when, its trunk curved and smooth, it tried to roll just a bit off to the side upon contacting the top of the brace. With Lizs help he caught it, kept it steady, balanced precariously as he motioned for her to get out of there, sank to his knees for a moment of exhausted rest. Mustnt rest long, though, because he wasnt done, still had to place that bait stick, which Liz had wrapped with the highly aromatic bait. Seeing him rise--carefully; the project could still end in disaster if he bumped that brace and dislodged the top tree--she got

herself into position to help him lift. He waved her away. No. Too unstable. You stay back. Ivedone it before. Which she didnt doubt, could see he was right about the entire setup being unstable and she backed off by a step or two, getting herself--and the baby--out of the direct fall line of the tree but staying near enough to hopefully jump in and help if things started going badly wrong. Please dont let him get crushed, please Back pressed up beneath the already-raised tree, putting all of his strength into the effort, Einar managed to raise it by the four or five inches he needed to jam a rounded rock and the bait stick beneath it-which Liz helped with, keeping all but her arms clear--everything balanced, tenuously, precariously, just what they needed if the bear was to hopefully dislodge the thing and bring it down on his head as he pawed and chewed at that bait. Good. Done. And Einar carefully moved out from beneath the trap, sank to the ground beside it and partook of a few minutes involuntary rest. He had, despite his best efforts, passed out. Liz woke him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering water, helping him up, we did it, come on, Cinnamon!

Back at the cabin after a slow walk down from the trap site during which Einar twice nearly fell asleep on his feet--Liz would have laughed at the sight of him walking along with eyes half closed, head drooping and knees buckling, had she not been so very concerned for him, and it was a good thing she didnt, as he was furious at himself for allowing such lapses, but couldnt seem to do much about them--they ate a meal of soup constructed of dried nettles--the bear had entirely ignored them--and jerky which Liz retrieved from their high-branch cache, hungry, both of them, though Liz had to keep waking Einar every few minutes and reminding him to eat. Tired as he was, and for good reason, she hated to trouble him any further, but when the meal was over she insisted on helping him off with his boot and taking a look at the healing foot, fearing a return of the near-deadly infection they had only recently chased away, should they neglect to tend to it regularly. The foot-tending woke Einar more thoroughly than even the smell of the supper-soup had been able to do, set him to sitting bolt upright and taking a keen interest in what Liz was doing, as he, too, had been concerned about the condition of the foot after all the miles hed put on it that day, the strain of moving and lifting those logs, and he was pleased to discover that, aside from a small area where the healing tissue had been disturbed, torn and bloodied a bit by his activity, the area looked pretty good, pink, vital, healing. Good as it looked, Liz wanted to be extra sure they were doing all they could for it. What would you think about doing a hounds tongue poultice for a little while tonight, then every evening for a few days? Just to help keep things moving in the right direction, speed up the growth of the new cells He nodded. Makes sense. Good idea. Got to admit that Im just a little sleepy already tonight, thoughmaybe wait a day?

Well, I never thought Id hear you admit to anything like that! Really you dont have to bother admitting it--its obvious! This wont take long though. Ive already got a pot of water heating, so just give me a few minutes to get the poultice ready, pack it on there and let it sit for fifteen minutes or so, and well wash everything off, wrap it up and be all ready for bed. You can even doze while I get things ready. At which Einar smiled--not doing anything of the sort, not if I can help it--sat up straighter and prepared to help her ready the treatment. She was right; it seemed a wise idea. The two of them relaxing by the fire after tending to the foot and sharing another pot of tea, Einar sat listening to the rain, measuring it, eyes distant, Liz hoping very much that he wasnt thinking of heading up there to that stark-alone limber pine in the springclearing at the edge of the cliff as he had during the last rainwhich actually he was, felt it calling him, believed that he might well benefit from another few hours spent up there, an entire night, even, and hated to waste the rainy, windy weather, but he managed to put the thought aside for the moment. Bad idea anyway, just now. Dont want to scare off that bear, and--ha!--imagine I probably make a pretty scary sight Liz, hoping to get his mind off whatever he was stewing over, had left the fire, was preparing the bed and he joined her, helping ferry hot rocks from the fire and stow them here and there beneath the bedding, the crisscrossed network of fir branches which made up their mattress preventing the rocks from being felt as they lay on it, but allowing their heat to radiate up and warm the sleepers over the course of several hours. A very effective system, and Einar--slightly irritated at himself for accepting the supplemental warmth; would only put him that much farther behind in his building back up his tolerance for the cold, but as much energy as he would have been expending at night with shivering if the rocks hadnt been there, it seemed wise to accept them--marveled at how Liz had adopted the use of hot rocks to keep warm, when hed shown it to her, and then taken the concept to lengths that he never would have thought of, but thats not surprising, seeing as she also makes an awful tasty stew, where youd tend to just toss a bunch of grub worms and deer fat and whatever else was handy into a pot and boil it up, rather than taking the time to harvest wild garlic and such to flavor ityep, she sure does have a different way of looking at life, and I cant say I necessarily dislike it. Speaking of which, the bed was ready, and Liz already in it, holding open the blankets--shed thoroughly dried the deer hide of its bear-drool slime by wrapping the affected parts around warm rocks--and urging him to join her. Which, immensely weary after the days activities, he did. Einar, too worn out, apparently, to be much bothered by the array of dreams that usually turned his nighttime world into a less-than-pleasant place which he was all to often more than ready to leave long before morning came, dreamt instead of bears that night, great, lumbering creatures who prowled the rain-damp woods turning over rocks and stripping bushes of their berries, noses in the wind, seeking, searching, finding Yes bear, thats the way, just a little bit further, head under that log, now go for the prize, tasty snack, do itthick creamy white fat, an entire layer of it, less abundant by far than it would be in a few months just before the snow flew, or just after, but still there, rich resource that the two of them needed so badly, the three of them, carve off a sliver and eat it raw, another, ease the wild, gnawing hunger-cries of the body, still half-starved and shivering for lack

of internal insulation, raw bones bruising against even the carefully-prepared cushioning of the bed, needing, wanting, demanding, better have another piece, put the mind at rest, curl up in exultant satisfaction, soft thick fur encircling you, both of you, grateful, warm, weeping at the wonder of it, and sleepsleep. Morning, and the rain was still falling, Einar rising early to stand stretching just inside the open door, testing the air as a little fire cracked to life--Liz would be wanting her tea--and listening to the soft sounds of the percolating ground, trees dripping and swaying, releasing enthusiastic showers of stored-up water when gusts of wind rippled through their rain-grey tops. Not much of a morning for bears to be out and about, yet he felt almost compelled to go check that trap when it got a bit lighter, if only to make sure that the wind hadnt tripped it in the night, rendered it useless. Would have hated to spend the entire day waiting for that bear to come along, not knowing whether the trap was even operational. Was wet out there, chilly, and he knew it would be something of an uncomfortable walk for Liz, if she chose to accompany him, which he supposed she almost certainly would, but shed had a good comfortable, quiet night, they both had, so perhaps the damp, drizzly walk wouldnt be such an onerous thing to her. At least they had dry things to put on, when they returned. Liz was stirring and he crept back under the hides with her, shivering himself warm after his time out in the chilly morning air, was about to whisper to her of his plan, but there was no need. She already knew. Finished with tea and a hasty soup of boiled jerky and nettles, Einar and Liz set out into the grey, rain-dripping morning, knit caps pulled down almost to their eyebrows and shoulders hunched against the damp, chilly wind, Liz wishing that they had been able to bring the deer and ewe hides to wrap themselves in against the weather, but knowing that Einar had been right in insisting that they remain behind, remain dry in the cabin for use upon their return. Walking soon warmed them, the heavy timber beneath which they traveled keeping the bulk of the rain from reaching them, and it was with a growing excitement that they covered the last few hundred yards of slope before reaching the spot where they could first see out into the clearing. The trap would, in all likelihood, be empty, bears and most other sensible creatures tending to stay curled up in the timber somewhere to wait out storms such as the one that continued to sweep in visible waves down the basin wall and up over their little plateau that morning, but Einar knew also that the thicket of ripe serviceberries would prove a powerful temptation, even considering the weather. Whether its call would be powerful enough to send the bear lumbering out of its bed to prowl the berry patch and--hopefully--smell and grow curious about the bait they had left, before a coyote or marten smelled it first, came in and carried it offwell. Theyd have their answer soon enough. Einar knew as soon as he laid eyes on it that the trap had been tripped, left the trees prepared to be disappointed, prepared, mentally if not physically, to work himself in under that crushingly heavy tree and lift in once again, reset the trap, but--wonder of wonders, and he seized Liz by the shoulder, pointing, grinning, though she had already seen--such a trial was not to be necessary, not that morning, for there beneath the fallen trap-tree lay the great, rain-damp hulk of the cinnamon bear, its coat darkened and

dripping with the ongoing precipitation. Approaching carefully, spear at the ready, Einar surveyed the ruined creature, powerful neck and shoulders trapped between the heavy top tree and the solidness of the one on bottom, lifeless, unmoving, mouth open, and when he carefully reached out with the spear and raised one lifeless paw, he realized that the creature had not even been dead long enough to begin stiffening up. Running a hand through the thick fur of the creatures back he turned to Liz, who had tears in her eyes at the wonder of it, at the provision for their needs, rich meat for the moment and that wonderful warm hide to keep them insulated at night for months to come, and together they gave thanks. The time had come, then, to begin their work, Einar handing Liz the fallen trap-brace and moving with a joyful energy that belied his appearance, positioning himself beside the fallen tree, slowly lifting, struggling to get the thing up on his back and raising it off of the bear, Liz hurrying to jam the brace beneath it as soon as it was high enough to allow them to extricate the creature. They bled the bear, then, half-rolling and shifting it so that the head was further downhill, body up on the bottom log of the trap, catching as much of the blood as they could in the two water jars that Liz had brought along, filling also one of the cooking pots--Einar wondered at the time why shed brought them, would find out only later that it was because she had been every bit as hopeful as he about the potential success of that trap, had wanted to be able to make him a quick bear stew right on site--and saving as much of the stuff as they could for future use. Time to begin the gutting and skinning, but Liz could see that Einars hands were terribly stiff with the cold and wet, shaking despite his best efforts at controlling them, no wonder, the way that wind was blowing, their clothes already soaked through in places with the falling rain and the moisture in the bears coat, and she sought out a sheltered spot beneath a tight-clustered little knot of spruces, began breaking dry twigs from their undersides for a fire. Einar, she knew, might have found reason to object had she asked him first, but as the storm precluded the fires being a security risk she went ahead with the project as he crouched over the dead bear, shaking, clasping numbed hands beneath his chin in an attempt to breathe some warmth into them, ready himself to remove the creatures hide. Once she had coaxed the little fire to the point where it was no longer threatening to go out--somewhat difficult, as wet as most everything was that morning, but she managed it, choosing for wood only branches that were well up off the ground and protected beneath the heavy tree-canopy--she went to Einar, who had managed to gut the bear in her absence, took his arm and helped him up. Come stand by the fire for a minute. Itll help your hands And he went, slightly reluctant as he was quite anxious to begin work on that hide, but knowing that he could ill afford to do the clumsy job on the skinning that would be all but inevitable if he tried it in his current condition. Needed to do a neat job of it, avoid gashes and tears that would turn into larger problems as they tanned and stretched the fur, as the thing would hopefully serve as their sleeping robe for years to come. Crouching over the fire for a moment, fingers near the flames as he sought to restore some flexibility to his hands, Einar rose, returned to the gut pile and freed the liver, setting it on a flat rock beneath the trees and carving off great slices with his knife, nearly cutting his own finger in the process, but managing to avoid harm. Handing Liz a slice of the still-warm liver he took one for himself and together they ate. Einar could feel a bit of strength coming back to

him as his body began absorbing the rich, iron and vitamin-infused food, the fact that he could detect such an immediate and drastic difference reminding him just how far behind hed managed to get. Better have some more. Just a little bit more. Which he did, marveling at the increasing steadiness he felt as his body set to work on the stuff, the sometimes-overwhelming dizziness that had plagued him since first getting out and about again after the latest struggle with his foot all but gone, at least for the moment, and he offered Liz another slice, glad when she took it. Back to work, then, Einars hands having been warmed nearly as much by the consumption of his snack of liver as they had by the fire. While skinning a bear is hard work no matter how you look at it, Einar, remembering the time two years prior when hed had to do it on a day-old carcass with no tools at his disposal aside from a sharply fractured quartz flake and the remains of a broken bottle, was immensely grateful for the fact that both he and Liz had decent knives this time, and the means to keep them sharp. The job, though exhausting as they wrestled with the soaked, heavy fur, was a most welcome one, Einar, panting for breath as he pulled steadily at one side of the hide, using his knife to free it from the membrane and expose the layer of white fat beneath, could not help but grin as the realization began sinking in--that was a lot of meat! Lot of fat, too, though there would have been far more on a fall bear, and he could all but taste the richness of the stews they would make with that bounty. Theyd have to work quickly and carefully over the next few days to ensure that they didnt lose any of the meat to flies or spoilage--the days, though cool much of the time, were far warmer, when sunny, than would be ideal for preserving meat--but with two of them to do the work, he had little doubt that they could manage it, dry and put away a good bit of jerky for later use, too. Working there on the ground, the skinning of the bear required a lot of maneuvering, rolling the carcass this way and that to get at different areas of it, but with the creature appearing to weigh significantly upwards of four hundred pounds, Einar figured it was their best option. Was still exhausting, though, and halfway through the process he stopped moving, crouching there in a daze, the burst of strength and energy lent him by the liver entirely spent. Liz asked if he wanted to take a break but he just shook his head--startled, as if wakened from sleep--and went back to work. Was too worn out to notice, even, when Liz set aside her knife and headed over to the fire, herself beginning to feel the affects of the cold and wet, and knowing that she ought to try and do something to help Einar get through the rest of the task. Returning to the bear--Einar didnt even glance up from his work--she carved off a bit of fat from the layer that surrounded the bears back and sides, a few chunks which, in total, equaled nearly the size of her fist, stuck them in the remaining cook pot and headed over to the berry thicket, quickly adding a few hands full of berries to the mix. Mashing the berries to release their juice she set the pot near the fire, pausing occasionally in her work to stir the mixture of melting fat and bubbling, cooking berry mush, the entire thing turning a pleasant shade of light purple as it simmered. The finished pudding would, she knew, be quite a tasty treat for them, providing a little energy boost whenever they stopped by the fire for a short break from the arduous and chilly task of skinning the creature and preparing it for transport. Now, if only I could get Einar to stop long enough to have a little Which she ended up not having to worry about for too much longer, for just as she was finishing up the pudding, giving it a final stir before pushing it back farther from the heat, Einar

appeared there beneath the trees, limping, shivering and moving terribly stiffly but looking jubilant as he stepped into the circle of firelight and wrung the water from his hat, offering her two big freshly cut bear steaks. Got hungry. Thought we could use a snack

Sizzling and spitting as they roasted on a hot rock over the coals, the pair of bear steaks was so mouth-watering that Einar was sorely tempted to snatch his prematurely from the cooking surface eat it rare, but waiting, knowing that such was unwise. Bears, he knew, like hogs, were known carriers of trichinella, a species of roundworm whose larvae could be responsible for a debilitating and potentially deadly array of symptoms if ingested. Not a good risk to take, now when they had the option of cooking the meat. Eating the raw liver had concerned him less--it was, in fact, a good bit more nutritious that way-because the parasites tended to take up residence in skeletal muscle, and not in the organs. Which--he shook his head, tore his eyes away from the sizzling meat and made a concentrated effort to direct his gaze elsewhere--was all interesting and useful information, but not really the sort he wanted to be concentrating on, at the moment. Needed to come up with a plan for processing that bear, and then get back to work doing so. The hide, of course, had to be fleshed and eventually tanned, but rather than tanning it while still wet as would have been easiest, it appeared they had better go ahead and dry it, plan on completing the task later after theyd dealt with the wealth of meat that they were in danger of losing to flies if they didnt attend to it promptly. First priority, even before fleshing the hide and processing the meat, had to be the organs, as they would begin to spoil most quickly of all if not dealt with. The liver they had already put a significant dent in, and Einar meant to preserve the remainder by soaking it in the icy water just below the spring, which was near enough for them to keep in sight from their shelter there beneath the spruces. He thought he might, if feeling especially ambitious when he went down there, even build a rock cairn of sorts over a portion of the little pool where he had dammed things up below the spring, so that the organ meant-liver, kidneys and heart--could be kept fresh overnight without too much danger from wildcats, weasels and other scavengers that might happen along. And now, while youre waiting fort his meat to cook, would be as good a time as any to get started on the job better that than to sit here slobbering all over yourself like a starved coyote. Come on, get up! Rising stiffly--the past days effort with constructing and setting the trap, followed by the work of freeing and beginning to process the trapped bear had left him feeling cramped and crimped and barely able to move for a time, after rests such as his most recent, but he managed it--he collected the bears kidneys, heart and the remaining liver and headed for the spring, leaving behind the lungs. For them, he had other plans, meant to slice them thinly, hang the pieces near the fire and dry them for later use. They would dry fairly quickly and well, he knew, and as a good source of phosphorous, B vitamins and folate, should provide a useful food supplement for Liz throughout the remainder of her pregnancy.

Liz stayed behind to watch the cooking meat, snacking on thin slices from the chunk of liver he had left her before taking the rest to be refrigerated, and by the time he returned, the meal was ready. Setting the pot of boiled-down bear fat and serviceberry pudding between them--Liz found that she took great delight in dipping slices of her bear steak into the mixture before eating, and Einar followed her lead, delighted at the idea--they shared the meal, resting from their work, Einar growing increasingly sleepy between the fires warmth, his own exhaustion and the good food that was putting his body at ease, assuring it that starvation was no longer an immediate, looming thing that must be fought furiously every moment, lest he succumb. It was a good feeling. But not, he knew, one to be entirely trusted. Not time to relax yet. Still an awful lot to do. Shaking himself out of his near-sleep and rescuing just in time the remaining chunk of bear meat, which had been about to fall from his hand and into the coals, he turned to Liz. Was thinking it might make the most sense to go ahead and set up camp here for a few days while we take care of this meat. Seems more practical than trying to haul everything down to the cabin for processing. Figure we can slice up as much of the meat as possible for jerky, cut some of the willows down there below the spring for making drying racks, start the meat over the fire and then move it out into the sun, provided the sun comes out again in the near future. Rain seems pretty well entrenched at the moment, but of course that can change real suddenly up in the high country, here. Sound alright? Yes! I was hoping we wouldnt have to try and come up with a way to haul that entire carcass down to the cabin. Itll be much easier to pack the finished jerky down, and its good that we have water here so close, too. Thatll make everything easier, and save us having to take time on trips to fetch water, while were doing the work. Let me finish up this snack real quick, and Ill get right to work on a frame we can suspend over the fire here where almost none of the rains getting through, and Ill start slicing jerky meat. Einar nodded, helping himself to one more good scoop of Lizs rich purple pudding-mustnt eat too much right now, or youll find yourself fast asleep curled under a tree, before you even know it--and rising to begin a project of his own. Which, his mind on food, involved preparing their supper. Einars intention, something he had done once before with reasonable success after having it demonstrated to him and was anxious to try again, was to prepare a dish he had heard called blackfoot pudding. It was done by taking the last foot and a half or so of the lower intestine, washing it out--which he did, Liz watching somewhat suspiciously as she began assembling the first jerky-drying frame--tying off one end with a bit of nettle cordage and stuffing the remaining casing with some of the freshly harvested serviceberries that were left over from making the pudding. Finally able to contain her curiosity any longer, Liz paused in her work. What is that thing? Some sort of sausage? Not exactly. No meat involved, really, just the casing. Its called a Blackfoot pudding. You boil this for a long time, most of the day, as I remember, until everythings real tender, and its quite a fine meal. Its supposed to be especially good for pregnant mothers to eat, though I dont know why. Wrinkling up her nose in doubt at the prospect

even while smiling at Einar in recognition of his consideration of her and the little one, Liz supposed she was just going to have to reserve judgment until she could try the dish. Which, it appeared, was to be that evening, as Einar was even then coiling the alleged delicacy into the pot, and she hurried to return to her work. The pudding safely deposited in its pot and beginning to boil, Einar, not yet done with his experimenting, took the bears stomach, leaving intact its load of half-digested serviceberries, greens and what appeared to be the remains of a small trout or two-whered you get those, friend? Too high up here to have fish like that in our little tarn, unless somebody stocks it, so I guess you must have done some wandering--and digging a small firepit beside the main one. Next, working quickly in the hoped of fighting off a growing weariness, he made a frame of willow sticks to support the stomach. Kindling a small fire beneath it and keeping it low by adding some half-rotten spruce wood from a nearby fallen tree, he mixed some water and a good cup or two of the saved bears blood with the stomach contents, stirring and then leaving it to being steaming and simmering. Another questionable food source as far as Liz was concerned, but she was so happy to see Einar taking a cheerful interest in the world around him while also largely staying off his feet, that she didnt say anything at all, instead watching the procedure closely, in case its results turned out to be edible, after all, and she someday found herself wanting to repeat them. One thing puzzled her, though. Suspended so far above the flames, she couldnt imagine how the stew? Pudding? could be expected to cook in any reasonable amount of time, and though reluctant to disturb the merry and thoroughly absorbed chef, she crouched beside him. Wont it take an awfully long time to cook, like that? What? Oh! Yes, its meant to. Gonna heat this stuff real slowly over the course of two or three days, give it just enough heat to keep it barely progressing, test it now and then and pull it off the heat when it starts getting a real sharp, fermented flavor to it. Kinda like a mix between sauerkraut and kimchi, I guess, considering the trout or two Im pretty sure I saw in there. Real different, I know--the Crees had a version of it that they made in caribou stomachs, and it was just about their only source of green vegetables, during certain seasons--but awfully nutritious, and maybe you and little Hildegard will even develop a taste for it. If you dont, well he pressed his stomach, suddenly hungry again at the thought of the coming treat, Ill just take care of it myself! No problem. Which Liz, from the description of the stuff, expected she might well be more than willing to allow him to do.

As his various culinary experiments simmered and steeped near the fire, Einar devoted his attention to fleshing the hide, struggling to get the massive, heavy thing draped over a fallen aspen so he could begin the work of scraping off the remaining bits of flesh, fat and membrane, prepare it for drying and later tanning. The thing had absorbed an awful lot of water as the bear lay trapped in the rain that morning, was coated on the fur side with

spruce needles and sticks, but he knew no permanent harm would have been done by either. The fur would dry, could be beaten and brushed clean, and would make them a fine sleeping robe. Wouldnt be ready for a few days yet though, unfortunately--he shivered, wrung as much of the moisture as he could from his hat, sleeves--would take a good while to dry thoroughly in the humid weather they were having, even if hung in the vicinity of the fire. Which would need to happen, lest they risk the thing beginning to rot before it dried, if the rain kept up. Already having produced a rainstorm unusually long in duration for the high country, the weather showed little sign of breaking, clouds low and grey and socked in, obscuring the far wall of the basin, high and red and ragged, hiding all but the nearest ranks of timber behind swirling walls of moisture. Well. One thing that could be said for the weather was that it was preventing the flesh side of the hide from starting to dry out as he scraped it, saving him the trouble of having to sprinkle it with water to keep the process moving along smoothly. Always good to be able to save a little work, I guess, even ifshivered again, pressed numbed hands to his stomacheven if this wind is taking away all the time savings the rain gives me, by stiffening up my hands and slowing me down. Oh, well. Itll all balance out. Better make a trip down to the cabin before tonight though, get the deer and ewe hides and our dry clothes, keep them dry on the trip back over here so well have them for tonight. Dont expect Liz would like the thought of spending a night sopping wet in the wind without anything to wrap up in. She generally seems to be averse to such concepts, regardless of whether its her doing it, or mesensible critter, I guess. Good thing maybe that one of us is sensible And he grinned in her direction, fully aware of the gift he had in her presence, her patience, carried on his work with renewed energy. Finishing with the scraping of the bear hide--it would need more work, a bit of thinning here and there, some attention paid to areas of membrane that he had not thoroughly scraped free, but that could be done later, when it was dry--Einar was ready to move it over nearer the fire, under the shelter of the trees where it could be hung, and he folded it, flesh on flesh to keep the fur from sticking, rolled up the folded hide and tried to lift it. Couldnt. Should, he thought, have been able to simply heft the thing, throw it over his shoulder and carry it the fifty yards or so to the fire, but something seemed to be the matter with his arms and they wouldnt respond the way he had anticipated, left him to scrape and tug rather futilely at the soggy mass of fur in an attempt to move it. Starting to get angry--ought be able to do this, could do this sort of thing last year, whats the matter with you?--he flattened himself on the ground in front of the bundle, worked his arms in under it, lifted just a bit and got his head in there, too, wriggled himself under the roll so that his head stuck out the other side, arms under him and the weight of the thing squarely balanced on his shoulders. And went nowhere. Couldnt budge, couldnt lift himself more than a few inches from the ground with that weight on his back before collapsing winded and shaking back to the soggy spruce needles beneath him. Tried again, again, finally got his knees under him and, hands locked around his spear for support, struggled to his feet, weight of the hide bending him nearly double. Not ideal, back was staring to hurt awfully bad from the strained position, legs shaking and threatening to give out and heart doing things that he didnt find particularly promising, but at least he was doing it, and he went, step by step, moving carefully across the rain-

slick ground and up to the group of trees that shielded their little fire. Liz, crouched near the fire slicing the third row of jerky for her rapidly filling drying rack, saw him as he finished the short climb and went to him, hurrying to take some of the weight of the drenched fur without unsteadying him and sending them both toppling to the ground. Managed it--why didnt you call me, you goofy guy? I was right here--helped him into the clear spot beneath the trees, easing the hide, and Einar, to the ground. For a good minute he didnt even try to move, sitting there with his head almost on his knees as Liz, unnoticed, offered him water and pudding and finally left him alone, panting for air and striving to quiet a surge of nausea that had him in its grip. Finally he did it, snorting, coughing, scrambling to his feet and staring triumphantly at the mass of dark brown fur where it lay crumpled beside the fire. Got the scraping done. Gonna be a real good hide. Liz nodded, handed him some water and wouldnt respond until hed taken a drink. Yes, I see that. It looks great! Whats the plan? Go ahead and tan it? It sure will be good to have it all nice and dry to sleep in at night Ha! Yeah, wont it? Not time to tan it yet though. No time, I mean. We dont have time. Got to deal with the meat first, or were gonna end up losing some of it. Hidell dry just fine as it is. Once we get it hung up, anyway. Be more work to re-wet it for tanning than to go ahead and do it now while its fresh, but itll turn out alright. For now we just need to he grunted, unrolling the thing and trying to lift it, and Liz helped him, got it completely unfolded and lying fur-side down on the ground, Einar glancing around for appropriate branches from which to suspend it. Letting his corner of the hide rest once more on the ground, he searched his pockets, coming up with a fifteen foot length of nettle cordage. Studying it skeptically he shook his head, put it back. Not strong enough, not for sure. Dont want the thing falling and getting all covered with needles on the flesh side because the cordage breaks, but weve got to get it hung. Back at the cabin Ive got a coil of triple-ply stuff that I put together one day, and itd be just about perfect. That, or some paracord, but I dont believe we have much of it left. No, and I was trying to save it in case we end up needing to snare a deer or sheep with it like youve described doing, but you just sit here and have some tea, and Ill run down to the cabin and get that triple ply stuff. And our dry clothes, because I dont know about you--actually I do; youre shivering awfully badly, but I know you dont usually seem to care--but Im freezing, and could really use some dry clothes! Ok? Rest. You sit here and rest for a minute, thaw out a little and dont even think of getting up till I come back, or youll have my war club to answer to... Einar nodded, gave her a mischievous grin and lowered himself to the ground beside the fire, accepting the pot of tea she was pressing into his hands. Ill think about it Oh, youd better think real long and hard, mister, if you dont want to end up with a cracked skull! And she was gone, Einar suddenly doubled over in laughter, having for

some reason found her last statement unaccountably hilarious, perhaps doubly so because he knew she meant it quite seriously. When he caught his breath again--guessed he really didnt want to end up with a cracked skull, if there were other choices--he folded the bear hide back over on itself to help keep it clean, sat there for a minute working on the jar of tea and allowing his sleeves and the front of his shirt to begin drying a bit over the fire. Liz, it appeared, had made a great deal of progress in getting meat sliced and drying for jerky, a good portion of one of the bears hind quarters arrayed in thin strips from a hastily assembled willow frame over the fire. She had positioned the rack high enough to keep the meat from getting too hot and cooking as it dried, but low enough to still receive the heat and smoke sufficient to keep the drying process going on even so humid a day as the current one. Good thinking, Lizzie. You sure do know how to make your own way out here. Awful proud of you for that. Nowhe set aside the remainder of the tea, keeping it near the fire so that it would stay warm for her returnyou sure have been lounging around here long enough, Einar. Back to work. Rising, retrieving the bears lungs from the tree where theyd been hung, he chose a clean rock for a cutting board and began reducing them to large half inch-thick slices, stringing each onto the end of a length of cordage for drying. Finished with the slicing, he stretched the loaded string between trees some six and a half feet above the fire, where the lung strips could slowly desiccate. An incredibly productive day so far, and he was about to head down to the spot where hed left the remainder of the bears carcass to carve off more pieces of meat and bring them up to the fire area for processing, but he stopped just inside the cluster of trees, recognizing in a series of soft rustlings and crunches signs of Lizs return, and remembering her warning.

Watching from beneath a large fir as Liz made her way past the spring and up towards their temporary camp, Einar returned to the fire to await her arrival, keeping himself busy with jerky slicing. Slipping into the group of trees, coil of thicker nettle cordage fastened to her belt and the hides wrapped up and stuffed protectively beneath her sweater-making her, incidentally, appear far more pregnant than she actually was, at the moment-Liz was glad to find Einar approximately where she had left him, working diligently to slice and hang another row of jerky. Looked like hed got a lot done in her absence, an additional two rows of jerky hanging over the fire, joined by a string of rather suspectlooking items that she took to be slices of bear lung, and she was delighted to see that he had, apparently, heeded her strong suggestion to keep off his feet for a while. Good. Didnt really want to have to use the war club again Einar glanced up, laughter showing around the corners of his eyes as he rose to help relieve her of her burden. Looks like little Hildegard turned into twins while you were away. Yep. Hildegard and Snorri, after my grandmother and long-lost unclegood solid names. Snorri! I thought we already discussed that particular name! And Im still not convinced he was your uncle, after all. I think youre making that part up, just like youre probably making up the name. Can that be a real name?

Oh, no, certainly not making any of it up. Snorri Asmundson was quite real. My fathers oldest brother. Disappeared when I was a kid and as far as I know, nobody in the familys heard from him since. Just wandered away, one day. For a while nobody thought anything of it, because he was the wandering sort, for sure, would often disappear for a few weeks, month or two at a time even, but after six or eight months everybody started wondering, as I recall Never did do anything about it, though. My family was like that. Knew hed probably prefer to be left alone, wherever he was, so they did it. As Einar spoke Liz had delivered herself of the twins, stomach back to its former greatly subdued roundness and the two hides, almost entirely dry after her careful conveyance, hung securely in a tree not far from the fire, coverings for the coming night. They really never went looking for him, your uncle? Nah. No wife, no kids--ornery critter, he was, had to live alone--so everybody just let him be. My father said hed show back up when he was ready. Sounded reasonable to me. Only he never did. Figure hes probably still out there somewhere, maybe in a little fishing village in the Northwest, Canada, even. Always did like being on the water. Hed be well over ninety by now, but we Asmundsons can be a mighty stubborn lot when it comes to dying, so it wouldnt surprise me at all if hes still around. Your father--what was his name? I dont think youve ever told me. Ha! Liam. Told you my grandmother was Irish, and she was apparently pretty stubborn about choosing some of the names, too, as the story goes. Grandfather got to have a Snorri, but she had her Liam, too Well unless youre dead set on it, I think I may have to get a little stubborn, too, when it comes to naming this little one after your long lost uncle Snorri. If hes a boy. Surely theres some other family name we could use thats a little less Less Viking-sounding? One Viking in the family is quite enough for you? He laughed, threw up his hands. Dont blame you. Afraid its in the genes though, not much to do about it, probably. But the name--sure. Im not set on anything, actually. Figured thats your department. What do I know about naming little human critters? Not much, apparently, she was about to say, but refrained, expecting that hed be just fine at it, if he ever did get serious about the task. No matter. There was still plenty of time left for such things. Several months, actually, unlike with the bear meat, which needed immediate attention. Together they worked to make a series of small holes along the top edge of the bear hide, weaving the recently-retrieved cordage in through them and preparing to hang the thing, heavy and still dripping from its time in the rain, to begin drying. Far easier said than done, but after much struggling, straining and one neardisaster where the partially-raised hide very nearly ended up in the fire, Einar pinned beneath it--soaked, the hide would have smothered the flames, likely steaming Einar

instead of roasting him; still far from his preferred manner of death--they got it hoisted up into the tree, rope ends secured, sinking to the ground for a much-needed rest. The task was not quite finished, Einar taking lengths of finer cordage and attaching them to points on the sides and near the bottom of the hide, stretching it slightly to avoid too much curling and shriveling as it dried, in the hopes of making the tanning a bit easier, later. Supposed perhaps he ought to have built a regular frame to stretch the thing in, but did not at the moment have time to do it, and knew that, while not ideal, he could catch up later if he decided to go that route. Good. Done with that, had the hide scraped and stretched in the relative protection of the trees where it could begin drying instead of rotting; time to move on. Which meant that he needed to resume helping Liz slice meat for jerky, and he took a few minutes to sharpen both of their knives on the stone that had come along with the knife Susan gave him. The work, he knew, would go much more smoothly--and quickly--if they were not attempting to cut such thin slices with half-dull knives. Going more quickly once the knives were sharpened, Einar and Liz made good progress on the jerky, filling the rack Liz had already put together and cutting willows for a second, before the dreary afternoon slid away into evening, and darkness began descending on the basin. Despite a stubbornly persistent cloud cover the rain had ended, wind picked up, and Einar anticipated that skies would likely be clear before morning. And cold. Too bad that hide was still so damp. Supper time--they had not really stopped snacking since skinning the bear, bits of liver and fat and stewing meat always available, but after the long afternoon of work, they were ready to stop for a while, sit down and share a meal--and Liz reluctantly crouched over the pot holding Einars Blackfoot pudding, almost afraid to smell the supposed delicacy, but pleasantly surprised when she did. The simmering water had turned a shade of purple from leaked serviceberry juice, and the pudding itself, she could only assume, must by that time be thoroughly done. At least the pudding struck her as somewhat less intimidating than the slowly fermenting (she supposed; thats what Einar had said it was meant to do) bag of mixed ingredients that hung gently swaying far above the fire and slightly off to the side so as not to become overheated. She had eaten some pretty unusual things since joining Einar out there in the hills, had always been grateful for them at the time and, with a few exceptions, had normally even come to like the ones the idea of which had first struck her as almost unthinkable, but the thought of consuming the fermented contents of a bears stomach--tangy, Einar had said, and she did not doubt him--seemed a bit of a stretch even to her greatly adapted sensibilities. Well. Well see when the time comes. Im sure I can bring myself to try a little at least, just to be able to say that Ive done it, and so as not to seem ungrateful for his effortsbut that may be as far as it goes! The dinner pudding though, she had to admit, was actually beginning to smell quite appetizing if not to look it, and she was anxious to give it a try.

Supper done and Liz beginning to grow sleepy--Einar had been dead tired since sometime that morning, but had been trying hard not to let it show--she added some wood to the fire and began thinking about a place to bed down for the night. The meal of Blackfoot pudding, had been surprisingly tasty, not the least bit objectionable in fact,

once she got past the idea of it, casing a bit chewy but not unappetizing, and between the two of them they had very nearly finished it, leaving just enough for the next mornings breakfast. Having surveyed the area earlier she already had a place picked out for their bed, a many-layered pile of dry duff beneath the largest of the spruces in their little cluster, and she went to it, piling up great heaps of the needles and squirrel-stripped cone bits, forming depressions in the piles to serve as comfortable sleeping spots. Retrieving the hides from their protected tree-branch hanger she shook and spread them over the double depression; the bed was as ready as it was going to be that night, and she more than anxious to get into some dry clothes and snuggle down in it. Einar seemed to have other ideas, though, followed her lead in using a pot of warmed water to scrub some of the accumulated grime of the days activities from hands, arms, face and getting into a set of dry clothes--wonderful feeling after spending a good part of the day necessarily soggy and chilled, and he shivered at the unaccustomed warmth, sighing in barelybelieving satisfaction; full stomach, dry clothes, rainy night to discourage air activity could anything possibly be better?--but parting ways when Liz added a log to the fire and headed for the bed, instead taking up a post near the edge of the tree-circle, back against a spruce, spear in hand as he listened for any sign that trouble was coming their way, scavengers who must be driven from the remainder of the bears carcass. Liz went to him, made her best effort to convince him to join her in the bed, offering, even, to go out into the rain with him and hang the rest of the meat from trees where scavengers could not reach it, but both of them knew they lacked the quantity of cordage that would have been necessary to such a task, especially after going through so much of it in hanging and stretching the hide that evening. That Einar meant to stand watch was clear to her, and finally, unable to talk him out of it, she went to bed alone, promising to come and relieve him in an hour or two and quickly falling into an exhausted sleep just as soon as she had wrapped up in the ewe hide--hed wanted her to take both hides, but she had insisted that he keep one--and tucked herself in beneath a good-sized heap of wonderfully dry spruce needles. Einar knew it was going to be a long night, could tell, also, that it wouldnt have been a particularly quiet one for him even had he given in to his weariness and gone to sleep as he desperately wanted to do; sometimes such trends were obvious to him even before attempting to get to sleep. Either way, it was going to be one of those nights. Guessed he might as well stay awake, since hed clearly end up that way anyhow, face the thing on his own terms, and besides, someone really did need to keep an ear out for intruders and thieves of the two-legged variety. Despite his exhaustion he knew he was up to the task, would have little trouble keeping awake and alert, between his thoughts--already they were assailing him, the memories, unanswered, unfinished, unburied, and as usual, he had sparse few answers and even sparser capacity to put the things aside, send them on their way and get his mind on something else; used to be able to do it, but things had got more difficult in that regard since the injured foot had kept him from really getting the level of hard exercise he had always used to use to wear himself out and ensure better nights--and the blessed sweet chill of the night, dear welcome friend that it was, even those times when it pierced so deeply that it threatened to sap the life from him. Which it wasnt, that

night, not really, not quite, hed eaten, was dry, had the hide They went well together, those two, the dream-images and the cold; much better to have both than only the first alone, he had learned, and it was thus without fear or even too much apprehension that he faced the night, back against that spruce and spear in hand as he stood guard over their camp, the sleeping Liz and the bounty of food that they had together worked to secure. Just hoped--he grinned, a grim, humorless thing that it was just as well Liz wasnt awake to observe--that hed be able to differentiate between the inevitable dream-echoes and the sound of a pine marten gnawing on black bear ribs down there just below their camp. Figured he ought to be able to manage it, and as the night wore on he did, for the most part, dropping the deer hide and shrugging out of his sweater whenever the world started getting a bit too slippery around him, eyes drooping and ears failing to perform their appointed task, the chill wind bringing him each time rather sharply back to wakefulness, presentness. Not a bad way to spend such a night, all things considered. Later, and Liz, waking with a start and staring up at a skyfull of stars--the clouds had broken, been swept away by a rising wind, and the night was cold--figured the time had come for her to relieve Einar and take her turn at guard duty. Past time, actually, as when she shook off the thick and wonderfully insulating cover of spruce needles which had graciously allowed her several hours of good sound sleep and raised her head, she could hear in the whistle and puff of his breaths, the occasional suppressed clicking of teeth, that he had grown terribly cold standing there, badly needed a break. She went, moving carefully in the darkness, for the fire had gone cold--you could have kept it going, you know, given yourself a way to take a break and warm up now and then--found him sitting, (legs had started cramping up, had refused after a time to go on performing their appointed task) but very much alert--dont come here Lizzie, please dont come, need to be alone with this right now--spoke to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. At least, she noted with some relief, he had kept mostly dry there beneath the trees. Time to trade places But he just shook his head--she could feel it--and stayed put, words nearly as slow and cold-thickened as they were forceful. Go back to bed. Hildegard needs the rest. Hildegard needs her father, she wanted to say, needs him to stay alive long enough to meet her, which he doesnt seem likely to do, if he keeps on spending his nights freezing in the rain like this but she just touched a hand to his face, curled up at his side and draped the second hide across the two of them, having no intention of abandoning him, if he really did mean to stay at his post for the rest of the night. Einar wanted to move away from her, held his hands up until his arms began cramping, hesitating to touch her just then, to contaminate her, didnt seem right somehow, after the things that had been occupying his mind that night. She didnt go anywhere though, and after a time he allowed his arm to rest across her shoulders, hand softly, reluctantly on her head, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as he stared up through the trees and into the brilliantly star-pierced silence of the night sky. Give me the strength to do this, to do right by themLord, I sure dont know what Im doing, this is so far beyond my understanding

Einar found the remainder of that night to be surprisingly quiet, the soft sounds of the wind in the trees and the almost-inaudible seep and gurgle of earth absorbing the recent rainfall--life; it was the sound of life, and he smiled to hear it--unbroken by the expected rustling of small, furtive footsteps, the snarl of coyotes as they fought over the remaining meat, and he was grateful for the silence, the protection that seemed to have been placed over their camp that night. Still he remained vigilant, fighting the sleep that wanted to steal over him, resisting it for his own reasons as well as his need to keep watch over the meat, and succeeding, a near-overwhelming weariness eventually replaced by the quiet elation that he had known on occasion while keeping vigil through a night like that, the gift of patience and then of wonder, the ability not only to endure the night, but to exalt in it. Overhead the stars wheeled slowly towards morning, Einar keeping time by marking their movements, following Cygnus the swan in his graceful flight through the streaming river of soft, brilliant light that was the Milky Way, crystal clear and sparkling between spruce-tops there in the high, thin air. Rising sometime before dawn--he was thoroughly chilled, badly needing to move, get some blood flowing, but barely able to manage it--Einar slipped out of Lizs grasp, tucked the hides in around her and hobbled stiffly down to the trap-clearing to make sure he had not been mistaken in thinking that the carcass had been left alone that past night. Didnt want Liz waking to discover that it had been picked clean right under their noses, though he greatly doubted any such had occurred. In the half-light of what was so far promising to be a clear, sunny day--warm, eventually, but it sure wasnt at the moment-he picked his way down out of their little timber-cluster and over to the hulking remains of the bear, ribs, mostly, for they had already removed both hindquarters and one of the front, scaring away an ermine who took off in a barely-visible streak for the refuge of the nearby serviceberry patch. Hello, little one. Another two or three months, and youll be out of luck trying to sneak around in the brush at dawn, because youll be getting your winter whites, and will stand out real clear until the snow comes. Which it may have already by that point Oh, boy. You sure have a lot to do with whats left of the summer, Einar. Snow can come real early up here. Better get busy. So. Bear was not entirely left alone, but it sure doesnt look like anything large showed up to feast, so thats good. Cant really begrudge the occasional bite or two by an ermine, I dont suppose, just as long as he doesnt show up with ten or twelve of his friends in a little while, and pick the bones clean! Guess Id better get some traps set out right here around the clearing. Fur wouldnt be much good right now, but we cant have too many scavengers making themselves at home in our meat preparation area, now can we? The traps--deadfalls baited with bits of bear entrail seemed most likely to succeed--would have to wait, as his hands were at the moment too stiff and uncooperative after the long night of watching to be trusted with trigger-carving, but it was no matter, as most of the scavengers they were needing to protect against would be less active by daylight, anyway. Stomping and swinging his arms for a minute to restore some warmth--need to eat something pretty soon here. Body seems to have used up everything I had yesterday,

already--he picked and ate a handful of serviceberries from the patch near where theyd trapped the bear, hurrying, then, to fill his pockets from a particularly large and juicy cluster he had stumbled upon. Something tasty to go with Lizs breakfast. Shirt pockets full and his hands every bit as purple from the juice of accidentally-crushed berries as from the cold he stopped, figuring he could return later for more, if time and the other tasks of the day allowed. Wanting to watch the sun rise before launching into the days work Einar walked out a number of yards beyond the trees that sheltered their camp, knowing by the little rim of gold that brushed the rugged top of the basin wall opposite their plateau that the time was coming soon. Standing for a moment at the edge of the sharp dropoff that marked the end of the plateau, feet braced precariously on the last two inches of still-wet granite as he inhaled the sweetness of a basin full of freshly-washed timber and willows Einar turned, took three long strides back to the gaunt and twisted frame of the ancient and mostly-dead limber pine which he had chosen for his recent ordeal in the rain, nodding to it as if in acknowledgement of an old friend and sitting cross-legged at its base to watch morning sweep down through the basin. Which it did, glorious and precariously swift, or so it seemed to Einar, shadows appearing to move away before the advancing sunlight with an alarming speed which would have convinced him that evening and the return of darkness must be only minutes away, had he been thinking in those terms. Darkness did not come, though, time returning to its regularly-appointed progression and speed as the sunlight finally broke over the high ridge at the top of the basin and spilled onto his face, magnificent, strong, bracing and renewing, somehow, after that long night. And not a moment too soon, either, as what Einar had perceived as the uncommonly sudden onrush of day had in reality taken place over the better part of an hour, leaving him cramped and freezing from sitting so long motionless out in the raw, damp chill of the morning, but barely feeling any of it. Suns up. Time to get to work. And he rose, rubbing stiff, cramping legs and leaning heavily on the time-blackened trunk of the pine, branches for support when he stumbled, legs all but useless, and for a few minutes more he stood there, face towards the strong morning sunlight, its rays beginning to ease a bit of the stiffness from his limbs. Thank you. Liz had a fire going. He could smell it, smoke-scent mingling with the delicious odor of sun-on-willow as it rose from the rich dampness of the marshy patches down in the basin and he made his way back to camp, nodding in acknowledgement of her cheerful greeting--she had worried at first on waking to find him absent, both hides piled on her where she slept, but had decided to stay in camp and give him time, and was glad of her decision despite the pinched, purple-tinged paleness of his face that morning, for his eyes were alive, joyful, and she loved seeing him that way--and crouching beside her where she knelt over a pot of breakfast stew. Stretching chilled fingers for a moment over the fire Einar dug into his shirt pocket and retrieved the berries he had earlier picked, depositing them on a rock as a gift for Liz, who promptly added them to the stew. The stuff smelled wonderful, remnants of the past nights Blackfoot pudding augmented with chunks of fresh liver, nettles and ample slices of creamy white bear fat, and when Liz pulled the pot from the coals, let it cool for a minute and handed it to him, Einar accepted with a grateful wonder in his eyes, sharing the meal with her in a silence which neither of

them seemed anxious to break. Breakfast finished and Liz working to finish turning one of the bears hind quarters into jerky, Einar left to retrieve the last of the front quarters from the carcass. The cool night had been a good thing. No flies were out yet, and the meat had been well preserved. Theyd need to work fast though, he knew, to preserve what was left, perhaps hanging the quarters they werent yet working on in the smoke of the fire to prevent flies taking an interest. Once the meat was sliced thinly and hung to dry, the insects would not disturb it, needing thicker portions in which the lay their eggs. Until most of it was sliced thin, though, the fire would remain a critical part of their preservation strategy, and it wouldnt do them much good if they werent able to count on producing a good bit of smoke at times. Which of course wasnt a difficult thing to do, with the amount of old, punky aspen and spruce wood that existed in the area. He preferred to use aspen, as the evergreens imparted a definite flavor to the meat which while Einar did not find unpleasant, he knew might not be the best thing for Liz, while she was carrying the little one. For the same reason that it was best for her to avoid the pine and spruce needle tea that both of them had enjoyed prior to her pregnancy--there was a chance that it could endanger the baby--he expected that the consumption of large quantities of meat which had been saturated with pine and spruce oils while hanging over the fire might be unwise. Einar hoped they wouldnt even be touching much of that jerky until well after the little one had come along, as it was intended for a winter stockpile to be set aside against bad weather and unforeseen difficulties, but he knew better than to take any such thing for granted. Which was neither here nor there, because there was plenty of aspen to keep the fire stoked and smoky. His main concern was that the smoke might attract attention, might be seen by some distant hiker or aircraft, and put everything they had worked so hard for in jeopardy. Well. Not much he could do about it just then, except to be sure they had a plan in place for quickly dousing the fire and cutting off its smoke, should a nearby aircraft be heard. For which he intended to use a method that had become commonplace over the months, keeping a large flat rock handy where it could be slid over the firepit at a moments notice, smothering the fire and preventing any further smoke from escaping. An effective plan, but there was no way to be sure that it would be enough to prevent disaster, as, depending on the weather, there would be a good bit of smoke already hanging over the basin and their little plateau by the time they realized the fire needed to be put out. Perhaps too much. Einar shook his head, went on with the work of severing the bears remaining front leg at the shoulder. Not much choice. It was either risk the smoky fire, or risk losing the meat, and though he knew what he would have done if alone--had done it that first year hed been out, had fought an endless battle against the flies for the meat of that little already-dead bear hed found after escaping into the river, had spent his days harvesting and smearing it with fresh yarrow in an attempt to keep them off, and the task had nearly done him in, the shape hed been in at the time--but he was not alone, and it was critical that Liz and the little one continued to get enough to eat. Just have to go on using the fire, pray for a return of the rain to keep the skies quiet.

Returning to the fire with the bears last front quarter Einar hung it in the smoke with Lizs help, pausing for a moment to glance around at the camp in satisfaction. An awful lot going on. It looked good, promised a good steady supply of food for the months ahead and perhaps, finally, a bit of a turning point in lives which had been over the past couple of years tenuous at best, a constant and often barely successful struggle. Which was all Einar expected out of life, anyway , and hed met each challenge as well as he could, had actually taken some solace in the struggle, welcomed it, often as not, but now, wishing for the opportunity to make things just a bit easier for Liz and the coming child, he was immensely grateful for the opportunities afforded them by an end, however temporary it might prove to be, to the running, to the constant pressure of an active search. Lets just hope we can keep it that way. Liz was saying something, and he shook himself out of his half-dazed contemplation, turned to her. What do you think about starting to render the fat today? Even if we just do it slowly, using only one of the pots? Id hate for any of it to start going rancid. Oh, its not likely to go rancid anytime real soon all submerged in that icy spring water like weve got it, but what is gonna happen is well have some critter come along whos more determined than that rock cairn I build it strong, and hell tear into it and start eating the fat. That wont be a good day. So yeah, itd probably be wise to start rendering it down, packaging it up somehow and getting it secured in the cabin, because other than bearsand maybe wolverines, but there sure arent many of them aroundIm not worried about critters getting into that cabin. Not large enough ones to do our supply of fat much damage, anyway. Well probably have mice and voles and such nesting in the walls at some point, trying to chew up our hides and use stashed-away clothes and socks for nesting material, but theyll be more of a nuisance than a danger, so long as were actually living there or at least visiting on a regular basis to disrupt their activity. Maybe we need a cat! Can you live-trap us a bobcat? Bobcat, huh? You gonna be the one to tame the critter? Oh, we dont need to tame it, just keep it around long enough that it starts to realize were a source of food--give it a regular supply of scraps--and hopefully itll stick around and eat our mice and voles. Yeah, and curl up on top of us while we sleep after a while, no doubt, just like any spoiled housecat I dont know. If you could get hold of a young one, it just might work. Seems to me though that--mousing benefits aside--we probably dont want to be encouraging a predator like that to hang around camp, because as he gets bigger hes not gonna be satisfied with scraps and small rodents. Hell be going after rabbits, squirrels, and I dont know that we need the competition. Oh, I was mostly kidding, anyway. If mice become a problem, I expect well be trapping and eating them! Mouse soup. Youve done it before, Im sure But I have

wondered from time to time about the feasibility of capturing and taming a young bobcat, fox, coyote Coyote? Nah, what we really need is a mountain goat. Small herd of mountain goats. Theyll live on the grass and plants that we dont eat, anyway, provide us with a heap of wonderful warm wool when they shed every summer, milk, cheese And youre going to be the one to lasso them, drag them down off the ridge tops, convince them to stay here in our basin, and then milk them? Well, Ill be standing by to patch you up after you get gored and then trampled Hey now, dont be so quick to dismiss my idea, here. Really could work I think. Wed have to get young ones just like with your bobcat, a pair of them, raise em, keep em close and start our herd. I dont remember hearing that theyve ever been domesticated, but that doesnt mean its necessarily impossible And when some hiker comes along and sees a small herd of mountain goats with collars and bells? Ha! Would make a person wonder, now wouldnt it? Guess Id better head up to the red the ridge and do some scouting here before long, see if I cant locate some of the critters. We already know theres a pretty sizeable herd of bighorns making their home up there. Bighorns, of course! Surely theyd be easier to domesticate than mountain goats, less wild, not quite a big, and I cant imagine that their milk would be any less good than the mountain goats. Sure, but they dont have wool. Can you imagine how warm a mountain goat hide would be for a winter sleeping robe, for lining boots, all sorts of things? And if you know how or can learn, you could crochet or knit us hats, mittens, all sorts of things from that wool. I know how. Oh! Thats a great idea! Its a lot of dreaming, thats all it is. For now. Guess for today wed better just work on getting this bear all squared away. You mentioned rendering the fat, and yes, I think wed better get started on that. Trouble is we dont really have anything to pour the rendered fat into for storage. In the winter, you can just make depressions in some icy snow, pour it into those after its started cooling a little and wait for it to harden, stack up the finished slabs and keep them frozen till you need to use them--well, you know, because thats what we did last winter when we were staying in the bear cave--but for this time of year, well need something to store the stuff in. Containers. Too bad we dont have a few dozen more of these Mason jars like I found back at that old bunkhouse. But were down to three of them, unfortunately, and right now theyre all full of bear blood.

Well, best and quickest option seems to be to find a good dry section of fallen aspen, and start hollowing the thing out. Could coal-burn it, but even quicker might just be for me to go at it with that adze, take a bunch of wood out of it like I was starting to make a little dugout canoe--which we would have probably done by now, too, if we lived near water. Bodies of water, I mean--then pour the fat into that as we get it rendered down. Would be a little cumbersome to move, but I could flatten the bottom side a little so we could drag it like a sled, attach ropes to it and off well go, once we get it filled. Sounds good to me. Lets get the first batch started rendering down, and Ill come help you find the tree. And run back to the cabin for the adze, because we dont have it here right now. Setting a pot with an inch or two of water to heat--the rendering went more smoothly, Liz had discovered, if you could drop the fat chunks into hot water and allow it to melt them, skimming the fat off the top when you were done, rather than simply filling a pot with fat chunks. The second way worked, too, was the one theyd used more frequently, but the pot had to be watched very carefully then, lest the fat overheat and start scorching on the bottom--she filled it with chunks of creamy white fat, enjoying a sliver of it here and there as she worked and offering some to Einar, who gobbled it as if he hadnt had any breakfast yet that morning. Liz smiled at him, offered more. He was, it seemed, making a lot of progress in getting back to something like normal eating habits after his long time of difficulty with the foot, didnt, still awfully thin and emaciated-looking, appear to be out of danger quite yet, but was headed in that direction. The pot was full, and she ate a final slice of fat before heading down to the spring to stash the remainder back in the cold water against the warming temperatures of the day. Never would have imagined Id enjoy eating chunks of plain bear fat, back there in my former life, but it sure is good, and seems to be just what little Hildegard needs right now Watching the rendering pot in Lizs absence and moving it back just a bit from the heat lest it begin bubbling over, Einar stared at the racks of nearly dry jerky and couldnt help but think of pemmican. Knowing, though, that it would be unwise to eat the dried bear without first cooking it--the danger of trichinosis was not removed by drying the meat-he wasnt sure it would be worth the trouble. Not that pemmican didnt make for a fine stew It made, in fact, for a sort of wilderness convenience food, acting as everything from a quick energy snack on the trail to an instant stew mix that you could simply throw into boiling water and eat minutes later. Well. Theyd have to think about it. For the moment, they had plenty of work on their hands with the jerky making and fat rendering, and once that time-critical work was done, there would, hopefully, be plenty of opportunity to make pemmican, if they decided it was a good idea. Liz was back. Time to go find that fallen aspen and begin work on the fat-storage container. The tree Einar chose for their fat-storage vessel was a long-dead aspen, trunk grey-dry and barkless but the wood still sound, and as soon as he had chopped it to the right length, he worked with Liz to roll and drag it into camp where the wood chips he

intended to dig out of it would be handy for tossing on the fire. Just over three feet long and a good fifteen to eighteen inches in diameter, the tree section would, Einar knew, be fairly heavy once filled with fat, but it would, hopefully, only need to be moved once, and only over the relatively short distance between their temporary camp near the spring, and the cabin. They could do it. Wanting to get started right away on the container, as they truly did face a complete lack of containers in which to store the batches of rendered fat that they intended to complete that day, Einar accepted Lizs offer to run down to the cabin and retrieve the adze, which he had fitted with a somewhat crude handle when he handled the axe. With it, he expected the job of hollowing out a good portion of that aspen log--and flattening its bottom side for increased stability when they transported it-ought to go reasonably quickly, allowing him to return in a timely manner to helping Liz get the remainder of that meat sliced up for drying. In the meantime, several of the hanging racks seemed to have finished drying, their curled, twisted meat strips nearly black and quite brittle when he bent one--perfect; anything less would be an indicator of too much moisture remaining, a situation that could lead to mold and spoilage--and he worked to clear that rack for the next batch. In addition to the obvious lack of containers to hold liquids and rendered fat, they were short on pouches or wrappings of any sort for the finished jerky, and Einar, remembering the willow baskets that Liz had made while hed been laid up with the fever and illness of his rotting foot--shuddered; those days had, looking back, been a good bit worse than he had realized at the time--wished hed remembered to ask her to bring one along for jerky storage. One of the baskets, as he remembered, was sitting near the firepit full of kindling, and could certainly be spared for the task. As tightly as she had woven those baskets he knew they could, if desired, coat their interiors with melted spruce pitch to form a container which could be sealed against moisture and; a fine way to store jerky. But he had not thought to mention them to Liz, who was by then several minutes gone, and he knew hed never catch up to her. Was, in fact, having a good bit of trouble staying awake and upright from time to time, the long sleepless night of watching having taken a greater toll on him than he thought it ought to have, but considering the events of the past few days, he didnt suppose he ought to be particularly surprised. In fact--he stared a bit longingly at the brightly sunlit clearing where theyd set the bear trap, shook his head; cant do it--a nap really did sound like just the thing just then. But, of course, wasnt. Lots of work to do. Starting with deciding just what to do with the growing heap of jerky that he was for the moment placing on a bed of dry spruce needles. Needed some way to contain it, and the only thing he could think of that would not require either a trip over to the cabin or his making of a new willow basket--certainly not impossible, but more timeconsuming than he was looking for, just then--was the deer hide. Liz had hung the hides from spruce limbs that morning when the temperature had risen to the point that they no longer needed to use them as cloaks, and, glancing up at the clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight, Einar didnt imagine that theyd need them again until sometime after sunset. It was a warm day, and growing warmer, not that one would have believed so, to see the way he shivered whenever a lively bit of breeze found its way through the trees and into his shady work area--still need to do some serious eating before thatll start getting back to normal, I guess--and once again he stared out at the

sunlight, wanting to find a good sheltered depression in the ground and stretch out in the good warming rays of that sun. Later. Rolling the finished jerky into the deer hide he tied the ends with bits of nettle cordage and stuck the bundle up in the crook of a spruce branch, figuring one of them would likely be making another run to the cabin before evening, anyway, and could pick up that basket so they could transfer the jerky. Wanting to get done as much as possible in Lizs absence and knowing that if he stopped moving for too long hes soon be asleep, like it or not, Einar shook himself, rose and began hanging the last pile of meat strips Liz had prepared before heading out. They needed more racks, needed a few that could be set out in the sun to take advantage of that energy and of the greater air circulation that would be available out in the clearings, and he left the fire, finding the nearest clump of willows--a small stand just a few yards below the spring--and cutting the longest and straightest of them for drying rack crosspieces. The three uprights for the frame-teepee could be formed from three of the small, slender dead aspens that were so common up there--he already had the trees picked out--and the entire thing lashed together with strong, limber bark strips pulled from the crosspieces. Which he proceeded to do, hauling and placing the slender grey-dead aspen saplings, first lashing them together at the top and balancing the tripod before beginning to add crosspieces. By the time he was finished, Einar, doing what was for him at the moment heavy labor there in the sunny clearing, was thoroughly warmed and beginning to grow almost overwhelmingly sleepy, sagged for a minute or two against the finished frame, testing it, he told himself, though he knew it needed no such test, being neither designed nor tasked to support his weight, not unless he wanted to slice himself up and leave the pieces to dry in the sun for additional jerky, that was, which, considering his present scrawniness, seemed just a bit counterproductive. Figured hes probably still be worth more alive, even if it was a near thing. After which, fully intending to get up and back to work, he ended up accidentally dozing a bit more, sun easing away the last traces of the ache and twist that still radiated from his healing foot at times, leaving him to drop limp and exhausted into a sound sleep. Not for long, though, as the drying rack, truly not designed to support the weight of even a half starved and sun-dried (or drying) human critter, canted to the side and collapsed beneath him. Einar jumped up, trapped, startled, half in a panic because hed been caught--quite literally, for he was stuck, limbs tangled in the ruins of the drying rack--sleeping out in the open in the middle of the day, and it took a few seconds to remember what hed been doing there, and why, get himself extricated from the tangle of willow and aspen. Sheepishly re-arranging the tripod and repairing a few of the crosspieces whose lashing had busted loose he straightened it, scuffed the ground with a boot to remove the signs of his struggle, stood there winded and struggling to suppress a cough, throat suddenly seeming awfully dry. Well, better move out of this sun for a while and get yourself a drink of water or you are gonna start turning into jerky pretty soon here and Im thinking it might be less than pleasant for Liz to come back here and discover that youve gone and desiccated yourself in her absence, even if unintentionally. Besides, I thought wed already settled the matter, decided that youre worth a good bit more as a laborer right now, even if a terribly slow and inefficient one, than as a single strip of tough, bony jerky. Right. So, water Which was thankfully available in great quantity, sweet, cold, at the nearby

spring, and he dropped to his knees beside the little pool, brought cupped hands up to his mouth many times and finally--first glancing around to make certain no danger was immediate, needing attention--plunged his entire head into the breathtaking iciness of the spring water, holding it there for a good half minute and emerging spluttering, refreshed and, perhaps for the first time that day, very much awake. Shaking a good bit of the water from his hair and scrubbing a sleeve across his face--but not wiping away the grin that almost always seemed to result from his meeting up close and personal with a body of good cold water--he rose, headed back over to camp to slice up another batch of jerky and await Lizs return with the adze. Only, he quickly discovered, shed already got there, was waiting for him. Not wanting Einar to know that she had discovered him sleeping in the sun, resting against the newly-made drying rack, and had quietly walked past without waking him--a fact that she knew he would have found even more distressing than being caught asleep in the first place, had he been aware of it--and had thus also seen his fall and subsequent struggle to free himself when the thing collapsed beneath him, Liz was reluctant to answer when he asked how long shed been back at camp. Einar did not press the matter, mostly just glad that she didnt seem intent on making a big deal of the fact that hed been up and wandering again, even if for a good purpose, had somehow ended up in the water with his hair soaking wet, starting to shake a little in the cool shade of the spruces. Which had certainly not escaped her notice, but he seemed to be doing alright, was wide awake and more cheerful than shed seen him in a good while, so she was more than happy to let it go. Rolling and inspecting the log theyd chosen for a fat container, Einar settled on a side into which to carve the depression, starting on the opposite side with the adze as he worked to flatten it with the intention of forming a flat surface on which the vessel could rest, and be dragged for transport. Though the aspen wood was light, dry and yielded willingly to the freshly sharpened blade of the adze, Einar was finding it rather hard work, arms periodically threatening to cramp up on him, but he kept at it--got to start building my strength back up at some point, and this seems like a good place to start, got plenty of food available, Ive been eating, so Id really expect this ought to work a little better than it is--finally finishing the task to his satisfaction. The job was roughly done, but the results functional. Flipping the log onto its flat surface with Lizs help--shed been fascinated by the process of flattening the bottom side, had wanted to step in and offer to finish the job when it had become clear that Einar was struggling, arms threatening to give out, but had refrained, leaving him alone until it was finished--he used a chunk of charcoal to mark out the rough margins of the bowl he intended to carve. Got to leave some wood around the edges, a good thick margin or were likely to end up with a hole in here somewhere, and our bear fat starting to ooze out every time the day gets a little warmer. This isnt gonna be real precision work, here, not like those coalburned spoons and bowls weve done, so I need to leave more of a margin for error along the sides. Well we certainly dont want any bear fat oozing! Couldnt we just plug up any hoes with pitch though, if they do happen to appear?

Oh, all depends on how big they are, I guess! But yeah, we could plan on doing that. Have to mix it with some ash or even a little finely chopped dried grass, maybe, like weve done for some of the pitch glue weve made, or the fat will eventually soften it so much that it wont be useful. You know how back when you lived down there in civilization folks would sometimes use a little cooking oil or shortening or some other sort of grease to help get pine sap off their hands? Well, this works the same way. Fat combines with the pitch, changes the texture of everything, and before you know it, your plug isnt holding anymore. But adding the ash and grass ought to mostly prevent that. Makes the pitch a lot harder. Pitch combining with the fatthat sounds like the start of some nice pine tar soap, if you ask me! Could we make lye from some of these ashes, do you think, and give a batch of soap a try, sometime? After a moment of stunned, wide-eyed, mock-horrified silence at the thought of using their precious bear fat, any part of it, for anything other than eating--Liz thought at first that the horror was real, was about to begin trying to reassure him she had no intention of requisitioning any of the fat for projects that they did not both agree on, first--Einar grinned at her, nodded. Sure, I suppose we could try it sometime. Guess youd kinda like to be able to do laundry in something other than plain ice-cold spring water from time to time, wouldnt you? Yes, possibly, and wash our cooking pots, water jarsand ourselves, from time to time, too! Nothing excessive of course, just once every few weeks, you know Huh. Guess so. Well, if youre set on using soap for such purposes, pine tar--or spruce tar--sure would be the way to go out here. Using any sort of store-bought scented soap would make us stand out like a sore thumb to wild critters and humans alike, in a place like this. Not that we have anything like that, but stillwhew! Many is the time when Ive got warning of a hiker, or a group of them, coming along a trail long before I could hear their footsteps, just by the cloud of scent that was getting carried along ahead of them. Soaps, perfumes, creams of one sort or another, all that horrid, strong-smelling chemical stuff folks seem intent on smearing all over themselvesmajor security risk, if you ask me. Yep, pine tar sounds like the sort of soap to make. It was the only kind Id buy, back when I lived where I had access to the store. Never made soap before myself, but I do know how to leach lye from ashes. Hardwood ash works best, but well just have to work with this aspen and evergreen stuff, and see what we get. Liz had listened to his exposition on the dangers of commercial soap with a very straight face, concerned that if she allowed herself even the slightest hint of hilarity, she would burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Cloud of scent, is it? My goodness, you must not even have the slightest idea what you smell like right now, what we both do, after spending the last day and night working on that bear without doing any significant amount of washing up If I didnt think it would freeze you half to death with this breeze weve got going--not that youd mind, which is another problem; in fact youd probably like it, wouldnt you? Pull me in there with you and consider it the most fun youd had in

days--Id drag you over to that little pool below the spring right this minute and push you in, clothes and all! Goofy guy Yes, we should try it sometime, see if we can make it work with this softwood ash. Soap would be a very good thing. Einar had been working as she spoke, paused, realizing that she truly was serious about the project. Ok. Well do it. Better get this meat all taken care of first, though, so we dont start losing it. Meat dried, fat rendered down and maybe that hide brained so it wont be so dry and crunchy when we go to try and sleep under it, and then well think about soap. A good hour later the fat-storage vessel was approaching completion, not the quality of work Einar would have been proud of, most times--he would have very much liked to spend the rest of the day deepening it further with careful streams of air directed onto hot coals, smoothing out the rough edges and making it a thing of beauty, as well of function, but there was no time--but functional, nonetheless. And all he had time to do, at the moment. No sooner had he declared the container finished than Liz showed up with the first batch of rendered fat, no more than a quart, pouring it into the bottom of the footdeep wooden basin and marveling at how little space it seemed to take up. They would be fitting a good bit of fat into that vessel, and Liz hurried to begin preparing the second batch. It was going to be a slow process rendering down the good thirty pounds Einar estimated they had of the stuff one pot at a time, but they would be at the camp for a good while, anyway, slicing and drying the meat, so would have time to work on it, get it all processed. Which reminded him. They still needed that basket from the cabin before evening arrived, so theyd be able to use the deer hide for a cloak and sleeping robe, rather than leaving it up in the tree all night as a holder for the finished jerky. Well--he rose, balanced somewhat precariously as the inevitable wave of dizziness hit him, pressed in on him and tried to scramble his head, knock him back to the ground, finally tiring of the effort and passing--it was past time for him to get up and stretch a bit, anyway, as sore and cramped as he was feeling after thoroughly exhausting what little upper body strength he possessed at the moment in hollowing out the fat container, and he figured it would do him good to stir around for a while, make the short walk down to the cabin. Which it probably would have, had things not got a bit complicated along the way Bud Kilgore sat hunched over on a bit of granite just below the blasted-out entrance of the mine. Just a few yards above him and several weeks prior, a raid by federal agents intent on capturing a man who they had believed to be the fugitive Asmundson had gone disastrous, and Kilgore tried not to chuckle as he stared thoughtfully at a series of scuffs and scratchings that had been preserved from rain-obliteration by a little cluster of overhanging firs. Federal trackers had found the marks significant because the boot treads differed--they had discovered nearly a week later when cataloguing the reams of photographic evidence taken from the scene--from any worn by the agents involved in the assault, and had wanted him to take a look. With two significant rains having come and gone since the day of the blast, Kilgore had told them that he would not likely be able to backtrack whoever had left those partial boot impressions, but they had been quite keen to have him try, nonetheless. For the past week he had been a guest at the federal compound just outside of Culver Falls, most days being spent out in the field being

shown sign and asked his opinion as the wounds to his back and face--dirtbike accidents can be ugly, for sure--slowly mended. In addition to his field consultations, Kilgore had spent many hours in the office with the Agent in Charge and a few of his cohorts as they picked his brain about what he knew of the fugitive, being one of the few people to have managed to work his way into close proximity with the man since the search began--and lived. Though all evidence pointed to the collapsed mine as the fugitives final resting place they had never actually found the body, thus remaining suspicious. There were, Kilgore learned, two very distinct camps there at Mountain Task Force headquarters: those who wanted nothing more to do with the long and costly search and saw the mine operation as a neat, clean end to the entire drawn-out disaster--declare Asmundson dead, pull out and be done with it--and those, among them the AIC, who knew from past experience with the case that any such declaration made prematurely and without conclusive evidence was simply setting themselves up for further embarrassment and loss of face when the fugitive showed back up in a month or two. Bud Kilgore, for his part, was firmly in the hes got to have died in there camp, and though careful not to support the position too enthusiastically, he did strive to lend credence to it whenever the opportunity afforded itself. Though he had no way to know it yet as he crouched there that afternoon inspecting his own leftover tracks beneath the firs, Bud Kilgore was to take a much more active role in the ongoing investigation and search, over the following days. Einars walk to the cabin was fairly uneventful, not counting the brief struggle hed had on his hands when first mentioning the idea to Liz. She had tried to delay him, divert his attention and persuade him that he was absolutely indispensable to the fat-rendering process and thereby convince him that shed better run the errand, herself, but he had been insistent, had told her that he badly needed the exercise, needed to see something other than the camp for a while and would be back soon, wouldnt take off or decide to take on a second bear single-handedly while away, and finally shed let him go, insisting that he take the ewe hide along should he start getting cold. Which he had no expectation of doing, but took the hide anyway, rolling it up and slinging it over one shoulder, tucking its ends beneath his belt to hold them in place. Greatly enjoying the little excursion despite an aching foot and his ongoing fight with the crushing weariness that had periodically assailed him throughout the day, Einar reached the cabin and located the basket that represented his reason for making the trip, dumping out the kindling that it held and stacking the stuff neatly beside the firepit before pulling the door closed and replacing the logs with which Liz had jammed it in place against the onslaught of whatever curious creature might happen along and smell the bits of food that remained inside. Basket in hand he was about to head back for camp, but the rocks above the cabin caught his eye, and, suddenly remembering his intention--never yet acted upon because of the difficulty with his foot--to explore them, he hung the basket in a tree, and started the climb. Leaving everything but his knife, spear and the few items hed brought along in Lizs burlap sack-pack--hat, binoculars, a few strips of sheep jerky--behind at the cabin he worked his way up the wall of broken rock, headed for the top from which he

hoped to find a good place from which to watch the cabin should the need arise in the future, and perhaps even some sort of view of the valley. Struggling, dizzy with the effort and knowing that he was risking a nasty fall in continuing, but doing it anyway, hoping very much to find a better way down than the route hed chosen for his ascent, he worked his way higher, finally arriving sweating and out of breath at the little plateau that marked the top of the little bluff. For a moment he lay there flat on his stomach, hand pressed to his left shoulder, which was aching fiercely and seeming to keep him, somehow, from drawing full breaths right when he needed them most, but with time the ache faded and with it the black spots that had been swirling and billowing most inconsiderately before his eyes throughout the last third or so of the climb, and he was breathing freely again, could start to think about lifting his head and having a look around. Down there nearly straight below him was the cabin, what little he could see of it, which was, to his delight, no more than the very end of a roof-beam that stuck out a distance--good, things hidden real well, but I can see the clearing from here, and thats good, too--and he watched it for a while, mind busy with all of the ways that he could use that high ground to help mount a defense of the place, should that ever become necessary. Which he had to hope it never would, as the need to defend a fixed location like that would mean that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong with their entire evasion strategy, would probably mean that the end had come for them. For him, at least. Had to hope--simply had to--that she could somehow get away, that he could buy her enough time to slip away with the little one and somehow lose her pursuers, make it out there for as long as she had to--more caches, weve got to hide some of this bear, meat, fat, everything, where she could get at it if that time comes--and eventually someday perhaps work her way around to Susans house, someplace where shed be safe, where they would He shook his head, sat up a bit straighter. Got to talk with her about all of this. Will be too late to plan when the time comes, too late to decide what to do; weve got to decide that now, agree on it and then practice the steps so therell be no doubt about what shes supposed to do--and what I am--if I say go. Putting the thought aside for the moment--theyd talk about it that evening, and that was all he needed to know just then, it was enough--he squinted out at the far view afforded him by the rocks raised vantage, the basin swooping green and tree-striated down towards the spot where the black timber took over, dropping precipitously to the valley below, hidden just there by its own narrowness, but when he followed its course upwards to his left, he was rewarded with a brief glimpse here and there of its lush green floor, acres of willow and red osier dogwood, beaver dams, lodgeshey, youre just dreaming now, pull out those binoculars and confirm it, why dont you, instead of customizing the place in your head. And he did, flattening himself on the warm rock, ribs and elbows gaining him solid purchase as he lay at the edge of the dropoff, binocular strap around his neck, a few slow breaths to steady the hands and then he was looking, seeing, rank after rank of aspens striated with black tiger-slashes of spruce, fir, pine, down, down to the valley floor, red and green and bursting with life so that he could almost smell it, loved the place already and knew hed be visiting when circumstances allowed, they both would, theyd be trapping it that winter, little one on Lizs back all snuggled down in a couple dozen rabbit skins there in his cradleboard, heavily laden pack of beaver and

muskrat pelts on his own back, saw the opportunity as he lay there studying what he could see of the valley, the bounty, and then he saw something else, too Down there on the grass and willow flats of the valley floor Einar thought he saw movement, settled into a slightly more secure position on his rocky perch and focused on the spot, at first seeing nothing that appeared out of the ordinary. What had he seen? Had his eyes merely been playing tricks on him? Wouldnt be entirely unprecedented, especially not in the recent past. There it was again though, that little flash of movement right on the edge of vision, and he waited for it to come again, saw, and knew. There were people down there, several of them out in the open along that creek, his creek, the one he intended to trap for beaver that winter. Had intended to. For a long minute he watched them, was too distant to make out much detail but could tell that at least two of the intruders were dressed in bright colors, whites and reds, not the least bit stealthy; civilians. Which was good to know, but it hardly eased the sense of dread that was growing in him, doom, a danger that could no more be held back or turned aside than it could be verified. Hed known such a day would be coming, had to be coming, the loss of their little haven there in the basin, the illusion of safetybut somewhere along the line, sometime between putting everything he had and more into the building of that cabin and the day when hed first placed his hand on Lizs stomach and felt the child--his child--move, hed begun allowing himself to hope that the day of reckoning might be a very long time in coming. Months, perhaps even years, one can hope... Foolish pursuit, and now it had come to an end. Back to reality. The distant human forms had moved out of sight, obscured by the intervening rises and folds of timber, and Einar scrambled up, stowed the binoculars and glanced around for the best way down from the little plateau of rock, sick, heavy hearted, but knowing that he must hurry. One whiff of smoke, one glance up in the direction of their basin when the wind was wrong, wasnt thoroughly dispersing the evidence of their fire, and it could all be over. Renewal of the active search, beginning of the end, and these thoughts filled his head as he picked his way down towards the cabin, navigating the rocky steepness with as much haste as his hurry would allow. There it was all of a sudden, the bottom, and, rock still damp, rain-slick, he lost his footing and dropped those last five or six feet, landing hard and rolling to his knees. Grimacing briefly in pain he pushed it aside and rose in a hurry, grabbed the basket and took off. Had to get to Liz, make sure that fire was put out, and with the urgency of that thought driving him, Einar ran. Would have doubted himself capable of it had he considered the matter, but he did not stop to consider, he simply moved, covering the distance quickly and arriving back at camp badly winded, throat dry and the sharp, metallic taste of adrenalin in his mouth, joined by the warm iron of blood as he coughed painfully, struggling for breath. Couldnt speak, collapsed beside the fire and shoved the pre-positioned stone over it, motioning to Liz to do the same with the other, smaller firepit, passing out. The instant he regained enough awareness to know of its presence Einar fought it, the blackness that had seized him, contended fiercely with it and finally, aided by Lizs offer of good cold water, swiped across his face and, as soon as he seemed able, held to his lips, he overcame. Sat up, still struggling for breath, searching his mind for the words, world spinning wildly around him. Liz looked scared for some reason--must have guessed at why he wanted the fires put out, he figured--was

dabbing at his face again with that good cool water, and he struggled to focus on his breathing, to slow it, at the same time fighting an almost irresistible urge to get to his feet. Finally Liz couldnt stand seeing him like that any longer, grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from trying again to get up. Einar, hey, what is it? Why have you done this to yourself? What? Hikers. Valley. Iclimbed rocksbehind cabin and saw them. Three. Not not search. Just hikers. But we Ok. Ok, no fire. I understand. Youre concerned about the smoke. He nodded, sagged against her and allowed her to ease him to the ground, suddenly sick, vomiting, close to losing consciousness again. Liz checked the rocks above the firepits to be sure that no smoke was escaping, which it wasnt--the containment system had worked well--helped Einar with another sip of water and covered him with the ewe hide, seeing that he had begun cooling from his run. What were you thinking, running all that way? Dont you realize youre going to kill yourself one of these times, let alone the fact that youll be messing up that foot againAnd if it really is as urgent as all of that, youd better get ahold of yourself and tell me more about it. Which he appeared to be trying very hard to do, face a mask of intense concentration, but body failing to respond. He clearly wanted to sit up so she helped him, pulling him upright and getting his knees braced on elbows in the hopes that he could manage to stay that way. Another minute of that--rest, breathing, occasional sips of water--and he was ready to get up, took the rolled-up deer hide full of jerky and dumped its contents into the basket. Over a foot in diameter and nearly twice that deep, the basket would, Einar figured, make a fine transport container for the jerky, some of the fat and as much fresh meat as they could carry, if they ended up having to clear out of the area in a hurry. Wouldnt carry the bear hide. Theyd have to leave it. Sensing his intention Liz joined him, helped him take down the two rows of additional jerky that had finished drying in his absence, loading them, too, into the basket. The work done and Einar still terribly dizzy, unable to get his breath, he sank down beside the dead fire, stared across it at Liz as if hoping she would have some idea as to what should happen next, or so it seemed to her. In reality he was simply trying to get his bearings, stop the world from spinning, had sought out her face as the only solid and trustworthy object within his field of view. Better. Could see straight again, seemed to be getting some brain function back, not that hed noticed its absence, busy as hed been trying to get enough breath to stay awake. Figured perhaps his hasty retreat back to the camp had been a bit counterproductive, seeing its results, but the fires were out, smoke stopped, and that was the most important thing at the moment. Perhaps the only thing that really did matter. But was it enough? He had no way of knowing, other than to wait for the seemingly-inevitable rumble that night, the next day, either way, it would be coming, and he had little doubt but that the hovering menace would find something to arouse the suspicion of searchers, if it ended up devoting too much attention to the area around their basin. They would have left tracks, trails, disrupted the natural pattern of things just enough to warrant further investigation by one who studied the area with a trained eye, and Einar didnt know if he could justify their waiting for that to happen before moving.

Looked up at Liz, could see that she knew what he was thinking. She shook her head.

Before even asking Einar what he was thinking Liz retrieved the stewpot from the rock where shed set it when he smothered the fires, held it out to him, wanting him to take a minute, rest, think, get some food down. Here, you need to eat. Ive been eating. Ate this morning. More. You need more. You know it takes an awful lot to start rebuilding things and adding a little weight, as fast as your metabolism must be working right now. A few days ago I could hardly keep you out of the food supply, you were begging me for more so that I had to try and hold you back, and nowwhat happened? He shrugged, dug into the bowl of the past mornings stew, knowing that she was right. For a minute they ate in silence. The way Einar saw it, they had several options. Stay where they were and go on living the way they had been, hoping nothing had been seen and reported and waiting to be proven right or wrong, leave quickly and travel far from the area before there was time for an active search to get up and running again--perhaps his first choice, or take his atlatl and knife, head down there to valley and intercept those hikers, make sure they never returned to tell tales--which, aside from the obvious moral difficulties involved in waylaying three innocent hikers whose only offense involved inadvertently trespassing on the admittedly huge territory of an ornery old mountain critter, would be almost certain to set off a search of its own as soon as someone realized that their brother, friend, etc, was late returning, bringing additional unwanted focus on the area of their little basin. There seemed no good option, then, none at all, and though he could guess which of the three Liz would be most likely to choose, the knowledge gave him no clear direction. She couldnt possibly realize what was at stake, not really, not like he did Even as he said it he found himself regretting the saying. Of course she realized, was reminded every day by the life growing inside of her precisely what was at stake, and he was wrong to suppose himself in possession of any special knowledge on the subject, though he could not help but view things that way, at least in cases where capture became a possibility. Forget it, Einar. Just talk with her. Shes every bit as much a part of this as you are, and treating her any other way is inexcusable. As well as being pretty dumb on your part, because shes probably thinking more clearly than you are right now. That run took pretty nearly everything you had. He was about to speak, but Liz beat him to it. Youre thinking we have to leave, arent you?

He nodded, met her eyes. Not seeing any good way around it. Maybe they didnt see anything at all, maybe it didnt catch their attention if they did see it, butchances are a good haze of smoke would be showing up from down there, and if it looks serious enough, seems likely they might be calling it in as soon as they get back down within phone range. Worried that it might be the start of a wildfire, you know. It is that time of year. Thatll get us a flyover in pretty quick order, and if theyre really scrutinizing the place, which they probably will be, theres a good chance that somethingll look out of place, something weve done to change the area, even if only a trail weve worn whose pattern doesnt quite fit what the elk and sheep do, something like that, and if word gets back to anyone involved in the search Dont you think its more likely that the fire spotter plane would just buzz the area from a distance, go on its way when they saw that there was no column of smoke, nothing to worry about? From what Ive seen, they dont have time to go closely scrutinizing every report they get, especially not this time of year with fire season really starting up Maybe. We cant know that though, have to assume theyll see us, see something they think is worth passing along to the feds, allow ourselves to think anything else, and before we know it Theres a chance of that, yes. But if we leave right nowyou know how much work went into that cabin, how determined you were to get it finished so wed have a good secure place for the winter, for the baby, and then this bearwed have to leave everything behind. Almost everything. Run for a week or two and then start all over, and its almost September. September. I know weve done it before, and will do it again if we have to, but youve just started recovering from all the trouble with that foot, and to be quite honest Im afraid of losing you if we have to run right now, and then what? Me and this baby all by ourselves huddled under a rock overhang somewhere out there all winter with very little food set aside because we didnt have time to get a head start on it, and only the few rabbit furs from what Id be able to snare to keep us warm, thats what. Ill do it if it comes to that, fight with all Ive got to get your child through the winter, but We need to think real long and hard about this, really think what makes sense here, before we go leaving everything behind again. Einar looked away, gritted his teeth against the desire to respond angrily with a vivid description of what Liz could likely expect as a new mother serving life in a federal penitentiary--one likely-looking scenario if they stayed put for too long; hed die fighting to defend her from capture if they came, but die he probably would, was under no illusions as to his abilities at the moment, and then theyd have her--refrained from going into detail about it, knowing that she was already too well acquainted with the sort of treatment she could expect at their hands. Well. Dont like it, but not much choice, its looking like. There is another option, you know. Not sure whether to be relieved or worried, Liz nodded hopefully. Yes?

I canyoull have to agree to stay up here, because I dont want you and the little one anywhere near the operation, but here it is. Theres no way those folks have phone reception way out here at the bottom of a tight little valley like that, not a chance, so no way they could have notified anyone about the smoke already, assuming theyre just casual hikers of some sort. Meaning that were not in danger until they walk out, so I head down there and make sure they dont walk out. Self defense. Einar, are you actually suggesting that youd Yes, I would. Will. But Ive got to hurry before they decide to turn around and head down, and I need your word that you wont leave camp, that youll give me a full day and night first to take care of things and make my way back up here. Will you do it? No! No, I wont do it, and if youve got any sense left at all in that addled head of yours, youll put this out of your mind, wont go down there. Wed still end up having to clear out of here eventually, ahead of whatever search might be launched for the missing hikers, but I can pretty much guarantee that they wont find anything, not a sign, not for a very long time, itd buy us some time, for sure, allow us to pack out more of the food, bear hide, might mean the difference between life and death this winter Liz was shaking her head, staring almost unbelieving at the thing he seemed to be proposing. But the journalist and photographer a couple summers ago--they walked right up on you and you didnt do anything like this to them. You gave them a meal, took their shoes and let them go on their way, if I remember correctly. This isnt you Einar, isnt what you do Oh Lizzie, if you knew the half of it You may not like this, but yeah, it is. Now about that photographer fellow, girl who wrote for the newspaperwell, guess I just figured that theyd stumbled upon me pretty honestly, werent part of the active search and didnt pose too much danger to me anyway, since at the time I was hardly spending more than a night or two in one location anyway, and I had no intention of bringing them to any harm over that--over my having to move. No, of course not. So how is this any different? These people havent stumbled upon us, seen us--we dont even know if theyve seen our smoke, or have any reason to think theyve thought anything of it, if they have. And yet youre suggesting that our only option is to go down there and Well if you noticed, it was far from my first suggestion. I wanted to run, would have been out of here already if Look. You cant have it both ways, Liz. We dont always get to decide on the terms. Rarely do, as a matter of fact. If youve got a third idea, a better one, I sure do want to hear it.

Liz was quiet for a minute, knowing shed better think carefully before trying to say anything at all, as it seemed Einar, though willing to listen to her, was pretty well set on carrying out one or the other of his proposed plans. Which simply wouldnt do. Had to be another way, and she was pretty sure she knew what it might be. Einar, she was reasonably certain, was overestimating the threat posed by those hikers--not that she could blame him; hed been in day-to-day struggle for his life and freedom for the past two and a half years with no reprieve at all, and that will inevitably change ones perspective on nearly everything, not to mention the fact that hed had practically no sleep for the past two nights--and it seemed that if she could come up with some way to reassure him that those hikers werent going to run back to civilization and bring the search down on their heads, he might settle down and let them stay. Which was looking like a very high priority to her, at the moment, with them being halfway through processing the bounty of meat, fat and other products from that bear. The place was good, high and remote, the valley where Einar had reported seeing the intruders a good fifteen hundred to two thousand feet below their basin, perhaps even more, their presence posing little real threat, as far as she could tell. Except that now Einar, having seen them, wanted to take some drastic action. Wouldnt be content keeping still and doing nothing, even if she were somehow to talk him into it for the moment, into waiting, continuing with the meat processing and laying low for a few days. The uncertainty of it would tear him up--shed seen it happen before--and they would eventually end up having to move, to leave the place theyd worked so hard on, even if no further threat had manifested itself. Dear Einar, I know youre just trying to keep us safe, and Ive got to let you do that, havent I? Cant try to take it away from you. But maybe this time we really can have it both ways Yes, I have an idea. You said they were headed up the valley when you saw them, right? Yep. Still heading up. And theres nothing up there, not as far as I can tell, not unless theyre gonna undertake a big wall climb on those rocks up where the creek goes vertical, and as far as I could tell it didnt look like they were equipped to do that. So theyll be back, tonight, tomorrow, hard to say, seems that if you were gonna walk that far in, youd probably be spending the night, which is why I was planning to head down there in a little while and see where theyre setting up camp, move in sometime after dark I think you should do that. He eyed her a bit suspiciously. Do you? What changed your mind? Nothing. I wasnt finished. Do that, go down there and find them, see what theyre up to, listen for a while, watch, maybe even follow them out tomorrow when they leave, assuming they leave, make sure theyre not paying too much attention to our area up here as they pass by, make sure theyre not suspicious about anything. Youll be able to tell. And if theyre not--just let them go. Come home, help me finish processing this meat. Well, you do make it sound simple. Yeah, guess I could do that. Gonna be down there

anyway if I go for my plan B, so might as well watch them for a while first, see if I can tell what theyre up to, what they know, or what they think they do. He nodded. Could work. Looks like Id better hurry, just in case they arent planning to stick around for the night. You alright with staying to watch the meat? Not the ideal situation, I dont like leaving you alone here with that job, but dont really see any other way around it. Unless we were to try and move everything into the cabin before I go, which would just take way too long. Ill be fine. Nothing bothered us last night, and you know my rabbit stick and I are more than a match for any small scavenger than might come along. You can have a fire to help put caution into anything that might smell the meat and happen along, just as long as you wait until dark to light the thing so we dont have smoke billowing up again where those folks can see it. Dont figure theyll be real likely to smell anything from way down there, not the way the wind moves through this basin, and if theyre staying the night, theyll probably have their own fire, anyway. Ill be as quick as I can at this, but these things take time to do right, and I may end up following them down a good ways, even, so Im thinking you shouldnt be surprised if you dont hear from me for a couple days, Ok? I understand. Wish I could come with youyou know, to give you a break at night, do some of the watching so you can get a little sleep He smiled, made the--for him--rare gesture of squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. Ill be fine. Not the first time Ive done this, you know. And no sense both of us going down there and then coming back to find that the meats been torn into by critters, hide all shredded up We could hang everything in trees. Dont have enough cordage to do that, not the real sturdy multi-ply stuff, anyway, and itd take us hours to put that much together. Too long. Ill help you raise the stuff weve already got hung so its not so accessible, drag the ribcage up in here under the trees so its nearer your fire tonight, but the rest of its just gonna have to stay where it is for now. While Einar worked to hoist the remaining bear quarters further from the ground for safety and move the by-then nearly meatless ribcage of the bear, Liz put together a small pack for him, bits of sheep jerky, dried serviceberries and rendered bear fat, his sweater, the deer hide so hed have something in which to wrap himself against the nights cold, and that was it. Einar, meanwhile, had finished with the meat and was sitting crosslegged beside the flat stone that covered the larger of the two firepits, inspecting his atlatl darts. Five of them, not bad, everything in good condition, and he went on to sharpen his knife, somewhat dulled after that days jerky slicing, Liz watching in some dismay the intense attention he was giving the task, hoping that he had not changed his mind as to exactly which plan he intended to put into effect down there. Doubted it. The way he

insisted on having backup plans for everything, escape routes, she knew the weapons check was likely to be a standard part of his preparations. Which it was, of course, but Einar was also well aware of the possibility that things might not be exactly as they seemed down in the valley, the chance that three casual-looking hikers placed prominently out in the open in brightly-colored clothing might well be a decoy, a form of bait, even, intended to lure him from his lair and out into the open where he could be more easily taken. Was a distinct possibility, if they had somehow been under heavy surveillance for a number of days, was likely, even, that their pursuers might be aware of the bear, might have placed the hikers when and where they did with the intention of separating the two of them for easier capture, and for a brief time he seriously considered taking Liz along, letting the meat fare how it might and keeping her close in case the whole thing was some sort of a setup, but eventually dismissing the idea. The theory was one he had refrained from mentioning to Liz at all, and he was glad, intended to keep it that way, as its likelihood seemed fairly low--a number of the details did not quite add up when he really though about them--yet the possibility haunted him, left him grim and silent as he prepared to head down the slope, into battle, praying that he was making the right decision, that his wife and child would be protected in his absence. Sitting there alone late that afternoon in a cold camp, hungry and knowing that it was still a matter of hours before it would be dark enough for a fire, Liz lowered the bear-stomach bag that had been hanging over the small fire for much of the past three days, tentatively reaching in with a stirring stick and removing a bit of the mush that it contained. Einar had, leaving, mentioned to her that the stuff had smelled done to him, had been in too great a hurry to stop and try some himself--she hoped that was why he hadnt partaken, anyway--and being hungry for something a little more substantial than the dry and practically fatless sheep jerky--which she wanted to save for travel food, anyway, in case Einar returned in a hurry with the news that they must hurry out of there; not what she wanted to hear, but she certainly intended to go with him if such proved to be the case-she figured she might as well give it a try. Einar moved quickly, knowing that the difficulty of his task would only be greater if he allowed the hikers to turn around and end up a distance down the valley before he intercepted them, hoping very much through the employment of haste and a judicious use of the terrain features to cross their path somewhere high up in the valley. That was the idea, anyway, its practicality being something of a different matter, as before he even made it down below the little tarn in the lowest meadow of the basin his pace was lagging irreparably, head light and uncertain, legs trying to cramp up, and he found a temporary solution in a good cold gulp of water from the edge of the tarn, more of it splashed over his face so that he felt himself wide awake once again, ready to cover some distance. Down, then, though the tangle of windfall timber that had stymied his progress on other previous descents, and though he was greatly tempted to skirt round the timber, keep to the aspens where the going was slightly more clear, he forced himself to keep carefully to the confines of the evergreens, knowing hed leave less sign there and aware of the perils posed by his possibly leaving a clear trail right back up to their little basin. Especially if something ended up happening down there. The last thing he wanted in that situation was to further endanger Liz, to make her easy to find. Guide my steps

At least he could walk now without the often-excruciating pain that had been his companion more frequently than not since hed first frozen his toes that past winter, the healing skin of the toeless foot still tender and, no doubt, suffering from the abuse he was putting it to, stump shorter than perhaps it would have ended up had he been able to avoid or better treat the repeated infections, but the foot basically functional, if no longer whole. Legs were a different story, weak and cramping and generally causing him a tremendous amount of frustration as his mind urged him to do things for which his body was far from ready, jump from log to log, skip over the fallen timber like the mountain goat that he normally was, and, determined, he tried it, ended up flat on his face as he could have predicted, had he slowed down long enough to contemplate the likely outcome. Picked himself up, rubbing bruised knees and spitting out a mouthful of spruce needles, went on a bit more cautiously, knowing that the last thing he needed at the moment was a sprained ankle or--no, not another!--a broken leg to impede his progress, and the sun was dipping low with evening as he finally angled across the last slope before the willow-choked creek-clearing that wound its way along the valleys floor. Too late, knew he might be too late, might well find himself playing catch-up, tracking them down the valley and using all the energy and strength he could summon in the hopes of catching up to them before they reached a road or trailhead, a place where he could not go. Ought to be able to manage it; there was nothing within fifteen miles, nothing at all, not unless theyd violated Wilderness regulations and come partway on dirtbikes, which somehow he doubted Down to the edge of the timber he went, moving slowly, cautious, every sense alert for danger, for the presence of anything human, but he heard nothing, picked up no incongruous scent to give him caution, felt that the place was abandoned, safe. Moving like a wary deer, take a step, two, stop, raise the head, listen, test the wind, he followed a little spit of stunted timber out to an area paralleling the creek which looked the most likely for casual hikers to choose as a route, seeking tracks, and finding. Three sets, two pairs of Vibram-soled boots, treads reasonably well worn but not worn out, the third and smallest belonging to someone who had chosen to wear what looked like running shoes, lighter but not as durable, and he could see from the placement and depth of the tracks that the third person was the smallest, a woman or young boy, most likely. Could have come to a definitive answer within another minute or two of studying the trail, but did not bother, not for the moment, as the trail had already given him the most critical bit of information, leaving him to retreat to the timber and sink to the ground for a minute, legs wobbly with relief. There was only one set of tracks; the little group had gone up, but had not yet headed down. He hadnt missed them, would not need to engage in a desperate chase whose success might have been somewhat doubtful. Could simply follow them at his leisure, or even, he supposed, wait for them right where he was. Sat there for another two or three minutes just catching his breath, figuring, finally, that he would be better off tracking them up the valley than waiting for them to come back down, on the slim chance that there was some other way out of it, a way which they intended on taking. Also, late as it was in the afternoon--already the valley floor was in shadow, sun gone--it seemed likely that they might be planning to make a night of it, and he wanted to be close when they set up camp, close enough, hopefully, not only to get a good look at

them but hear whatever chatter might be going on, get some idea of whether they had noticed that smoke, had made anything of it. Keeping to the treed slope just above the valley floor he started up, making little detours now and then to the creek to make certain that the tracks hadnt diverged, gone a different direction, but they were always there, followed them at least two miles and then, sometime just after dusk, he began smelling the smoke. Weary, in pain where his healing toe area had been rubbed quite raw by the descent and beginning to grow pretty short on water he thought at first--not quite rationally; it was too far, too much lower, the wind all wrong--that the smoke might be Lizs, wanted to run back up there and make sure she put the fire out, before they smelled it too and found her, but he waited, kept going, rounded a bend and saw the camp. The group had set up at the edge of a small meadow just above the creek on his side--bound to be a damp, chilly, mosquito-laden spot, but people do tend to like the water--had a fire going and were in the process of setting up two small tents, one flame-red and the other a slightly more subdued deep blue. Looked like they definitely werent going any further that night, and Einar was glad, took another few hobbling steps back up into the trees and parked himself on a fallen aspen, watching. Nothing particularly remarkable about the group as far as he could tell, two middle-aged men and a woman who, based on her behavior, might have been the wife of the shorter of the two of them, but it was difficult for him to tell, and as darkness crept up the valley he worked his way in closer, wanting to be able to hear the nature of the rather animated conversation that was being carried on. Finally close enough to begin making out words he stopped, flat on his stomach behind a small stand of firs, body pressed into the ground and needles strewn over his back so that he would have appeared in the dim light as nothing more than an irregularity in the ground, a long-fallen and perhaps rotting evergreen on its way to returning to the soil, had anyone stepped close enough to see him at all. Which he thought unlikely, considering the scree pile that lay between his position and the little camp, a definite ankle-twisting obstacle in the dark. He could hear them, raised his head to get a better perspective. Why are you folks up here? Go on, you can tell me West Rim Herd. The were talking about something called the West Rim Herd, sitting around the fire intently studying maps, one of the men seeming to lead the conversation as he presumably pointed out the route they intended to take the following morning. In search of the herd. West Rim Herd? Whats the West Rim Herd? Never heard of them. It. Herd of what? and he supposed it could be practically anything, elk, sheep, who knew, they never went into much detail about it, and the conversation eventually moved on to other, less interesting topics. As the evening went on, though, the idea began growing in his mind that the term--West Rim Herd--was a code word being used to refer to he and Liz, a precaution being taken on the part of the little group, as theyd know there was a possibility they were being watched, followed, and just as their casual dress and carefully-practiced recreational demeanor were part of a well-orchestrated effort to appear non-threatening even as they moved in on the basin, the language they were using took on sinister connotations that seemed to make perfect sense to Einar, the language of intrigue, deceit, a carefully planned and--so far--flawlessly executed mission

Supper must be just about ready, because he could smell it, the odor of cooking meat--hot dogs, he guessed, and he was sure he could hear them sizzling over the whisper of the creek--being carried to him on a thin, cold breeze that wound its way up along the creek, his stomach cramping at the scent, and he knew that he ought to have dipped into his pack for a strip of jerky and some bear fat then, but didnt, keeping still, listening, shaking his head as the scent of charring marshmallows joined the other supper smells drifting up from the camp. Part of the trap. It was all part of the trap; he wasnt hungry. An hour later, after increasingly sleepy bits of scattered conversation and some halfhearted amateur harmonica playing which would have driven Einar to cover his ears in alarm had he not been so intent on listening for other sounds, the campers seemed about ready to head to bed, Einar preparing himself as well as he was able for what was promising to be a long, chilly night of waiting and watching. Huddled there at the base of the largest of the firs he found himself, in the quiet hours after the hikers had crawled into their sleeping bags, thinking of Liz, almost feeling her there beside him as he leaned, heavy-eyed but determined to keep awake, against the rough bark of that tree, deer hide drawn tightly around his shivering form and legs aching fiercely as the seemingly infinite cold of the earth seeped up through the laughably thin covering of spruce and fir needles that hed been able to scrape together for his bed. The intruders, he could not help but think, had not chosen the best spot for their camp. Not that it mattered to them, tents, foam pads and sleeping bags already having been spread out and ready for use before darkness had become complete. Didnt matter all that much to him, either, as his intent remained to keep awake through the night, watch, make sure he was ready to go if they were up early and on their way, and there was no way he would have fallen asleep even had he been comfortable, fed and warm, with the possibility looming large in his mind that the trap had already been sprung; hed fallen for it. Taken the bait, left Liz and the cabin-plateau unprotected and placed himself right where they wanted him, trapped in the valley with nowhere to go, probably already under surveillance by a sniper or two up in the nearby rocks with NV scopes, infrared illuminators, the heavy timber beneath which he had taken refuge the only thing keeping them from having taken that shot already West Rim Herd. Right... And he would have moved in then, while they were sleeping, done the thing hed known all along he might have to do, had he not been so thoroughly convinced that any such action would have played right into their plan. Liz had certainly tasted sauerkraut before, had frequently enjoyed her aunts dill picked green beans that were kept down in the big old blue and white crock in the root cellar and had on occasion even sampled and enjoyed such varied delicacies as Limburger cheese and kimchi, but none of those experiences had even remotely prepared her for the first taste of the concoction she dipped out of the bear stomach that evening. The thickly mottled, inexplicably gelatinous purplish goo bore not the slightest resemblance to any of those foods, as far as she could tell, nor to anything she would have previously been inclined to class as edible, and had Einar been there, he would have almost certainly heard from her as to her opinion of the stuff, for it tasted as if he must have been

attempting to poison her. Einar wasnt there, though, and being unwilling to spit out that first taste and thereby waste some of the food that hed worked so hard at preparing--she could almost see his accusing eyes watching her from across the camp at the mere thought of it, that startled, almost hurt look of horror and disbelief he always got on his face at the mere suggestion of wasting food of any sort--she kept it in her mouth, finally managed to swallow, nearly gagging in the process. Not so bad, maybe. Not compared toto I do not know what, but something out there must be worse! Getting her breath back finally, she stuffed a handful of fresh serviceberries into her mouth to dilute the remaining taste, gulped them down with a big swallow of water and wrinkled up her nose at the ample quantity of remaining pudding? Mountain man jello? Poking and stirring at it a bit with the stick, she took another taste, held it in her mouth for a while before shuddering, washing it down with more water, and she had to allow that perhaps it wasnt as horrible as she had first thought. Not quite. Was something she could eat, though she doubted whether shed ever actually acquire a taste for it, and had to admit that she was somewhat hard-pressed to keep her stomach from churning dangerously at the thought of just what had gone into the making of that very special dish. Well. Quite enough for now! And she hung the bag back in its place, wishing Einar was there to try the stuff with her, because hed probably just love it, and really, its got to be pretty nutritious between all the bear fat and blood he added, and thepre-existing mix of ingredients. Probably just what he needs right now. Hurry back Einar, Ill be sure and save some for you! Through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening Liz worked on the bear meat, slicing, hanging, glad for a slight breeze that kept the air stirring there in and around camp, kept the jerky drying despite the present lack of a fire, taking breaks now and then to pick serviceberries from the bountiful patch that had initially attracted the bear to that particular spot, led it to their deadfall trap. Raspberry season, she knew, ought to be in full swing just then down in the rocky little ravines above the basin-meadows where she had done most of her raspberry leaf collecting--which reminded her that she hadnt had her allotment of raspberry leaf tea yet that day, had better get a pot of it simmering--and she wanted very much to get down there and harvest as many of the berries as she could get ahold of, before the mice and chipmunks--and the bears--did it all for her, but she guessed shed better wait until Einar returned to go that far from camp. Wouldnt do to leave things unprotected, not unless she could find a way to get everything hung at safe heights from the trees, a task not necessarily out of reach, but somewhat impractical at the moment, as she really needed to be devoting her time to slicing up the remaining meat before the flies ruined it, rather than twining cordage. And to rendering more of the fat and depositing it into Einars hollowed out log-boat, just as soon as it was dark enough to get the fire going again. Soon. Very soon. Hope youre warm out there Einar, getting something to eat But it was the unspoken thing that she wished for even more fervently, for his safe and successful finding of those hikers, for his return home, and for theirs Some hours later, the evenings chores finally finished and supper eaten, Liz settled in for the night, reasonably certain that the meat was sufficiently protected, that she ought to

safely be able to get a little sleep. She needed it, too, needed rest after the labor of those past two days, needed a few hours off of her feet, but as she lay wrapped in the ewe hide, cushioned comfortably amongst the great heaps of evergreen needles that she had piled up in order to support the changing shape of her body, Liz could not help but worry a bit about Einar, lay praying that he would be alright, would do what was necessary but manage to avoid trouble if at all possible, return soon to her. That he knew how to take care of himself in whatever situation he might encounter down there she had no doubt, but still she found herself concerned, thought hed been acting a bit oddly before his departure--a bit more oddly than usual, I should sayno wonder, though; hed just got done nearly running himself to death a few minutes before, coming back here to put the fires out--and had got the impression that there might be something he wasnt telling her, something beyond the obvious that was troubling him. Seeing his haste to head down to the valley she hadnt thought it worth the effort to ask him about it, an oversight which, that night and over the long days to come, she was to find herself somewhat regretting.

Crouching there safely concealed beneath the firs, Einar watched as the fire down at the little camp below faltered, dimmed, died, the night stretching long and dim and silent before him as he kept watch, ears tuned to the soft rustlings of the creek, listening past them, through them, for the other sounds that he knew must come, the ones that would reach him if only he was able to listen hard enough, warn him, give him time. Time. It was all he could hope for at that point, just a few seconds warning with which to prepare himself, make a quick change in position and face the coming threat just a bit better prepared, make a good accounting of himself and then, Lord willing--which He probably wasnt, as his presence in the trap just then was Einars own foolish fault, and he knew it--perhaps find a way to slip away, lose his pursuers for even a short time in the tangled intricacies of one of the ravines that striated the valley walls, lead them--for they would surely be on his trail once again before the passage of much time--away from Liz, protect her, if not return to her. Which wasnt much protection at all, when he thought about it, the idea of abandoning her like that unconscionable, unbearable, but what choice did he have, when returning would inevitably lead them to the basin, the cabin, right to her front door, seal the inevitability of her capture, if not her death? Not much choice, not as he saw it, and clenched his fists angrily at the negligence, the lack of discipline that had led him to that point, that had allowed him to talk himself into making the trip down to the valley instead of packing up and heading with as much haste as he could muster deeper into his own good, welcoming hills--hed known, known even before parting ways with Liz at the camp and heading down that something wasnt right, that the thing stunk of a trap, but hed tried to put the idea aside, reason through it, and hed been wrong--but there was no way to go back, no way, unless by slowly and cautiously extricating himself from the situation, slipping away unseen into the night, to avoid what was coming. So, slip away. You can be pretty slippery when need be, as I seem to rememberand it seemed unlikely, highly unlikely to succeed, the way theyd almost certainly have the entire are covered, spotters in the cliffs, heat-imaging devices, heck, no reason to think they wouldnt have a drone or two up there just waiting for me to get out in the clear,

picking up on my heat signature, satellites, choppers on call, waiting to He shook his head, let it rest on the good damp life-scented earth below him, inhaling its rich moisture, digging his fingers into it, tremendously steadying, somehow, and when next he raised his head--really was terribly, crushingly weary, could have gone to sleep right then and there without a second thought, had he not been in the middle of all this--escape was once again looking like a practicable possibility. Up behind him the timber was dense, black, unbroken in its march up the steep wall of the valley, and he didnt care what sort of technology the enemy might have that night, there was no way theyd be seeing him if he kept to that tangle of black timber. None. He could be out of there long before the dim hour just before dawn which, he was positive, was the one theyd chosen to move in on him, the hour when temperatures dip to their lowest and night-wearied watchers are perhaps at their least alert, could clear out of there before then and be gone, free again in the safe, enveloping vastness of his wilderness world, leaving them far behind to. To find Liz, that was what. To follow his trail and find Liz, take her, take the baby Stop. Just stop, slow down and think this through. Not gonna do to have them take you this morning down here in the valley like they plan to do--probably plan to do, you cant say for sure, not real certain where you got the idea that you know all of this for sure--but its no good to head out, either, and possibly have them follow you, to be wondering about that, unable to head home because youre wondering if theyre following you at a real careful distanceheck, that right there may be their big plan, why wouldnt it be? Now as I remember, your initial intention--got lost somewhere along the way, didnt it?-was to wait out the night, follow these jokers in the morning and see what theyre up to, what kind of a threat they pose. Seems like thats still the best strategy, cause if theyre who you think they are, theyre gonna give themselves away at some point, youll see one of them slip up and say something over the radio, check his weapon, somethingdoesnt make any sense at all that their actions are all a big show to put you at ease so youll be less trouble to capture, now does it? Thats not the way theyd go about it. If they knew you were close enough to bother putting on a show for, theyd already have you. Theyd have moved in and taken you, armed as you are with darts and knives and a sharp stick and not much elsethink about it! And he did, contemplating as the night went on and the merest sliver of a moon finally poked its head up above the valley walls that loomed high and dark above, casting a pale shadow of light over the willow bogs that lined the creek, a ghostly grove of aspens beyond on the far side, making the tents stand out sharp and highly visible, strange, alien shapes grouped around the hastily-constructed ring of eight rocks--six polished granite ovals, two of creek-rounded red sandstone, and he had wanted to tell them at the time that there was a good chance that of those creek rocks might end up bursting on them, a small pocket of water inside heating, flashing to steam, shattering the rock with potentially dangerous consequences, but of course he had kept quiet, had figured it, actually, part of the bait, yet another ploy intended to draw him out and force him to expose himself so he could be dealt with in a quick and expeditious manner--in which the hikers had built their fire. Einar, recalling the flickering orange glow of that blaze, was suddenly aware of being

terribly, painfully cold, had somehow managed to lose touch with such sensations for a while there, but was feeling them now, realized that he couldnt stop shaking, pulled the deer hide once more around his shoulders and made a hood of it to cover his head and neck, but nothing seemed to be helping. Wasnt really that cold, couldnt be, not that time of year and a good two thousand feet or more down below their basin, but felt it, the damp chill of the valley seeping into his bones, reducing his mobility, temperature, threatening to leave him in pretty short order dangerously chilled and slipping towards sleep, it felt like a silly spot to be in on a clear August night, but there he was Figured hed better get up soon and do something about it, unless he wanted to have to wait for the sun to reach him in the morning and warm him like some ludicrous, oversized lizard before he would find himself capable of movement. Which he definitely didnt want to do, stirred, stretching, rubbing partially numbed legs and working his arms, trying to restore some circulation. Time to move, get up a little further from camp, get warm and maybe eat something, wait for morning and see what these folks have in mind. Traveling slowly and with a stealth commensurate with the situation as he perceived it, Einar worked his way up further from the camp, keeping himself within earshot should there be any conversation that morning that he might find useful, but positioning himself in a spot where the hikers would be very unlikely to accidentally stumble upon him, as they fairly easily could have in his previous hide. Far enough. Any farther, and he risked missing critical details surrounding their morning activities, which would have defeated the entire purpose of his keeping close instead of covering distance and escaping the valley altogether. Had to know what they were about, why they were there and whether or not theyd seen Lizs smoke, which was, of course, his initial purpose in making the descent to the valley. He remembered that now, remembered the thought process hed gone through before leavings camp, the one by which he had convinced himself that the hikers involvement in any sort of trap or intentional operation to draw him away from camp was unlikely at best, that too many of the details just didnt add up, and though he now doubted that assessment, he knew that he had to stick around for a while, see if he could make sense of things. Still wasnt entirely sure, not as sure as he had been earlier that night, anyway, when he had seen plainly in his mind the details of the operation, what was going on. Things were starting to look ever so slightly different by the light of that little crescent moon, less threatening, somehow, the spectre of spotters up in the rocks seeming a bit less real. He was probably just getting tired. Which was exactly what theyd be counting on, wouldnt it, if they really were attempting to entrap him Better get warmed up, see what he could do about improving his alertness. Huddled there beneath his newest shelter-tree, knees drawn up to his chest and deer hide draped over his head as a rough tent in an attempt to minimize heat loss for a while, trap the warmth of his breath and start himself heading back in the right direction, Einar finally heard the urgings of his cramping stomach, heeded them, dug into his bag and brought out the little packet of bear fat Liz had sent with him, breaking off a chunk and leaving it to begin melting in his mouth. Good stuff. Just what hed needed, and soon the fat was joined by a piece of jerky, softening, providing him some energy--not enough, but it was a start, an improvement--as he pushed back the cold of the night and waited, still listening intently, for morning. When it came, soft-footed dawn stealing down into

the valley from ridges and peaks high above, probing the dark rocky corners and dimly illuminating the thin grey ribbon of the creek, the morning caught Einar somewhat by surprise, the loud and incongruous sound of a tent-zipper jarring him rather suddenly from a state somewhere between genuine sleep and semi-hypothermic hunger-daze. His waking as complete as it was sudden, Einar crouched there for a good minute, spear in one hand and the other resting on his knife, before he realized that everyone was still in the tents; he could stop his frantic search to determine where theyd gone. Moving at a leisurely pace in the barely-lightness of the early summer morning, one of the men, the one whod been alone in his tent, the blue tent, emerged, crouched tousleheaded and a bit by groggy-looking by the fire and began breaking up a pile of previously collected dry-dead willow sticks, stacking them in the firepit where presumably they were to be used as kindling. The task finished he wadded up what looked like a piece of newspaper and stuck it beneath the little pyramid, flicked a lighter and ignited the thing. Einar watched as the willow sticks heated and took, letting off a series of inviting crackles that just seemed to worsen his shivering, the tangy scent of willow smoke reaching him just as the little pyramid collapsed in on itself, blaze dying. The hiker, who had left the young fire to break larger branched from a partially-dead spruce just at the edge of the camp, returned to crouch over it, cursing softly and poking at its smoldering remains with one of the larger branches hed secured, seemingly puzzled at the source of his failure. Einar suppressed a laugh as he watched the mans antics; classic beginner mistake, lighting things before he had some larger sticks in place, the entire fire built and waiting, and expecting the results to last for more than seconds, and he wanted to get up, show himself and offer to demonstrate just where the man had gone wrong, in return for being allowed to warm himself for a few minutes over the resulting fire, maybe share a bite or two of whatever breakfast the group was intending to prepare, but of course he kept still, did nothing of the kind. The hiker eventually got it, figured out what hed done incorrectly and added some split spruce branches overtop a fresh stack of willow kindling before crumpling more newspaper and once more applying flame, got it, but not, Einar could not help but notice, quickly enough to have done himself any good under more adverse conditions; had the man been out there in a blowing snow, hands already coldstiff and uncertain, relying entirely on materials hed scrounged from the woods and striking sparks with something other than that mini flame-thrower he carried in his pocket--which might well fail to work, anyway, had it been cold enough--he likely would have been done for. Well. Nows the time to practice, looks like. Now when the continuation of his life doesnt rely on his ability to get the thing going, experiment, learn from his mistakes and be that much more ready when the next time comes around, when its real, when he may find himself holding his life in his own stiff and useless hands. Yep, thats definitely not the time to start learning, not if a persons got any interest in staying alive The fire was roaring merrily by that time, the hiker, once getting it going, taking quite an interest in keeping it from going out again, piling on branch after branch until he had quite the little inferno on his hands, and Einar, huddled trembling some twenty yards up the slope, could feel the occasional hint of warmth as the wind sighed up at him from the valley floor. Weary and cold, he fought hard to prevent himself from becoming fixated on the

sight of the flames to the exclusion of all else, knowing that it could happen all too easily, would leave him that much more exposed to whatever other dangers might lurk out there, the hypothetical assault team that hed been certain was out there waiting to close in on him with the coming of dawn, closing in, preparing to make their move and Shook his head, sat up a bit straighter and turned away from the flickering of the flames, leaning the spear at his side and pressing cold hands together, scanning what he could see of the nearby ridges, the little open spaces down along the creek, high rocky escarpments where he hoped, if such existed, to catch a glimpse of his opponent, a moments flash of newlyrisen sunlight on a carelessly-handled lens, that tiny but out-of-place movement that might give him a few seconds head start, the only advantage hed need, the only one he could really expect, and he eased out the binoculars, glassed the rocky brokenness of the far slope, where the days sunlight had just begun making an appearance, but he saw nothing; perhaps there was nothing to see, but he could not take that for granted. By then the other two hikers were up and sitting around the fire, and Einar, returning his attention to their little camp, saw that they had filled a pot with water from the creek and set it to simmer by the fire, sharp willow-smoke scent soon joined by the strong odor of instant coffee as they dumped a few packets into the simmering water and filled enameled mugs with the stuff, speaking together in low voices, and he strained to hear, to understand, catching once more mention of that cryptic West Rim Herd whose introduction had given him so much cause for speculation the evening before. The herd, they were calling it that morning, were, apparently, planning to head out in search of it as soon as they finished with breakfast and packed up camp, and Einar intended to follow them, figured that was just about the only option, keep an eye on them and try to determine whether they were truly a part of some larger operation intended to entrap him, find and take Liz, or merely innocent explorers who must be watched, observed and allowed to go on their way. After a long half hour during which Einar was subjected to the constant, mouth-watering and stomach cramping odors of a breakfast which appeared to consist of fried eggs, bacon and fire-roasted bagels with jam and something that might have been peanut butter--might have been Nutella, instead, he couldnt tell, tried not to think too much about it, the entire experience already bordering on torture, hungry as he was--the hikers were ready to go, hastily dismantling tents and stowing away sleeping bags, packing up. Einar let them get a bit of a head start before following, finding himself drawn almost irresistibly down to the camp where it appeared one of the hikers had left nearly half of his bagel sitting abandoned on a rock beside the dead fire, but he resisted, thinking that if anything at all could rightly be called bait, it had to be that food. Whole situation was starting to look like a trap once again, and he felt himself growing weak, more ready than he would have liked to fall for it, to run down there and stick his neck in the noose, risk everything for a few bites of readily available starch and protein, and he stood there trembling in the morning chill, leaning heavily on his spear for balance and pleading for help, for strength, received them in the quiet voice that whispered to him on the breeze, turn away. Dont think about it. You have food--eat. And he did, marveling at the wonder of it, at the strength and warmth brought him by the nibbles of jerky and fat; he could go on. Hikers had passed out of sight up around a bend in the valley floor, and he

hurried himself up into the timber, paralleling their course, finding them again. Where are we going? Lets see this herd weve been hearing so much about Starting up the valley after the hikers, Einar knew from previous observations of the place, even though done from a distance, that they were not far from the spot where the little creek became a series of waterfalls, the more level ground ending in cliffs. A mile or two, no more, by his estimate, and a good thing, for he found himself really having to push to keep up with the trio, to keep them in sight. It seemed they knew exactly where they were going, and were in a fairly good hurry to get there. The wall. There it was, looming up above him, his options thinning out as far as available cover if he was to go much closer to it, and the hikers, who hed momentarily allowed out of his sight while traversing a steep, timbered gully that had blocked his path, were nowhere to be seen. Where could they have gone? Not many options, not as far as he could see, the darkly shaded draw that held the creek providing what appeared to be the only likely path for a group not apparently equipped to do a good bit of technical climbing, and he studied the approaches, searching for but failing to find a way to get close to it. Well. Would have to find another way, and he did, quickly scurrying across an open area of rock an up onto the narrow, timber-fringed spine of a ridge that looked like it would take him in a direction which would eventually intersect with theirs, difficult travel and sparser cover than he would have preferred, far from ideal, but the only route he could see which would allow him to keep eyes on the hikers without too much risk of being seen. Leaning doubled over for a moment in a half successful attempt to catch his breath he went on, scrambling, moving over the steep, sometimes loose rock with a practiced ease which belied his somewhat bedraggled and exhausted appearance, the memory of many days spent in such terrain taking over and allowing him, within the space of a quarter hour, to catch up with the hikers, burdened as they were by larger packs, to gain, actually, a bit of distance on them so that by the time they topped out on the high, nearly treeless ridge which had been their goal, Einar was already there waiting for them, well concealed in the dense growth of a little tree island, lower half of his body tucked away in the deep shadow of a jutting slab of granite and elbows resting on the dry-rotted softness of a longdead fir stump, having been gone for longer than most of the remaining trees had been there. Resting, blood pounding in his head after the hasty climb, he watched as they struggled up out of the dark, somewhat unstable confines of the draw--hed been in such places, had narrowly missed being knocked loose by falling rock in more than one of them, actually, and preferred the route he had chosen, that day--and stand panting for breath but apparently quite well pleased with themselves there on the ridge. The didnt remain still for long, though, the taller man who had slept in the blue tent pointing in the direction of a narrow, almost knife-edged spur of rock, a side ridge that took off to the south, saying something to the others that Einar couldnt make out at his distance, but apparently they agreed to it, as everyone took off towards that spur, leaving Einar to follow at a cautious distance, easing his way from one bit of cover to the next, using the contours of the rock every bit as much as the scattered groupings of altitude-stunted evergreens to conceal his movements. Dangerous ground, he was treading dangerous ground, and he knew it, was leaving himself terribly exposed to detection from the air,

ears acutely tuned to listen for the approaching rumble that would tell him the game was up, send him scrambling to get himself beneath the nearest slab of available rock--of which there were many, a fact which he found somewhat reassuring--but if he wanted to follow the trio, he saw himself as having little choice at all. Out along the ridge he followed them, keeping safely out of sight and whenever possible taking up positions above the hikers whenever they stopped, the varied terrain of the narrow ridge, its height rising and falling frequently, lending itself well to his efforts, and then, on the third stop, watching them, he saw the true nature of their quest, let out a great sigh of relief and rested his forehead briefly against the cool rock of his hiding place. Speaking animatedly to his two fellow travelers, the tall man, the fire-maker from that morning, was excitedly waving a good-sized wisp of something white and wooly in the air, carrying on about the West Rim Herd, and Einar knew. Mountain goats. They were out there in search of mountain goats, a herd whose existence he had not even been aware of, previously, and had apparently located the object of their search. Or clumps of its wool and hair, at least, and as he watched them collect good quantities of the soft white summer-shed wool, stowing it away in packs and pockets for who knew what purpose, he found himself wishing he could take it back to Liz she could cord it and crochet things for the baby. The intruders, though, were taking mere samples of the stuff, it seemed, leaving the bulk of it, and he supposed that--if the Lord was willing and he got out of this one alive; still hadnt entirely abandoned the idea that the entire operation might be an elaborate ruse to draw him in, get him to lower his guard and soften him up for capture, in which case it was probably working, to some extent--he could come back later for the bulk of it, take it to her. Finally finishing with their wool collecting, the hikers, after a brief conference which from what Einar could gather had to do with finding a more favorable spot in which to wait and watch for the arrival of the herd itself, re-shouldered their packs and retreated back along the narrowness of the ridge, starting up across a broader stretch of angled alpine tundra, rockstrewn, searching for a spot that might serve as a vantage when the goats, presumably, wandered their way out along the narrow ridge on their way to feed on the grassy slopes down below. For a good while the trio meandered about the open slopes before settling on a spot in which to wait. Einar was terribly weary by that time, keeping himself strictly to the cool, breezy shadows of the stunted timber so as to avoid relaxing in the sun and falling asleep, and it was working, as the little breeze that swept through the firs kept him sufficiently chilled as to remain quite wide awake, even in his exhausted state, finding himself staring with a bit of longing at the broad, open shelves of rock and wildflower-dotted tundra where the hikers lounged on a big lichen-covered boulder in shirtsleeves, eating their lunches. He shivered, crouched down in a little hollow created by the exposed, arching roots of an ancient spruce, and struggled out of the sweat-dampened wool of his sweater, wishing hed been able to save it as the dry garment in which to change after his climb, but knowing that hed made the correct decision in wearing it on the quick ascent, the sweaters subdued olive green blending more thoroughly with the surrounding terrain than his black fleece shirt would have. No matter. He had saved the shirt, kept it dry, went ahead and secured the wet sweater to the outside of the pack to begin drying and

hurried into the fleece, shuddering at the breeze as it played over his sweat-damp skin. Normally he would have found such to be quite refreshing, enjoyable, something he might have sought out, even, but at the moment it just added to the strain of his weariness, left him shaky and unsettled, wishing more strongly than he would have liked for food, sleep. Forget it. But he couldnt, not quite, not the way his stomach was twisting and cramping, hollow, empty and demanding that he go on eating as he had been able to over the past few days, providing his body with the nutrients it so badly needed to go on rebuilding. Thousands and thousands of calories each day, if he was to not only keep up with the demands of his re-awakened metabolism, but begin increasing his margins of safety just a bit, too, putting on even a token amount of weight, and even sitting around camp with an entire bear at his disposal hed been having trouble getting enough, weary as hed been. Out there in the field with bits of jerky and fat in his pack, there was no chance of it, and he pressed his angry, cramping stomach, told it to go back to sleep. His body did not, he had learned over the past years, take too kindly to having the rebuilding process interrupted, once it had been embarked upon. Easier not to have begun it in the first place, just gone on as he had been, barely scraping by, though in this particular case he supposed he very well might be dead by then, if things had gone that way. Had been way too close to the edge this time, just before they took that bear, had felt it, felt those iron teeth tightening around him, sapping his strength and leaving the next breath an uncertain, ephemeral thing, the continued beating of his heart--especially with the demands hed been placing upon it--not to be taken for granted. Well. Was doing better now, knew hed be awfully uncomfortable for a while as his body tried to figure out what it was supposed to be doing, what it could expect in the way of feeding, but at least he was out of immediate danger, had replenished his electrolytes with those rich stews of bear blood and meat, had given himself something to work with. Which was a good thing, because it looked like the hikers were packing up again, appeared ready to move on and seek another vantage from which to wait for their goats, and seeing their direction he studied the landscape, deciding on his best route, concealed but close enough to keep an eye on them, keep them within atlatl range should their expedition take some unexpected turn that demanded immediate action. Didnt expect that to happen, but habit and a sharp sense of suspicion demanded that he keep himself ready to move in whatever direction the circumstances might require, a very good thing, in this case, as he was quite soon to find out, for suddenly the group was headed in his direction, directly in his direction, right at him, not a move he had anticipated, hadnt seen him yet but soon would if he didnt take some action, and seeing that there was nowhere he could go, not quickly enough, anyway, he dropped to the ground, stuck, slithered beneath the cover of a large clump of ground-hugging alpine evergreen growth, dragging his pack behind him, pressed himself into the rocks and could taste the pungent sulfur of broken granite in his mouth, the scent of freshly disturbed lichen strong and reassuring, a hide far more fit for a pika than a man, but there he was, and awfully grateful for it, too, for they were by that point almost on top of him

Face pressed into the rocks, barely daring to breathe lest the rise and fall of his chest disturb the vegetation and give him away, Einar lay waiting for the hikers to approach, to pass him, but they did not pass, instead taking seats on a nearby grouping of rock slabs from which, he gathered from their conversation, they thought themselves likely to get a look at the goats. Right on their path, they were saying, right where theyll have to pass when they decide to head down lower to graze on the grassy slopes Seemed the intruders werent going anywhere, not for a while, and therefore neither was he. Well. Sure could have picked a better hiding place if youd known what was coming, but there was no time. Guess its a good thing youre still able to squeeze yourself down pretty flat when you need to, fit in under bits of groundcover like this. The trio waited for their goats to come along and so did Einar, half dozing for a while as his weariness caught up to him with the cessation of movement, but quickly growing too chilled to feel very sleepy, further put on edge by the sounds of the hikers--they were, he had determined from scattered snatches of conversation, amateur wildlife photographers who had got wind of a seldom-seen mountain goat herd up in that area and were anxious to find and photograph it, or at least that was how they were representing themselves--digging into their packs and coming out with material for yet another snack. Cheese, this time, and chocolate bars. Do these people never stop eating? The sun was warm out there, he could feel the surrounding rocks radiating its heat, though little of it was reaching him, and, starting to shiver, he wished to be out in it, sunning himself on one of those rocks like some great high-altitude reptile. It was cold there beneath the dense, shadowing cover of the evergreen mat but as time went on he found himself sweating nonetheless with the cold, clammy feeling of action deferred, oppressed, as he lay there, with a sense of being trapped, legs, arms, back prickling painfully as his mind and body screamed at him to move, act, take off running or leap upon the unlucky trio--who were, he could have easily been convinced, just holding him there, pinning him down and preventing his escape while the capture team moved into place, while they got air assets up and operational, breathe, Einar, youll never hear them over the pounding of your own heart, the way this is going--free himself, flee. Didnt do it, knew better than to allow those urges to take over, powerful as they might be, kept still and prayed that he was well enough concealed. Which it seemed he must have been, as the intruders carried on with their conversation quite heedless of the hidden menace lying there very nearly beneath their noses, knife in hand and body tensed for action. Trouble was for Einar that the tension soon led to shivering there in the chill of the shadows, and the shivering, though he struggled to control it, to an occasional jerking and swaying of this foliage-cover, and he could see where it all was going, what would be the inevitable consequence if he wasnt able to still himself, and knowing, forced himself to relax, focus on their conversation. Which was, at the moment, all about goats, for they had spotted a small group of them it seemed, were on their feet for a better look and then were crouching low right there beside his little cluster of evergreen growth, concealing themselves as they watched. The three goats, Einar gathered--he couldnt see a thing, aside from the tangle of boughs over his head, the lichen-speckled rock that was digging into his cheek, and part of a boot where one of the hikers crouched not three feet from his nose--were making their way

along the narrow ridge-spine which the group had earlier traversed, and he could picture them picking their way deftly across the loose, tipsy rock of that spine with an ease to which not even the most mountain-savvy human could ever hope to aspire, two females and a young one, it sounded like, and from their descriptions the kid was out front, exploring, a little wisp of recently-shed wool entangled in its short black horns and adding to the light-hearted hilarity of the little creatures movements. The hikers were whispering excitedly amongst themselves, taking photos, and Einar, needing something to occupy his mind, ease the strain of waiting and keep himself from wanting to jump up and give himself away, allowed himself to entertain once more his previous notion of capturing a young goat or two, raising them and starting a small herd for meat, wool, and eventually, if it worked out, possibly even for milk. Probably still an impractical idea, this proposed goat herd, certainly not doable at the moment, but he wondered about it, for the future. Would involve a lot of work, particularly at the start when it came to capturing the creatures and convincing them that there was some reason to stick around, and he didnt know if it would even be possible. Nor whether it would be a wise idea to attempt such, seeing as the two of them were and would for the foreseeable future be living an existence which was essentially nomadic in nature, having to be ready to pick up and move at a moments notice, despite the semblance of rootedness and stability allowed them in recent weeks by the cabin. It was an illusion, and a dangerous one, at that. They were still fugitives, always would be, and the moment they allowed themselves to forget that would be the moment they sealed their eventual destruction. Complacency was the enemy. The one which, in the long term, would probably end up doing them in. Not that complacency is even remotely possible while actively freezing ones self half to death, pressed down against a mass of cold, damp rock in the dim, breezy shadows under a mat of alpine fir while being all but sat upon by three goat-observing hikers who might well be there with the sole intent of entrapping you, drawing you out and calling in the choppersbut it is still, he told himself, a good thing to keep in mind. For later. When operating under less pressing circumstances. If I ever get there again, which isnt necessarily looking real likely, right now. Thirsty. His mouth was awfully dry, had been so since that morning when hed satisfied himself with a single hasty gulp from the creek as he hurried to keep the hikers in sight, and now, several hours and well over two thousand feet of elevation gain later he was again reminded of the growing urgency of the need, could hear his eyeballs clicking in their sockets when he moved them, kidneys aching dully at the small of his back and throat like sandpaper, tongue starting to stick to the roof of his mouth with dryness. The rocks beneath and around him were damp with the shaded remnants of the most recent rain, his own clothing damp with contacting them, and moving very carefully he eased a hand out from beneath his chest--numb, useless thing, couldnt even get it to close; had gone to sleep--worked some blood back into it and tentatively reached out for the nearest cluster of moss, hoping to be able to wring a drop or two of water from its sponge like springiness. Nothing. A damp, earthy flavor strong in his mouth when he tested it, but no actual water, not enough to be particularly helpful, anyway, and now he felt like he was going to cough, closed his mouth and breathed slowly to avert it, clenched his

stomach muscles and strained against the urge, but it was coming, was going to mean the end--for the hikers, if not immediately for himself--and glancing around desperately for other options he quickly snagged a few fir needles and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing, praying that their tangy acidity might be enough to avert the cough, allow him to remain concealed. Not that it was to matter, not for much longer.

His impending coughing fit temporarily deferred by the frantic chewing of small mouthful of fir needles, Einar tried to press himself down flatter against the rock and watched the hikers, deciding which of them he would need to take first, if his presence was revealed. The shorter of the two men, that was who. He seemed the definite leader of the bunch, the stronger, despite his obvious lack of familiarity with the mountain environment, and, almost as if in response to Einars thoughts the man rose--dont look at him, turn your mind another way; hell hear you thinking, may already have, but doesnt realize it--took a few steps nearer his hiding place and sat down with his back to Einar, not two feet from him. The others joined him, crinkling food packets and bags noisily as they walked and pulling out water bottles and thermoses for what appeared to be a final repast before taking off. Please hurry, go on, get moving, or youll miss your goats Something was wrong, though, the man sitting nearest Einar making a fuss about something, waving his hand in front of his face and snorting in disgust as he directed his attention to the man sitting next to him. Whew, Ben, is that you? You forget to bring a change of clothes, or what? Youd think wed been out for two weeks rather than two days Hey now, you watch it there, Julie wouldnt let me get away with that, would you honey, so it must be...sheesh, what is that? Thats really awful. Must be you. And if not, must be a deadyeah, a dead marmot or something. Definitely something dead. Do marmots live up this high? Maybe not. Maybe its a pika. Whole herd of dead pikas. Herd of pikas? Rightnice try, buddy, nice way to get the heat off yourself Einar, realizing that they must have detected his presence--well I can smell you too, you city slickers, you smell like a doggone detergent factory, the lot of you, and then theres the womanthat perfume or whatever other chemical stink shes reeking of is about to make me sneeze, as well as cough--tightened his grip on the knife, fully expecting them to come looking for the herd of dead pikas, but they never did, just went on with their snack after trading a few more jokes about their unwashed condition, dead pikas and how good it was going to feel to have hot showers and a fresh change of clothes when they got back to civilization. Just when Einar was becoming convinced he could suppress a cough no longer, the fir needles having helped slightly but not enough, something caught the attention of the trio that had been in effect holding him hostage there beneath that lowgrowing mat of evergreen, ending the conversation and sending them scrambling to their feet to grab at cameras and packs and go trotting off down the slope, hissing excitedly at one another as they clattered off across the rocks. The cough came, then, Einar muffling

it as well as he could against his sleeve and managing to stop after a dry hack or two, gagging with the effort, raising his head slightly and glancing about for any sign that hed been heard, discovered, but there was none; the hikers were nowhere to be seen. Raising himself by cautious fractions of an inch he scanned the talus slope in the direction where he thought hed heard the group retreat but still he saw nothing, waited, perfectly still, back of his neck prickling with the possibility that the entire thing was a ruse meant to force him to give himself away, strained his ears for any sign of nearby breathing, for the faintest scrape of rubber on rock that might give away the presence of a watcher, a holdout, but heard nothing. Failed, also, to hear even the faintest beginnings of a distant rumble, pressed palms to the rocks, feeling, reaching, the arrival of a chopper or two seeming quite inevitable, the entire thing having been a setup from the start, the mock hikers simply retreating in advance of the arrival of the air support. He wondered, the thought strange, disconnected, floating almost irrelevantly in the background as he gave most of his attention to listening, what it would be this time, whether theyd try a rocket again, splatter him all over the rocks and call it done, or if theyd be intent once more on capture, insert a team with that mission in mind. He expected the second, doubted theyd risk using heavy ordnance again, not after the stink Bud Kilgore had raised in Congress after the first such incident, and he squirmed the atlatl out from beneath his body where it had ended up pinned when he dove for cover from the hikers, fitted a dart into place, ready, knife in his other hand, fully intending to take whatever action he could to defend himself, to get away, hoping very much that if they chose to shoot at him--would be forced to, he supposed, with the actions he intended on taking-they would use the real thing and not more of those hateful, horrid darts. Well. He had the knife; even if he was rendered unable to use the atlatl effectively, they would not be taking him that day. Not if he had anything to do with it. For the moment though, seeing as they hadnt come yet, he must go on waiting, would just be asking for trouble if he moved so soon, lay his head back down on the rock that had served as his pillow for the past hour, listening, preparing himself for the wait. Time passed, Einar alone in the silence of that high place, hoping he was alone, anyway, but not at all convinced of it. Cold, he was growing awfully cold lying there in the damp, legs cramping after the climb and the rocks digging into his ribs, hips, hurting, feeling as though they must be breaking the skin in places through his thin clothing, but still he didnt dare move, not even enough to work the pack in under him for a bit of cushioning, knew they might still be out there, waiting, just waiting for confirmation of his position before they moved insurely they would have already made their move if they were certain of his location, and they hadnt, so hed wait, would wait them out, wait until he heard some sign of their giving up and leaving, and then hed make his escape If he lasted that long. Was close to growing dangerously hypothermic, could feel it, recognized that old familiar whisper, soft, compelling, that told him to let go, just rest and let go, its all going to be fine, but youve got to let go, and he fought it, refuted it with every argument his weary, chilled brain could muster but he knew that ultimately the only remedy was action, movement, freeing himself from the hide so he could get at his pack, eat--had to eat, even though his lack of water made it unwise; doubted his ability to stay awake too much longer if he didnt take in a bit of energy of some sort--cover some ground to get the blood flowing again, only

he couldnt do that, because they were probably still waiting for him out there. Hadnt been any sign of them, though, not for a very long time--hours had passed, the sun gone down--and as he lay shivering in the shadows his mind went round and round with the different possibilities, finally coming to the conclusion that he must move, simply couldnt stay the night where he was, not if he wanted to see morning; if they were out there, hed simply have to meet them as well as he was able. It was dark by the time Einar finally squirmed out of his hiding place, cold-stiff and barely mobile, dragging himself with his elbows and staring, once free, into the darkness for a good five minutes before he could bring himself to go any further. Which, even after deciding there was no visible threat and committing to the action, was a good bit easier said than done, Einar finally managing to get himself rolled to his side, his knees bent, stiff, cramping arms wrapped around them; progress, of sorts, and after a time he sat up. Hadnt been able to access the deer hide before, while trapped there, but got it now, wrapped up in it, finally struggled into his still-damp sweater, too, badly needing another layer as the night cooled and the wind whistled sharp and thin up over the open expanse of his ridge. Needed to eat, too, knew it would help his body produce energy and warmth that hed be needing that night but hesitated to do so, as he had no water to go with the meal, had had none at all since that morning, but finally he compromised by biting off a small chunk of bear fat and keeping it in his mouth to melt, hoping he might, once the moon was up in a few hours, be able to find a crusty little bank of snow remaining in a sheltered spot somewhere, intending to eat more if and when he found such a water source. Easier would be to head down to the creek and get a real drink--would be a long descent, difficult in the darkness, but he knew he was capable of doing it--but he had no intention of returning to the valley, venturing anywhere near the trail hed made on his way up. Not much was clear to Einar as he huddled there in the darkness trembling and trying to rub some feeling back into his bloodless legs so he could rise, move, but one thing he did know for certain--he must not, when the time came, go back to Liz and the basin by the same route he had taken the day before, or even, he was beginning to think, by one even remotely resembling it. Wanted to make a wide loop, travel slowly over the course of several days to ensure that he wasnt being followed, travel, hopefully, over terrain where he would be able to leave very little sign for anyone who might be trailing him. Which meant staying up high, in the rocks--though hed have to be careful to keep near timbered areas if not always in them, should aircraft make an appearance--following the contours of the ridge and finally, hopefully, connecting with the high red escarpment that rose above their basin. Would take a while, would not be an easy journey in his condition by any stretch of the imagination, but it would, eventually, lead him home. Starting out cautiously along the night-dimmed ridge, every sense alert for possible trouble, Einar made good time at first as he got limbered up from his long wait on the rocks, the warmth of movement feeling good, keeping him going forward, but his head hurt, mouth was still terribly dry, and he knew that the thirst might very well be his biggest challenge that night, provided the enemy didnt end up putting in an

appearance There was no water up on that high ridge, none that he knew about, at least, none he could anticipate, and after a time, his thoughts almost wholly consumed with the finding of water, even to the point that he was beginning to care less and less about the anticipated arrival of the choppers--let them come, doggone it, lets just get this over with--he knew that he must take some action lest he lose his focus entirely. Stopping his travel he began casting about for any leftover remnant of icy, wind-driven snow that might have managed to outlast the summer sun concealed in the lee of a boulder, under a granite slab Found it, faintly luminescent in the darkness, fell to his knees almost in tears beside the little crust of dirt-dimmed ice, scraping at it until his fingers were raw and finally freeing a chunk. Stuffing the sliver of ice into his mouth he chewed, desperate, nearly choking on the stuff, which seemed composed nearly as much of embedded dust and rock particles as it was of frozen water, but he got it down, was about to start on another chunk but took it instead in his hands, melting the stuff and allowing the drops of liquid to run into his mouth. Better. At least now he could breathe again without coughing, choking, and it was a tremendous relief. Wasnt enough to really begin making up for the days shortage of water, but was a start. Time to go again, see how much ground he could cover. Too cold to keep still for long, anyway, which he thought somewhat humorous--laughed silently at the thought, silently, and a bit too long--seeing that it was the middle of August. August. Ha. May just end up freezing to death in August, Einar, if you dont keep moving tonight Which really wasnt all that funny when he thought about it--hypothermia could happen anytime of the year in those mountains, and he knew it, didnt usually happen, at least not to a dangerous degree, on clear, calm nights to people in reasonably dry clothing, but most of those people, he figured, had a little more body fat than he did at the moment, had probably slept for at least a couple of hours out of the past thirty six, so go figure--but a person has to laugh now and then, has to try, and he was mighty short on material, just then. More walking, then, Einar making the occasional token search for more ice to eat but finding nothing, was too dark to see much anyway, and his eyes were doing funny things, head spinning so that finally he had to abandon the search for water and focus all of his attention on remaining upright, making sure he wasnt walking over any cliffs, or in circleswhich it seemed he had been, a time or two. Circles, not cliffs. Cliffs, he would have been sure about. Later that night, huddled down in the rocks, sitting on his pack with the deer hide wrapped around him against a sharp and growing wind--hed wanted to keep moving, but had finally grown so weary and disoriented that hed known he must sit for a minute, catch his breath and attempt to get his bearings again--Einar slipped quickly into a world somewhere between dream and hallucination, thin, newly-risen quarter of a moon turning the stark rocky landscape to snow before his eyes, the smooth white snow of early winter, leaving him to watch in dazed wonder as the moon climbed higher, sparkling off the coldcrisp surface of the snow like a billion tiny diamonds, and then out from behind the nearest little cluster of trees stepped Liz, barefoot--Liz, wow, didnt expect to see you here, and especially not like this, getting pretty adventurous, it looks like--exulting in the sharp breeze that whispered over the snow, stirring up bright little sparkling eddies of powder before her as she walked softly across the crust, nearing him, shedding her coat

and appearing immensely, unbelievably lovely there in the snow. He greeted her with a big smile, rose--Lizzie, come with me, its a beautiful night, let me show you--was about to go to her but something was wrong, terribly wrong, for he suddenly realized that she looked upset, scared, was gesturing frantically but furtively at him to go back, hide himself, shouting when he did not immediately respond, and then he saw them, the men hidden in the trees as they hurried out and grabbed her, armed men, knew they must have been there all along, had been using her as bait, forcing her to come out there and lure him in, put him at east so they could take him and shed tried to tell him, warn him, but it had been too late and then he was on his feet and running towards them, had already loosed a dart at the nearest man, the one who had hold of her, was fitting another, aiming it when he felt the searing pain in his own shoulder, looked down to see the hateful, horrid orange of the tranquilizer dart with which some unseen assailant had just hit him, and he jerked it loose, tossed it away, too late, it was all too late and the last thing he saw was Lizs face, scared and white in the stark, unforgiving moonlight, eyes big and pleading as they led her away, struggling, unwilling, before he pitched forward in the rocks, limp, striking his head hard as everything went black Einar fought it, the blackness, the terrible dart-paralysis that he could feel creeping into his mind as well as his body, and he willed himself to move, saw Lizs face again before him and knew that shed be lost if he did not move, and soon, find some way to get himself up again, close failing hands around his weapons, and stop them. Couldnt, though, lay there waiting, immobile, unseeing, for his captors to get their hands on him, take him away. Reached out with his mind for the location of the knife, seeing it as his last option, couldnt even seem to move his hand, get his fingers around the thing, couldnt even find it, tried to raise his head so he could bash it on the rocks, if nothing else, but found himself unable to manage even that simple, final task. He woke some time later face down in the cold rocks--cold, but not snowy, and he knew immediately that something was not as it had seemed--forehead bleeding, talus slopes white and wild around him with reflected moonlight, neither Liz nor his would-be captors anywhere in sight, and he sat up shakily, hand pressed to his head to slow the continuing ooze of blood. Not real, apparently, not any of it, and he was dreadfully grateful, relieved, but it was then that the thought first occurred to him--just a little hint of an idea in the back of his mind, but it was over the next day or so to grow in strength until it was very nearly unshakable--that they might have got to her in his absence, found the camp and got to her, captured her and forced her into serving as bait in an attempt to bring him in Einar rose, stretched, swung chilled arms and allowed himself another tiny nibble of bear fat-back was aching, kidneys protesting at the continuing lack of adequate hydration, head throbbing, but he had to eat, even if just a little--glanced around to get some idea of which direction he was to be heading in, and started out. Hoped, if he could keep moving, to find himself by morning somewhere near the red rocks that would tell him he was nearing the cabin-basin, and Liz. Hoped, too, that hed have some idea by then of what he intended to do when he got there. Liz had been very busy in Einars absence, had finished turning a good two thirds of the bear meat into jerky, working late into each night rendering fat and adding to the amount in the hollowed out barrel-log, until it grew nearly full and, she discovered in attempting

to move it a few feet, very heavy. Shed moved it anyway, waiting until daylight the third morning when it was light enough to see her way but still cool so that the rendered fat would be at its most solid, hitching herself up to a pair of thick nettle cordage straps shed fashioned while watching jerky dry during one of the long, fireless days, and pulling. The smooth-bottomed log section slid fairly easily over the spruce needle-covered ground near the camp, too easily on the steeper downhill slope that lay between camp and the spring, and her greatest fear--though at first shed been somewhat concerned about the weight being too much, causing her to strain too much and perhaps causing some problem for the baby, bringing on early labor, though she had so far had no signs to indicate that she was prone to this trouble--became that of losing control of the thing on a slope and having it roll away out of control, dumping its precious load of rendered fat for her to painstakingly search out and scrape clean of the surrounding forest floor for retrieval. With this in mind she moved slowly, deliberately, covering the distance between camp and the cabin step by step and several times pausing to release herself from the traces and scout ahead for the best route, the most level, the one which presented the least danger of spilling her load, finding and taking it and finally arriving at the cabin, worn out with the weight of it and the focus it had taken to complete the project, but jubilant, joyful to the point of doing a little dance there in the cabin-clearing before working to unbolt the sturdy door with which they had replaced the one torn down by the bear. The bear whose rendered fat she now hauled the last few feet through the door, depositing on the backside of the cabin, furthest from the fire. This little expression of joy, the Dance of the Completed Bear Fat Hauling, was the first Liz had felt like allowing herself since Einars departure, the cloud of worry and waitingstrain having grown heavier over her with each day and night that he did not return, a thousand scenarios flitting through her mind as to what could be causing the delay, and she had managed to endure it largely by keeping herself outrageously busy, cramming what might have been a weeks worth of work for the two of them into those three seemingly endless days. The fruits of that labor, she realized, glancing around the cabins dim interior, were plain to be seen, basket after basket of finished jerky hanging from the rafters where shed suspended them, awaiting the pitch-coating and sealing that would further protect their contents from moisture, insects and small rodents, but nonetheless finished, set aside for winter provisions, the amount of meat left to process having dwindled dramatically, and studying the bounty she dreaded the time when she might be finished with processing the bear, the time when, finished with the pressing work that had kept her occupied for the past days, she would have to face a very real possibility regarding Einars delayed return: he wasnt coming back. There. She had said it. Hadnt even wanted to contemplate the possibility, had been directing her mind anywhere and everywhere but there, but she knew there was at least some chance of it, a chance that seemed to grow with each passing hour. Hed said a day or two--dont expect him back for a day or two, and she hadnt, had still worried, sitting wide awake for hours that first night hoping he was warm, eating, avoiding detection by whoever was down there, but after the second night, shed really begun getting concerned. Doubted the hikers had done him any harm, not if they were causal wilderness users and not part of an organized search, and if they had been, Id have heard

the choppers by now, either that, or he would have found some way to come back and warn me, get us out of here which still left a lot of possibilities, the most likely of which seemed to her that he had somehow injured himself out there, become incapacitated and rendered unable to return, and the thought of it was nearly unbearable, the pictures it conjured up in her mind, especially during the long nights, but he had said to wait, to work on the meat, and she went on doing it, knowing that it would do neither of them any good if she went looking for him, only to have him return to an abandoned camp.

Morning came, daylight creeping bright and summer-early up around the jagged ring of peaks that rose sharp and nearly devoid of snow in nearly every direction, bathing Einars ridge in a stark and highly clarified light, making plain once more the dim and tenuous landscape, treacherous, foot-trapping talus, unstable slabs that tipped and moved under ones weight, turning the barely moon-lit ridge-ribs and spines into veritable minefields for the weary traveler--that had caused him so much confusion and difficulty in the night. He was glad to see the day, had long ago passed the point of being aggravated at his frequent trips and slips and spills in the rocks, had sometime during those long dark hours come to a grim but satisfactory understanding with the terrain--you keep spilling me, Ill go on picking myself up, and Lord willing Ill do my part one more time than you do yours, and hed stuck to his end of the bargain--but he was brutally tired after an entire night of that, feared losing one or more of his weapons and not being able to find them-had dropped the spear once already, lost it in a boulder field and spent what had felt like an inordinate amount of time creeping around among the bone-chilling slabs of rock, feeling into the shadowy recesses between them and, growing cold, sluggish, knowing he needed to move, nearly despairing before finding the weapon once more--and was more than ready for the reprieve that would be provided by daylight, the return of visibility, a break for his battered and rock-bruised shins and ankles. Was surprised, actually, that he hadnt broken one or the other, the way the night had gone. With the day, though, glad as he was to see it, came an increased fear of discovery, not entirely logical, perhaps, especially after going an entire night without so much as a small prop plane passing dangerously close, let alone the dreaded helicopter whose seemingly inevitable rumbling had been always stalking him just beyond the edge of hearing throughout the dark hours, threatening at any second to materialize and become realitybut it was real to him nonetheless, the menace that grew with daylight, leaving him to skirt with the furtive wariness of a hunted creature along the edges of the timber, keeping very close to it if not always under its cover, thus abandoning the easier travel afforded by the more open ridge-slopes and slowing his pace as he dipped in and out of the series of steeply-eroded gullies and couloirs that had their beginnings just below that ridge. Through the morning Einar kept moving, took the steps necessary to keep himself hidden as well as possible from both air and ground, leave minimal sign as he worked his way back towards the home basin, the process itself and the extreme focus required to maintain it in his wearied state being the only things, many times, that kept him tethered to anything remotely resembling reality. When the demands of terrain and travel allowed

for it he would return in his mind to the problem of how to approach things when he did finally reach the basin, how he was to work his way down into camp without being detected, hopefully find and free Liz before they could close in and take him, a probable impossibility, if theyd really been using the past two or three days to stage the operation, but he had to try, had to find some way to get Liz out of their hands, if nothing else-couldnt run, leave her to their mercy, had to try something, everything, even if there was clearly little to no chance of success; it was better than the alternative--assuming she was even there, still, that they had not taken her off the premises, which he really expected they wouldnt have done, thought it most likely that they would have captured her, released her again for use as bait under threat of harm to herself and the child if she did not comply, bring the deception off just as they had instructed her, bring him in, and he didnt blame her at all, forgave her for the entire thing and formulated, as he traveled-weak, thirst-plagued and close to collapse, but beyond knowing it--a plan for her rescue, redemption. There it was, finally, that glimpse of open, expansive green barely visible through the thickly arrayed black teeth of the timber, framed by the red sandstone jaggedness of the high ridge, the end of the ridge, their end, a glimpse of home, and it might have been the most welcome sight of his life had it not bristled so with unseen threat. Crumpled up at the base of a little wind-bowed fir that stood alone at the end of a long spit of stunted timber through which he had been working his way for concealment, avoiding the open expanse of the ridge, Einar studied the scooped-out bowl of the basin below him, what he could see of it, running over in his mind once more what he knew of the various routes by which he could choose to descend to the area of the cabin, weighing them, checking his atlatl darts--yep, all still there--and preparing to begin the descent. Hed been moving for hours; it had taken him the better part of the day to cover the eight long miles of ridge that had stood between him and the basin at daybreak, might well have taken longer, the way hed insisted on keeping so well concealed, had he not been moving at his top speed, traveling as quickly as hed considered reasonable for the amount of stealth required. He had, thus focused, forbidden himself even the briefest of breaks during the course of the day except to study his route, had not allowed himself to sit down during those, knowing, if not actively admitting to himself, that he might very well end up unable to regain his feet once permitted such a respite, and now, body having finally made the decision for him when hed stopped this final time to study the basin, legs giving out, the twisted little fir that now concealed him might well have represented his final resting place, a fine spot from which to watch the day end and leave his bones to bleach as a mystery for some future mountain goat to ponder over, had he not been so set on reaching and rescuing Liz. Had to get moving. Wanted to work in close and have some time to observe the area before darkness, as his enemy would almost certainly have the advantage after dark, equipped as they would surely be with infrared sensors and night vision scopes. He rose, swaying, heavy, fell back to his knees and jammed his spear between two lichencrazed granite slabs, their splotches of orange and florescent pika-urine green dancing before him until he closed his eyes, leaning on the sharpened, bone-tipped spruce bough for balance and raising his face to the sky. I go now to free her, broken, an unworthy weapon; take me up, make me Your own and strengthen my hand in battle. And after

another minute he rose, steady for the first time that day, mind clear, eyes fixed and terrible as he went to meet the foe, to find, and to meet.

The timbered draw that Einar chose for descent kept close to the basin wall, dropping broken and rocky down from the ridge and providing him, he hoped, a route by which he might arrive undetected at the area of the cabin and camp, get a look around and locate Liz, perhaps have a look at enemy assets and see where his best opportunity might lie for freeing her, getting the two of them out of the area. Too long. Theyd had too long to get ready for him, to set everything up, and as he traveled, picking his way carefully down the steep and often loose rock of the draw, Einar tried to push the thought aside, the feeling of futility that was trying to come over him, of despair, almost, at the odds he likely faced down there, not useful, stay focused, keep that map in your head, picture of the basin and all you know of it, eyes sharp for any sign of them, but that was part of the problem, had been too long, also, since hed slept, the world wanting to take on at times that shifting, indefinite look with which he was so familiar from past experience, and he fought it, scrubbed a sleeve across his face and took a few deep breaths, knowing that if he kept going in that direction, hed be done for. Soon. Would make a false step, fall, release a tumble of loose rock that would alert everyone to his approach, and itd all be over, and the thought of if was enough to drive back the strangeness, cut through it at least temporarily and leave the world sharp-edged and crackling before him, every detail jumping out with a startling clarity that left him tense and jumpy, but once more in some sort of control, and he was glad. Evening had come, dusk not far away by the time he neared the end of his descent, and it was starting to get cold again. Mildly chilly, more like, but still terribly short on water and food--there were no water sources there in the basin above the spring, and he hadnt yet reached the spring--he lacked the resources with which to put up much resistance to it, and, moving with the slow deliberation that was required if he wanted any chance of arriving undetected at the camp, he felt the change rather keenly, working as he went to keep himself limber and ready, stop the almost continuous tremor which had crept into his hands and arms with the disappearance of the sun from the surrounding slopes. Succeeded, to some extent, and then there he was in the trees just above the camp and still no sign of the enemy--they had hidden themselves well--recognized the place and stopped, pressed up against the shielding form of a heavily-boughed spruce, holding his breath, listening. There. There she was, Liz, walking around free and apparently unharmed in the clearing between the camp and spring, and it shouldnt have surprised him, but it did, just a bit; she appeared alone, and he wanted to say something, get her attention and hurry her away from there, but knew he had to be smart about it, couldnt call to her, as they would surely hear. Almost certainly had her under surveillance, anyway, and would follow her when she came to him, discover his presence if they hadnt done so already, but if he could arrange it just right, perhaps it wouldnt matter. Too much. Perhaps they could at least get a head start. Watching her--seemed she was busy moving the days haul of

mostly-dry jerky, bringing the racks in out of the recently sunlit clearing and arranging them around the fire for the night--he worked his way down around the camp, down to its lower edge where a few steps further into the trees would carry one into a landscape of heavily timbered steep rock, broken, cliffy, their best chance, it seemed, at escape. Ok. In position, no sign yet that hed been seen, though he certainly couldnt take that for granted, crouched with an atlatl dart poised and ready, watching her, needed some way to signal her, and he broke a stick, slowly, deliberately under his foot, watching for her reaction and breaking another when she looked up. She spotted him then, came to him at a run, face split with a smile but eyesher eyes gave it away, the worry he saw there, the tension, and he knew. Aside from her eyes, though, she wasnt letting on, was speaking at full volume as she greeted him, and he lowered the atlatl, let his head droop just a bit as he waited for her there. Alright, I get the message. Youre not going to risk it. Theyve told you theres no way to escape, and maybe there really isnt, promised you theyll hurt the baby if you give any hint of their presence, take the baby, and youve made your decision. Done, then, and I might as well come of out of the timber, mightnt I? Drop the pretense. At which he left the concealment of the firs, walked out to meet her in the camp-clearing, neck prickling in anticipation of the bullet he expected to come. Hoped it would be a bullet, anyway, and not a dart There was, indeed, some worry showing in Lizs eyes as she met him, though not for the reason he thought. Though terribly glad to see Einar back alive and more or less safe the sight of him scared her, his eyes sunken, staring, unable to quite meet her own, with that terrible haunted look shed seen a time or two before, and it had always meant trouble. She went to him, took him by the shoulders and tried to embrace him but he did not respond, stood there stiffly, listening, but she was insistent, pulled him to her and he took the gesture as her making an attempt to communicate something to him without being overheard, leaned in and whispered to her. Diddid they take you? Get to you? Hurt you? The baby? Is the baby ok? I know theyre out there watching right nowyoure just doing what you have to do, here, and its Okwant you to know that its Ok NoEinartheres nobody out there. They didnt get to me, nobody got to me, Id tell you if they had, please believe me, Id tell you She could see that he wasnt convinced, though, kept glancing at her belly, apparently doubting that the baby was alright and she took his hands, cold, trembling slightly despite himself--dear, dear Einar, I wish I could have been with you out there--and pressed them to her stomach, waiting for the baby to move, watching him to make sure hed felt it, which he had, looked somewhat relieved, but seemed still far from being himself, and she led him over to the firepit, talked him with some difficulty into sitting down. Tea. Surely some tea would help, for starters, and she quickly got a fire going, added nettles and raspberry leaves to a pot of soon-to-be-simmering water, but he wouldnt drink the stuff, still firmly convinced that that they were forcing her to help bring him in, compelling her compliance by threatening to destroy the child if she didnt--he wouldnt blame her for making that choice, his life for the childs, wouldnt have it another way actually, if that

was indeed the situation--but still wanted the chance to go out fighting, if this truly was to be the end, and feared that the tea might be intended to put him to sleep so they could take him alive and without a struggle. For a long time he went on refusing the tea, sat there wide-eyed and shivering by the fire, not too close, not nearly close enough as far as Liz was concerned, as badly chilled as he appeared, but he wouldnt come any closer, fearing that once thoroughly warmed hed find it impossible not to fall asleep. Which was almost certainly the case. She kept asking what was wrong, pleading for him to say something, anything, let her help, but he couldnt tell her, just shook his head, knew they were probably listening and didnt want them to know that he was onto them, knew what they intended to do, so he gave her the only answer he could think of when she asked once again why he wouldnt take any of the tea. Im not thirsty. But his voice was a rasp, a whisper, dry and rattling like scrub oak leaves in a fall breeze, and it belied his words, gave him away. Yes, you are. Of course you are. Here. Have some. Just a sip and itll get easier. Ill help you, come on now, dont turn away Which he did, her very insistence confirming to him his suspicions about the tea, about the thing she was being forced to do, and he looked at her with an immense sadness in his eyes, wished he could let her know that he forgave her, that it was Ok, all of it, that he understood her choice--not that she had much choice; the child had to come first--and would have taken the tea and gone along with it all the way, had he not been so set on seeing it end his way, if it was to end that evening. He did mean to insist on just that one, final thing, insist that he go out fighting rather than allow himself to be taken alive and helpless, Ill make sure you dont end up in the middle of it, Lizzie, Ill try real hard to make sure that doesnt happen; youve done what they wanted, brought me in, so it shouldnt go too hard for you, wanted to be able to tell her good-bye, for this was surely the last time theyd be seeing each other, but couldnt even do that, for fear of prematurely alerting the enemy to his knowledge of their designs. So he just sat there, silent, staring into the fire. She offered to take him down to the spring, then, to get him a drink which she hoped he might find more acceptable than the tea, since it was clear hed decided something was wrong with it, but this also he refused, could have tampered with the entire thing for all I know, and Im just not interested in going out this way, no thanksand no need. Dont need the water. Theyll be here soon enough; theyll want to move in before its entirely dark, and Liz was, at least for the moment, at a loss as to how to remedy the situation. Nothing happened. No team bursting out of the timber to take him, no dart flying silent and worse than deadly to stick in his shoulder and incapacitate him for easy capture, no approaching helicopter-rumble shaking the ground with its irrefutable tremor, nothing, nothing at all, and as evening faded into night and a soft quiet settled over the high country, Einar grew more and more puzzled at the delay, not understanding, not able to figure out what their purpose could be in waiting. Began, after a time--wasnt sure just how much time, as such things had rather ceased to hold meaning for him, thirsty and sleep-deprived as he was--to wonder whether he might have misunderstood the entire

thing, might have at least misinterpreted the sophistication of the enemys plan, and the possibility left him staring into the shadows with an intensity that might well have pierced the darkness to reveal any hidden threat, had there been one, seeking, listening, deciding the immediate area safe. Now if only he could convince Liz that it was alright to leave now, get her to come with him, slip away before they really did close in Liz had been sitting there with him the entire time, holding him--a gesture which he had taken at first as a signal to his would-be captors that everything was set, that they could safely move in, but hed been too weary and heartsick at the knowledge of what she was being forced to do to resist it or try to move away from her--and periodically offering him tea, soup, trying to help him closer to the fire, all to no avail. As the night cooled she tried hard to keep him warm with the deer hide and her own body but his clothes werent entirely dry and for some reason he wouldnt let her help him out of them, leaving her efforts less than successful; he just kept getting colder there in the shadows just beyond the fires circle of warmth. Frustrated, feeling that she was watching him slip further and further away into a place from which perhaps she wouldnt know how to follow and retrieve him, and starting to get pretty sleepy, herself, she was about to try and get the two of them into bed in the hopes that things might improve for Einar if only he could get a little sleep, when he squirmed free of her grasp and turned to face her, looked her in the eye for the first time since returning and spoke low, almost whispering. We can do it if we go now. Dont think theyre watching, not now, we have a chance here but youre gonna have to trust me and move pretty quick, no hesitation, no second thoughts, dont try to grab anything other than your weapons and the deer hide, and follow me right down there into the timber. Where it gets all steep and cliffy. You with me? Oh yes, Im with you alright, no question about that, but whats this now? What are you talking about? Einar--why? What did you see while you were out there? Whos not watching us right now? He shook his head, studied her face, wishing he was better at picking up on some of the subtle clues from which others seemed able to gather so much information about peoples intent and meaning--which he wasnt, not at the best of times, not at all--and finally turning away, trying to collect his thoughts. She didnt know. Either didnt know anything about it, or was doing an awfully good job of lying to him, and that wouldnt be like her, really wouldnt, not even if she was trying to protect the child; shed find some way to let him know. Which meant He bowed his head, suddenly enormously, crushingly weary, aware of being terribly cold and starting to feel awfully confused, didnt like it at all, couldnt afford the uncertainty, not just then. Get ahold of yourself, Einar. Got to make some sense of this. They haventfedsthey havent been here? What? No! Why, were those hikers actually

Hikers? No, Hikers were just a decoy, justbait to lure me away from you so they couldand I thought theyd captured you, threatened thethe baby if you didnt Oh, Einar, no! Nothing like that, no. Ive just been drying bear meat and rendering fat and never saw any sign of another person the whole time you were away. Is that what you thought? That I was in collusion with them like that? He nodded, suddenly feeling as though he couldnt get enough breath, no longer sure about anything and terrified at the realization, world threatening to crumble and fall to pieces before his eyes but Liz had him, his own dear Lizzie holding him by the shoulders and telling him that everything was alright, really was, nothing wrong, no feds, no threats to the baby, and he didnt know if he should believe her, hardly dared, on the chance that she might not be right but he could tell she meant it, believed it herself, and somehow, for the moment, that was enough. She was offering water once again, holding the jar to his lips and he drank, choking on the first sip but getting the next down, wonderful, glorious stuff, felt like life itself as it began seeping into his parched tissues, and when Liz pressed the pot of tea into his hands the next minute, he accepted, grateful, drinking. Nettles and raspberry leaves; a good combination. Liz wanted him to eat, then, saw the look in his eyes when she offered a bit of soup, that doubt, again, a suspicion which she feared would grow if left unchecked, take on a life of its own and cause things to start heading in the wrong direction again, and, anxious to prevent such a slip, she glanced somewhat desperately around the camp, wondering if it was time to resort to the rabbit stick but hoping very much to encounter another idea Ha! Got it! And she jumped up, hurried over to the still-hanging bag of fermented bearstomach pudding and scooped out a generous portion, all but shoving a bite of it into Einars mouth before he had time to anticipate her action and turn away. Blinking and spluttering, shaking his head and shuddering at the sour, tangy intensity of the stuff Einar glared at Liz, rose and was about to put some quick distance between the two of them when he realized exactly what it was shed just fed him, collapsed back to the ground, close to laughter. Well. Asked for that one, didnt I? Whew! Pretty strong stuff. Guess it must be ready now At which Liz, delighted and relieved at the apparent success of her hastily-devised strategy, offered him more. After managing to slowly get down a good portion of that pot of tea and a few more bites of the pungent but nourishing fermented pudding, too, Einar was looking--and feeling--a good bit steadier, but he still had that haunted, hollow look about him, and no wonder, Liz realized, when she finally pried out of him that he hadnt really slept for more than minutes at a time, and few of them, at that, since leaving nearly four days prior. Still wouldnt say much about what had happened out there, only that the hikers were gone, had gone on their way without ever coming particularly close to the basin at all, werent a threat any longer, and when Liz suggested that it might be time for bed he did not offer any disagreement, rose, got into a dry set of clothes and helped her spread the deer and ewe hides over their little pallet of fir boughs. Making one final round of the camp to ensure that all of the still-drying jerky and meat were hung out of reach of the most commonly-expected nighttime scavengers--shed had

a little incident with a pair of coyotes in Einars absence, had the hide and meat to prove it, but had no intention of showing it to him that night; the last thing she figured he needed was yet another reason to go on avoiding sleep--Liz lowered the bear hide, thoroughly dried but not yet tanned and softened. Hauling the heavy fur over to the bed she struggled to fold it in half, fur-side in, wanting Einar to have a chance at a good full nights sleep without waking halfway through it cold and feeling a need to get up and move to warm himself again, and knowing that the deer hide wouldnt provide enough cover to allow him that. Einar saw what she was doing and wanted to question her use of the bear hide in its un-tanned state, wanted to point out that it was not an especially cold night, that theyd be just fine with the other two hides and that besides, he, at least, certainly didnt want to get to sleeping too soundly at all that night. Kept the entire thing to himself, though, not wanting to have to try and explain why he didnt want to fall too soundly asleep, as it involved lingering doubts about the possibility of her being involved in some effort to capture him, and theyd already discussed the matter, settled it, more or less, and when she led him over to the finished bed, he went willingly. By the time they crawled in between the hides and lay down for sleep Liz was feeling very nearly as exhausted as Einar looked, grateful beyond words that the day was finally over, had ended as well as could perhaps have been expected. That night, holding him, feeling the sharp corrugations of his ribs where they pressed against her encircling arms, she realized that he seemed to have lost whatever gains hed made over the days since their taking the bear, and then some, his own arms almost skeletal where they were crossed in a warmth-conserving huddle on his chest, sleep, you get some rest, and well start over in the morning, youre home now, youre going to be alright, but he was, as far as she could tell, wide awake, seemed likely to remain so, and she explored with gentle fingers the painfully exposed intricacies of his too-thin neck and shoulders, gentle but firm as she worked to relax some of the trembling, action-ready tension out of him, to get him warm, for he seemed unable to quite manage the task himself, and finally, slowly, it worked, and they slept. Neither Einar nor Liz stirred at all in the night, both of them sleeping warmer than they had in a good long while snuggled down between the layers of soft, insulating bear fur, and when Liz finally woke sometime just after dawn, Einar was still so soundly asleep that she at first feared him dead, had to dispel her concerns by checking his breathing. Thus reassured--he was only sleeping, was breathing just fine and seemed, for once, to be thoroughly warm and relaxed--she drew her head back in under the hide and allowed herself to drift back off to sleep, hoping for another good hour or two before Einar woke and meaning to take full advantage of the opportunity for some extra rest. Brought back to sudden wakefulness by Lizs stirring Einar lay quite still for a time, mind instantly going at full speed with the memories of the past few days, the uncertain state in which the evening had ended, and he felt a pressing and sudden need to be up and moving, scouting around the camp for any sign that they might have been surrounded in the night, that the enemy was about to make their movebut he forced himself to keep still, think about things for a minute--doesnt make sense; if they were out there, theyd have taken you in the night while you were dead to the world, wouldnt have waited until full daylight...theres nobody out there, not this time--listening to the morning-sounds around

the camp, wind in the spruces, a distant raven-call from somewhere over on the far side of the basin and, echoing with an increasing urgency in his ears, the soft trickle and splash of water from the spring some fifty yards down below the camp. He needed that water, could hardly swallow for the dryness in his mouth and knew that the terrible, cramping weakness which seemed to have seized his limbs that morning must be due in large part to a still-pressing need for fluids, and though he was tempted to lie still and slip back into the sleep that was so close to coming, he eased himself out of Lizs grasp, rolled off of the bed and crawled heavily over to the firepit. Head hurt, legs cramping up, and, seeing a half full jar of water balanced on the flat cooking rock there by the fireplace he grabbed it, immensely grateful for the immediate relief it brought him. Needed more, moved quietly about the camp gathering up water jars and last nights tea pot before heading down to the spring with the intention of refilling everything, hopefully preparing Liz some breakfast stew, too, if he had time before she woke. Though consisting of a mere few dozen yards of gently sloping downhill terrain, the walk to the spring seemed an awfully long one to Einar, the strain and exhaustion whose full effects he had so well pushed aside on his recent days-long trek finally having caught up with him in full, and by the time hed reached the spring he was thoroughly winded, legs stiff and cramping and feet, especially his still-healing right one, feeling as though theyd been through a meat grinder in the night. He sat down on the rocks beside the little dammed-up pool to rest and fill the water containers, staring for a moment in consternation at the crystal-clear spring-ripples as the shadow of a memory passed over him, a recollection of what it had been like that previous evening to believe the little spring contaminated, his only source of water gone at a time when his need had been so great, and he shuddered, dipped a hand into the icy wetness and scrubbed it across his face, half wanting to forget but almost afraid to do so until hed got things figured out, got some clear idea of why hed been so certain of a danger which had not, apparently, been exactly what hed understood it to be. Dipping his hand back into the water, both hands, cupping them, he raised a double handful of the water and forced himself, despite a sudden and frighteningly strong aversion to the stuff, to drink. Just the good cold sweet spring water that theyd been living off of since settling there at the cabin site, at least as far as he could tell, and he took another swallow, finished filling the water jars and pot and rose, studying the camp. Liz, it appeared, had got an awful lot done while he was away, had not only sliced up and dried the vast majority of the meat but had spirited it off somewhere out of sight, up into the trees, he hoped, where it would be out of reach of the numerous critters who were surely keen to have their share of the stuff; struggling up the slope to the camp he named the candidates one by one, the exercise seeming somehow necessary to his continued movement and perhaps, inexplicably, even to his existence, fox, bear, bobcat, marten, mink, wolverinenot many of them around, but--fingering the string of claws about his neck, hair prickling at the memory of the encounter during which hed acquired them, earned the right to wear them--not impossible that one might decide to show up, and a wolverine-critters mighty hard to dissuade when he gets his mind set on a thing--ha! Kinda like an Einar-critter, I guess--so we sure dont want one getting into our jerky, and then lets seethat leaves the lynx, cant forget him, yep, lynx, coyote Much to his

startlement, no sooner had Einar said coyote than he was staring at one face-to-face, not the walking-on-four-legs-wanting-to-steal-your-food-supply sort, but the dead and skinned out variety, hanging right there from a crosspiece jammed between two spruces not ten yards outside the camp, and he studied the thing for a moment, puzzled, finally concluding that Liz must have taken it in his absence, forgotten to tell him about it just yet. The critter had, he saw upon further examination, not been snared as he first assumed--was no damage to any of the legs or to the neck--nor could he find a wound where it had been shot with one of the arrows hed left Liz. The only clue as to the cause of the coyotes demise was what appeared to be a giant blood blister just above the left eye, the spot, he decided, where it must have run afoul of Lizs rabbit stick in one major, life-changing--ha! life changing, now thats funny-way. While he didnt necessarily like the idea that the creature, while in better health and not yet devoid of its fur--which he saw stretched on a nearby fir trunk, drying--had got close enough to Liz for the rabbit stick to be her weapon of choice, it was reassuring to see that she knew how to handle herself with the thing, how to take care of whatever situation might come up. He couldnt wait to hear the story. Which he wouldnt have to do, not for long, as a rustle and swish of nearby boughs told him Liz was up, was approaching, and he turned to meet her. Liz did not seem to be acting quite normally, had something concealed behind her back, and when he tried to get a look at it she quickly tossed it into the brush, smiling in relief at the recognition she saw in his eyes that morning. She truly hadnt known what to expect, had thought it wise to be ready for some quick work with the rabbit stick in case he had reverted back to his former strangeness in any way, and happened to perceive her as a threat. Einar saw the rabbit stick as she concealed it, but figured--seeing as the freshly-skinned coyote was hanging right there between them--that the meeting and dispatching of such beasts must be her reason for carrying the thing. Careful with that thing. Im no coyote! No, no youre not, as she somewhat sheepishly retrieved the weapon from its hasty hiding place in the serviceberry shrub. Hed seen; hard to get anything by him, even when not in his prime condition, which he clearly wasnt, seemed, in fact, to be struggling at the moment to remain on his feet and she knew he must still need food pretty badly, water, though water he seemed to have taken care of, as he was balancing two freshly filled water jars and a pot as he stood, and she was glad to see it. Einar had set down the jars, was inspecting the dead coyote, and she joined him. He tried to get at the meat, I guess? Yes. Last evening. Id been hearing some noises in the brush down below camp and was going to go check on them after I finished filling the rack for the final time, but then I heard this little yip kind of sound, and knew Id better not wait. They were down where Id hung one of the pieces of meat I had yet to slice up, a pair of them, and I managed to take this one, but the other got away. I doubt shes coming back.

That was some fine work with the rabbit stick, alright! Would have put some fear in me if I was a coyote, thats for sure. Well, this meat can be made into jerky if we want to Ive done it before, once, when there was nothing else to eator maybe better still we can cook some of it up fresh, have some chance of getting it tender. Doesnt look like a particularly young critter, so it may be a little tough. Great job on the skinning. Good thing were up so high; saves us having to deal with the mass of fleas wed be up against when taking a critter like this down lower. Einar was swaying, looked about to fall and Liz caught him with a steadying hand, gathered up the water jars. Well worry about cooking him later. For now, Ive got some leftover soup from last night that I hung in the tree, and it looks like its way past time for you to have breakfast! Breakfast that morning consisted of the half pot of soup that had been left over from Lizs meal that past evening, eaten cold, as Einar didnt think it wise just then to risk smoke after daylight--he hadnt exactly forbidden it, but Liz, sensing his distress when she proposed the idea, had not pushed it--and Einar, after having consumed his share, got a bit shakily to his feet and scooped out a generous portion of the fermented pudding from the spot where it hung in all of its resplendent pungency, sitting back down with Liz and offering her the first taste. She politely declined. Oh, Ive tried it, and itsdifferent, for sure! Not like anything Ive ever had, and I could eat it, can eat in and will try it again, but not this morning! Its good for you, you know. The enzymesll help keep your gut healthy, help with digestion. Which is exactly why, she pressed the pot back into his hands, trying to breathe around the stench that rose from it, you need it right now. I bet your digestion could use a little help this morning, couldnt it? Im thinking you probably didnt really eat anything while you were out there, did you? Im eating now! Hmm. I thought not Ran out of water. Right. Not really wanting to go on being interrogated about the details of his recent excursion-wasnt sure he had many answers, when it came down to it, and was fairly certain Liz wouldnt like the ones he did have--Einar busied himself with the second course of his breakfast, hoping she might leave him alone, which she did, recognizing that hed quite reached his limit as far as conversing, for the time. No matter. He could tell her later in his own good time, whenever that might be. Perhaps sitting by the fire in the cabin, that

winter. He was, for the moment, eating, and she figured that mattered more than just about anything else right then, from the looks of him. Despite his obvious hunger he filled up pretty quickly on the rich pudding, after those days of next to nothing, knew when to stop and did it. Could--and hopefully would--have more later, multiple times through the day. Liz meant to see to it that he did, expected that with the application of some common sense and perhaps the rabbit stick if he seemed averse to such, he ought to be able to bounce back pretty quickly from this most recent difficulty, since he was no longer suffering so badly from the injured foot. She hoped he wasnt, anyway. Didnt appear to be, was walking reasonably well, or had been, before his latest adventure. Could hardly move though, that morning, limping and hobbling and appearing terribly stiff and sore, but she hoped that was due mostly to the amount of ground hed covered over the past four days, and not to renewed trouble with the foot. Guessed shed better check, hadnt really got a good look at the foot when hed finally changed his socks before bed that past night, had been almost afraid to touch him lest she somehow precipitate a return to the strangeness in which hed been existing since his return, inadvertently cause him to head out into the timber for another cold and sleepless night. Einar responded willingly when she mentioned checking the foot, got his boot off and allowed her to inspect it. Not looking so good, tender, newly grown skin raw and bloody over the toe area, torn, but not yet looking infected, and she cleaned it for him, berberine and water, wrapped the end of his foot with usnea and clean cloth strips and, when it became clear that he was determined to be ready for walking, for travel should the need come, she helped him back on with his boot. I know you dont want to hear it but you really need to sit as much as you can today, keep your weight off of that foot so it can heal up again. It was doing so well before you left, and you know if it gets infected again like before She shook her head, looked away. I intend to sit some, sure. Been a real long couple of days. Intend to help you with the meat a good bit too, because it looks like youve been awful busy while I was away, got pretty nearly the entire bear sliced up and turned into jerky. Whatve you done with all the jerky, anyway? Dont seem to see too much of it right around here Its at the cabin. Cabin? What about bears? No more sign of bears, and that new door you put together is pretty stout Its not that good! Guess wed better get things wrapped up here soon as we can and move back into the cabin so well be there to have our say in the thing, if another bear does show up. That where the hollow log is, too? The fat boat? Yep! Got it all filled and hauled over there just yesterday. Its quite a sight, all full and

And youre quite a woman, O Mother of a Nomadic Tribe, hauling that heavy old thing over there all by yourself--dont know if I could have pulled that off, not at the moment. Well, you could if youd just eat on a regular basis. Here. Let me get you some more of that pudding. Still got some. And besides, if you eat this stuff too fastI dont know, something bad might happen. Too many enzymes, huh? Enzyme overdose? Yeah, something like. Ok then. But Im going to make you some serviceberry pudding in a while, just for variety. Mashed serviceberries, bear fat, maybe some dried nettle leaves, and no cooking required. Thats gonna be one solid pudding, Im thinking, if youre not going to heat it Well, if you can call that fermented purple glop in the bear stomach pudding, then I can certainly call mine pudding, too! Einar grinned, nodded in agreement and got to his feet, wanting to get started on helping her slice up the remaining meat for drying, but suddenly having realized the filthy, grimeencrusted state of his hands and arms, wanting to wash up in the spring before getting started. Not entirely trusting yet that he was over his strangeness--certainly seemed it, but she was still seeing on occasion a little shadow of doubt flit across his face when he looked at her, a hint of uncertainty--and didnt particularly want to end up finding him an hour later, sitting purple and half frozen in the pool below the spring. Einar had no such intention though, not just then, crouching instead on the rocks just beside the water and shrugging out of his sweater, scrubbing hands and arms with handsfull of coarse, gritty sand until they were bright red and cleaner than Liz remembered seeing them for a very long time. A good thing to see him taking an interest in matters of hygiene, for once, yet she could hardly bring herself to watch his ablutions, the sight of him looking so weak and emaciated, backbone and ribs standing out sharply as he bent to scoop up more water almost more than she could bear. Didnt turn away, though, told herself that if he could go on like that day after day, keep himself engaged in the daily activities of their lives, working to protect them and get them prepared for winter while clearly barely managing to cling to life, himself, then she ought to be strong enough to look at him, to see him as he was. However that might be. Which at the moment was pretty bad off, if she was going to be honest about it, and she feared what another incident such as the one which he had endured over the past four days might do to him. Feared, truthfully, that he might not survive it, but wasnt at all sure what to do with the concern, lacking detailed knowledge of just what had brought on the most recent trouble. Had a pretty good idea, though, what was at the root of it, wished she knew how broach the subject, what to say to him. Bud Kilgore, it suddenly occurred to her, would probably know, and for a

moment she wished the tracker was there, thought it might help some if Einar could talk with him, or if she could, but of course there was no chance of that happening. They were on their own. Einar had finished bathing while she carried on her internal dialog, was attempting to struggle purple-fingered and shivering back into his sweater and she kept her distance, let him finish the task, not sure he wanted help and wishing not to impose. Back up to camp, then, Einar starting right in on the slab of meat Liz gave him, one of the few that still remained un-sliced. It had, he noted, a thick smoke-scented rind on it, the obvious result of a good bit of time spent hanging over a smoky fire, and he glanced appreciatively at Liz, seeing how hard she had worked to preserve the meat from being lost to flies, in admiration at the forethought and intelligence her actions had demonstrated. Think I forget sometimes just how blessed I am, being out here with this girl. Got to do better at letting her know that, showing her that I know it At which he realized that Liz was watching him with a strange look in her eyes, glanced away from her with the feeling that she was about to ask something he would not especially want to answer. Seeing Einars apparent desire to be left to his work and not knowing exactly how to begin the conversation, anyway, Liz sat down beside him and began slicing up another of the remaining chunks of bear meat, its outside surface dark and dried from hours of exposure to the thick, cool smoke of two evenings worth of cooking fires. The tough, smoky rind thus created had served well to keep flies from taking an interest in the meat, and had got Liz to wondering what it would take to create a rough smoker, something as simple as a cured hide wrapped around a frame of bent willows to direct and trap smoke around the slab of meat that they would hang inside it. A good way to preserve meat, and one that she expected Einar would likely know something about, as she thought she remembered him mentioning doing similar in the past while living up at his cabin-though she guessed he might prefer to have most or even all of the meat dried, under their present circumstances, so it would be light and easily portable for easy travel, in case they were forced to flee the basin, and much as she dreaded the thought of having to leave, she supposed he would be right--and as she sat there slicing and hanging jerky strips, her mind wandered over the possibilities, bear bacon, bear hams, smoked trout, if they could ever get down to one of the larger creeks or lakes Suddenly Liz was smelling the wonderful combination of smoked meat and last falls apples that was Susans cellar in the winter, feeling a bit homesick for the place and especially for Susan, herself, wishing there was some way to get down to see her but knowing they were in no position for casual visits of that sort. Back to the smoker, though They would, she knew, need to use aspen wood if they were to get serious about preserving meat that way, and avoid the spruces and firs that made up a good portion of their wood supply. Shed been rather indiscriminate when smoking the remaining chunks of bear, had simply hung them over whatever fire she had going at the time in a somewhat desperate attempt to ward off the flies--didnt need any maggots just then, really didnt, hoped never to need them again, grateful as she was for the help theyd been in recently saving what was left of Einars foot--resulting in their getting just as much acrid spruce smoke as they had the milder aspen. No matter. Einar had never

shown indication of minding strong tastes like that, and though she supposed it might be a good idea for her to avoid the sprucier portions of the meat at least until after the baby came, for the same reason that she was to avoid spruce and pine tea during the pregnancy, Einar could certainly eat it. The flavor might, she supposed, even provide some interesting variation in his diet. Not that he seemed to have any trouble providing himself with plenty of variety, between his occasional snacks of grubs and other insects, the boiled bear sausages theyd enjoyed the day after taking the creature, and the ample portion of fermented stomach pudding that still hung safe in its bag from the tree. Not to mention that wonderful boiled swamp sludge we came way too close to eating once before our muskrat traps started producinggood thing I was able to take a bird with the rabbit stick that day, or I guess wed both have been dining on the stuff. Which late winter day seemed a very long time ago indeed, the day, as she remembered, when she had finally been sure enough about the expected child to tell Einar Only a few months left to go now until the childs birth, three, to be more exact, and so much still to be done. Like tan that bear hide so they would have it to use for a sleeping robe through the winter, and expand her snare line in the hopes of taking enough rabbits, by the time the baby came, to weave one of those extra-warm rabbit-fur strip blankets Einar had told her so much about. The furs werent at their best just then, far from it, but were still soft and warm, and were what she had to work with. Picturing the bundle of pelts she had already taken and prepared, it seemed she was far from the fifty Einar had told her would be required in the creation of a good-sized blanket--guessed she had just about half that number, at the moment--but the goal looked attainable. She hoped. Needed some way to keep the baby warm while outside the cabin, some way to protect the little one--him? Her?--while on the move through the winter woods, should such become necessary, and the best idea she had come up with was something resembling the cradleboards that had been used by so many of the local tribes, woven willows to contain and support the baby, a willow visor to protect the head from branches, wind and weather, and soft warm furs in which to wrap the little one before snugging him down in the carrier. That sort of carrier, it seemed to her, would provide some protection even in the event of a serious fall on her part, a level of protection that would not be afforded by her other idea, which resembled the amauti Einar had described being used by Inuit women, essentially a heavy coat with a specially-added pouch at the back below the hood for the baby to ride in. The coat, she was pretty sure, would keep the little one warmer in extreme weather, but the likelihood of their obtaining enough furs to construct something like that in time seemed reasonably low, leaving the cradleboard, for the moment, the best choice. Well. For the moment her focus had to remain on processing the rest of the meat so they would be that much further ahead on getting food stocks set aside for the coming winter, that, and making sure Einar ate and rested as much as he was willing that day, kept moving in the right direction. Which Einar, thoroughly engrossed at the moment in his jerky-making duties, would not have at all liked had he realized her thoughts, the idea that she might feel a need to keep an eye on him that day one that he would have found greatly disturbing. It had been bad enough when she followed him down to the spring and stood over him during his bath; hed realized her intent, but, guessing something of

the difficulty he had put her through over the past several days, had wisely kept quiet about the entire thing, allowed her to stay. Hed have plenty of time later to get off by himself if necessary. Which it likely would be, and pretty soon, too. The day was turning cloudy, and Einar watched with interest the increasingly speedy movement of the clouds as they traversed the great grey arc of the sky, lowering, closing it; looked like it was going to rain later in the day, and the wind was picking up. Some time later, the remaining meat all sliced and hung for drying and Liz off gathering fire for the coming night, Einar busied himself with the larger bones of the bears upper legs, both hind and front, carefully scoring them with sharp pieces of quartz and then his knife, searching around, the task finished to his satisfaction, for a rock of the right weight and shape to split them. Found it in an oblong granite piece that had been serving as one of Lizs hot rocks for nighttime warmth, positioned one of the quartz pieces over the center of the deep horizontal score line that traversed the bone and gave it a good whack, smiling to himself when the thing split neatly in half. Good. Hed wanted to preserve the bone in a condition where they would find it useful in the future for the construction of tools, spear points, whatever they might need, but had at the same time been determined to get at the marrow inside before it had time to spoil any further. Both large bones of the upper rear legs he split this way, starting on those of the front, and though, stomach growling painfully at the sight, he was tempted to gobble the marrow right up for a midmorning snack, he forced himself to set it aside, having other designs for it. Needed something to eat, though, paused in his work and wolfed down the portion of fermented pudding that had remained in the breakfast pot. Could use the food, and anyway, he needed that pot for his marrow project. Liz had returned by then, her arms full of yet another load of firewood--shed made eight or nine trips while Einar worked on the bones, and he would have been up and helping her, had he not been met with a threatening shake of the rabbit stick whenever he tried--and was watching him curiously. What have you got going, there? Marrow stew? OhI wish! That sure does sound good right now. But no. Well have some nice rich marrow broth to drink with dinner, but this stuff I plan on boiling down so we can get the fat out of it, save the stuff. If you put the marrow in a pot of boiling water the fatll rise to the top so you can skim it off, solidify as it cools and it ends up all hard and waxy, a lot firmer than the regular bear lard. Lots of uses for the stuff, and I thought itd be good for us to save it aside, for once, have the option to use it later. Theres a lot of fat stored in the marrow. Yes, I can see that! Maybe you ought to have some of it right now though, just a little, for a snack. I could slice up a little section for you and put it over some mashed serviceberries with Enough, enough! He groaned, laughing, pressing elbows into his cramping stomach while simultaneously raising his hands as if to ward her off, to block out the terribly hunger-inducing images that were coming to him at the sound of that snack she was describing. Ill have some of the marrow broth tonight, and you ought to have some too,

cause itd be good for the little one, but for now I just want to get this stuff extracted and set aside for boiling. Youll thank me later, this winter when were using that marrow fat for You are an impossibly stubborn human being, Mr. Asmundson. Thanks! Not too often I get accused of being human A sideways glare from Liz, a little shake of the rabbit stick--seemed she always had the thing on her, anymore--It wasnt really meant as a compliment, not this time and she went out for one more load of firewood, having seen a very small standing dead aspen that she wanted to haul in and get under cover before the rain--which was looking more and more certain all the time--began. In the coming of rain late that afternoon Einar saw several opportunities, the first of which involved softening the thoroughly dried bear hide for tanning. Staking it out in the little clearing below camp--the thing, though not weighing quite fifty pounds, even, seemed enormously heavy and uncooperative to him, and it was all he could do to haul it down there--he arranged rocks and logs beneath it to create a bit of a lip around the edges, hoping to be able to catch some water and get it softening. The next step, which he hoped to start on the following day, would involve rubbing the entire surface with a mixture of brains and fat--whose brains, he wasnt yet sure, as those from the bear would likely not be in very good shape after sitting for several days, but he intended to split the skull and check, anyway--and folding the hide over flesh-side in for a day or so to soak, repeating the process several times and finally stretching or rubbing it dry. A lot of heavy work, but it would leave them with a soft and supple fur which ought to serve them well as a sleeping robe through the winter. Liz, who had gone to check her trapline while he worked on the hide, was back by the time he finished getting it staked out, wringing the rain from her hat and standing over the small fire Einar had lit in anticipation of her return. Dark was still hours away, but with the rain looking so socked in, he could see no harm in having an early fire. Looks like a decent day on the trapline. What have you got? She showed him the two rabbits that had been taken in the snares, as well as a good fat marmot from one of her deadfalls. Looked like they would be eating well that night. Mind if I stake a claim to their brains? Kinda need them for Sure, you can have them. If you can wait just a few minutes, Ill cook them up for you and put them with supper. Youre right, you could really use them. All that fat should do you a lot of good, and. Well yes, but I wasnt thinking of eating them, not this time. Im getting started on that bear hide, and itd be good if I had some brains to add to the fat that I guess Ill be using for most of the process.

Oh. Sure then, you can have them. But I thought you told me once that nearly every creature has enough brains to tan his own hide. Or are bears an exception? No, bears have plenty of brains, in general, but I figured since Id let these sit there in the carcass forwhat, nearly a week now? Well, theyre probably not in any shape to be using for tanning. You may have let them sit, but I didntgo look in that rock cairn you built for keeping the organs fresh, down below the spring. Which he did, finding to his surprise that the bears brain had been stored there in the icy water and was in fine shape, the creatures skull bearing corresponding evidence where Liz had with obviously painstaking care opened it to remove the organ. She smiled at the look of pleased surprise on his face. I didnt know youd done this. Thanks! I did it while you were gone. Remembered you saying the brains go bad pretty quickly, so it seemed like the thing to do. Well then, your critters brains can go into our supper. Figure that hide ought to be ready sometime tomorrow for the first braining. I thought of rigging a frame for it, stretching it and all, but its gonna be awful heavy to work with, and seems best in this case to leave it on the ground so we can fold it over during the braining, just stretch it by hand when the time comes. May not end up quite as soft as if we stretched it, but itll work, anyway. Which sounded like a reasonable solution to Liz, who was glad to see him exercising what seemed some common sense when it came to his own limitations. Not an illusion she was going to be able to enjoy for long, unfortunately As the day moved on towards evening Einar began growing more and more restless, quiet, standing at the edge of the camp and staring off into the rainy woods whenever he wasnt in the middle of a project, hearing increasingly strongly the call of that twisted and solitary tree up at the edge of the dropoff and needing once more to go there and test himself. Didnt especially want to bring the matter up with Liz, though, anticipating her reaction and wishing she might simply overlook his absence for a few hours if he took off on his own, but knowing such was highly unlikely. Had to let her in on it once more, and guessed hed better get started, because who knew how long the rain might last? She had just finished adding wood to the fire, was standing beside him, trying to see whatever he was staring so hard at out there in the woods. He turned to her. Need to make a little trip up to the dropoff this evening. Wont be gone too long. The dropoff? She made the connection right away, had, perhaps, anticipated it even before he said anything, observing in him a certain withdrawn strangeness shed seen more than once in the past. Youre going back up to that tree, arent you? To stand in the rain. He nodded.

Why? Training, mostly. This time. Got to keep my mind and will in shape, keep myself ready for whatever might come up, but also just towell, its hard to explain. Ok. I can see a place for that as training, I really can, and I think I can almost understand the other, too. Just a little. I went with you before up to the tree and Ill do it again if you want to, because obviously it works for you, but why right now? Cant you see that youre killing yourself by taking it to the extreme that you do, particularly just now when you really need to be focusing on getting that foot better and gaining some weight back? Dont you see that? He shrugged, allowed that she might be right about that, but Ive got to keep at it, regardless. Got to know where my limits are, keep testing, stretch them, make sure I can withstand thewhatever comes. Got to know that. Why, Einar? Why? What are you trying to prove? I already know you can get through whatever comes up, Ive seen it, and you ought to know that too, by now. Youve already lost your toes to thisthis need you have to constantly test yourself, almost lost your foot and possibly also your life just a couple weeks ago, too, and if you go on living like this, thats just whats going to happen, sooner or later. When will it be enough, when will you have done enough? When youre dead? Will you be happy then? Because thats exactly where I see this headed. He didnt answer; she could all but see the distance growing between them, his eyes going all vague and far away, and she probably ought to have backed off then, but didnt, not this time, knew she had to keep going. What I hear you saying is that you have to keep testing yourself even if it kills you--until it does, maybe--but I cant understand why. From what you said she took a big breath, knew she was heading down a dangerous path, but didnt really see any other way, from what you told me about your time over there, the time when they captured and were holding you, and what you had to go through afterwards, you already withstood that final test--more than once. You came through it. Proved yourself. Cant you see that? You can stop, now. Einar turned on her like shes slapped him in the face, which she just as well might have; she had mentioned the unmentionable--he was allowed to mention it, on occasion, but no one else was--not simply mentioned it but used it to challenge him, and for a fraction of a second things took on a very dangerous feel, but after a moment he looked away, staring at the ground, mouth open as if he wanted to speak, shaking his head, and it was very long time before he said anything at all, voice low and gravelly. But thats just itI didnt withstand it. I ran. Ran at the first opportunity, escaped, leftleft that kid Andy to take the punishment that should have been mine, was intended for me--and it was, you know, because they could tell I knew more, was in a position to know more, so they were focusing most of that attention on me, not that I was thinking it through like that then, I was just trying to escape before I got to a point physically where I wouldnt have been able to do it, and I justified it in my mind at the time, told myself I was going to get help,

come back for him, but by the time anybody went back after him it was too late--and I left him there, and they killed him. Tortured him to death. Do you understand what that means? Do you have any idea? He had left his seat on the rock as he spoke and was crouching on the ground beside it, shaking, angry, voice having grown louder and more forceful until he was almost shouting those last words, and Liz would have been almost afraid of him had she not seen him like that before. Einar, please. Think about it. Is there anything, realistically, that you could have done for Andy there? Anything at all? From the situation you described to me, it didnt sound like Doesnt matter. I could have stayed. Tried to think of something, tried to find some way to... But I ran. You lived. I dont thinkdont know if I had any right To live? He nodded, staring at the ground, teeth clenched as tears traced their way freely down the lines of his face, and there it was, right out there in the open sitting between them in the heavy silence, the thing whose existence she had guessed at, but now that shed got it out of him she didnt know what to do with it, how to refute an idea which she realized in that moment must have been fixed in his mind for quite some time, most of his life, possibly; she could see clearly the error in it, but did not know how to go about showing it to him. One thing, though, she did know quite clearly. Their child had rights, too, among them the right to know his father and to be provided for, and that, she hoped, might allow her the means by which to reach Einar, to bring him to some understanding of what she was trying to say. For a good while Liz didnt say anything at all, wanting very much to go to Einar and hold him until the tears stopped, try and find some way to reach across the great empty gulf that seemed to stretch silent and quite tangible between them, heavy with the presence of the unburied dead and of deeds left forever undone, undoable, no way to go back, not now, no second chance, those are always the most difficult to reconcilethere is forgiveness for trespasses, for wrongs committed, redemption, atonement, but for the things one ought to have done and did not do--at least so it seemed to Einar, though his mind knew better--only the empty, echoing accusation of the passing years, the continuation of your own breath a constant and almost-unbearable indictment which you cannot refute, cannot escape, the forever-questions that come to you in the night, riddles without answer, without purpose, perhaps, and you know it, but still they come, accusing, demanding their due... None of which contemplation Liz was privy to, of course; she knew only that the telling of the thing had left Einar almost visibly drawn in on himself as if to avoid further speech, further contact of any sort with her, and she didnt quite know whether she ought to dare touching him when he was like that, what his reaction

might be, as she could see just beneath the surface of his sorrow a well-controlled but very potent rage at some of the remembrances that had been stirred by their conversation. Finally did it anyway, took the chance and reached out--unable to bear leaving him any longer to suffer that way alone and without comfort, even if it was what he wanted, which it definitely appeared to be--with a firm hand and took his shoulder, drew him to her, held him, distant and unwilling though he first seemed, until he relaxed a bit and acknowledged her presence, allowed his forehead to rest against her own. After a time-praying for guidance in choosing her words--she spoke. You lived, Einar. You lived, and youre here. I wasnt there, so I cant pretend to have answers for you aboutwhat happened with you and Andymaybe there arent any, really, sometimes there just arent answers. But I do know that youre here and thats no accident, God doesnt have accidents, He brought you through all of that for a reason, and right now took his hand and gently pressed it to the ripening child-swell of her belly, the reason--one of them--is pretty clear, at least to me. You said she stopped, swallowed the tears that wanted to come to her own eyes at the thought of him carrying that burden for so long, the weight of it, unshared, in silence, said you didnt know whether you had the right to live, then, and I dont know what to say to that, cant answer it. But I do know as surely as I know anything on earth that you have a duty to live, now. To do your best to be here for this child. Your child, Einar, a new life Silence for a long while, a nod of agreement, his hand in hers saying all she needed to hear; he had no words, not just then. After another minute Einar took his leave, got up and walked hastily from the camp, leaving Liz to fear for a moment that he might be headed up to the dropoff and that lonely tree to freeze himself in the rain again, knew she must let him go if that was the case, not follow, not for a while, at least, but as she watched him stride off into the rainy woods her fear diminished a bit at something she saw in his walk, the way he carried himself, and when he returned some minutes later with a big armload of firewood and a crooked grin by way of greeting, she was somehow not terribly surprised. Hed just needed some space, some room to breathe for a while, and she could not at all blame him. Stacking the wood atop that earlier gathered by Liz, he went out for another load. Einar was not feeling the least bit hungry after the intensity of their conversation, food being very nearly the furthest thing from his mind, and Liz could see it, but the aroma of her fresh marmot stew simmering and bubbling over the coals, seasoned with wild garlic, nettles and spring beauty potatoes soon remedied the situation, left him hovering near the fire in anxious anticipation of the meal, adding a stick of wood now and then as he watched her work on the bearfat and serviceberry pudding shed earlier promised to make for the two of them, its creation greatly expedited by the presence of the fire. Darkness had closed in around them by then, rain still softly falling outside the circle of firelight and spruce-shelter that marked out the boundaries of their little bear-camp, and when Liz checked the stew one final time, deciding it was ready for consumption, Einar gladly joined her at the dry, moss-padded granite chunks that had had served as their eating-seats during their time at the camp. Which was, Einar realized, drawing to a close, as the bear had by then been almost completely chopped, sliced, dried and stored,

numerous bags and baskets of jerky hanging high in the spruces and back at the cabin highlighting the fruits of their labors, weeks worth of food and fat stored away for their future use, and as he stood contemplating the last two racks of jerky hanging there a distance above the fire for a final night of drying, it was with a tremendous sense of grateful satisfaction that he looked back over their taking and processing that bear. Grateful to Liz, just as much as he was grateful for the bear being provided for their trap in the first place, as she had been the one to really keep things moving along with the meat preservation during the four days of his absence, making sure that the still-to-beprocessed chunks were suspended safely from high branches every night and smoking them while awaiting processing, to keep the flies and their offspring from taking up residence. Time to eat. Liz was reminding him, guiding him down onto his rock-seat, and he went, ate; nothing had ever been quite as tasty, so far as he could remember, as that nights marmot stew, and he finished his portion in good time, secured for himself a portion of the rather odiferous stomach pudding and then ate most of what hed fetched for Liz, too, seeing that she was more than satisfied after two or three bites of the stuff. Dessert came, then, Lizs sweet and brilliantly purple serviceberry mixture, and by the time they had finished it off, both of them were quite full and beginning to grow sleepy, Liz watching Einar anxiously for any sign that he was still planning a lonesome night up in the windswept clearing above the camp, but seeing for the most part only a great weariness in his eyes, a readiness, and it took her somewhat by surprise, to smile when her eyes met his, just a brief, fleeting thing before he glanced away again, the customary distance returning. Well. At least it was something. The rest could come later, if it was going to come Einar did not go up to stand vigil in the rain beside the lonely tree at the dropoff that night, retreating instead to the bed with Liz after another quiet hour or so by the fire, sleeping, or intending to, as he had a great deal of work to do the next day, had to give that bear hide its first braining, help get the rest of their possessions moved back over to the cabin--provided the remainder of the jerky had dried by then--wrap things up at camp and move back home. Between air humid and chill with rain and the bear hides absence, that night was a colder one for Einar and Liz than the previous had been, Liz holding him close against its encroachments but Einar hardly noticing either way, lost as he was in his own hot and stifling world of dream within minutes of drifting off to sleep. There he was once again trapped in the close, stinking confinement of that well-remembered bamboo enclosure, ribs pressed against its hard ridges, wrists and ankles bound painfully behind him, suspended, useless, supporting almost all of his weight and very nearly keeping him from breathing. He could hear them coming, swish of footsteps through the shallow water outside, more than one this time, and he knew he was really in for it, found a bit of strength in the swell of hot rage that went through him at the knowledge of what they were about to do and grabbing the strength before it could pass, concentrating it, he struggled fiercely against the ties that held him, meaning to free himself and meet them at the door with a splinter of bamboo, launch himself at the nearest one and drive the thing

into a neck or an eye or whatever presented itself, take the other if he could, but if not better to go out fighting if thats how it ended than to continue like this, day after day. Struggling, twisting, flailing until the cage rocked slightly on its stilts, his rage quickly spent itself, replaced by a horribly crushing sense of utter futility, strength draining from him as he struggled desperately for air, couldnt get enough, blacked out for a second and woke to a fresh trickle of blood from the already-inflamed wounds on his wrists where those horrid, hateful ties had days ago worried themselves clear through the skin and into the flesh, that trace of blood finding its way into his armpits and down across the painfully exposed slats of his ribs his only recompense for the tremendous effort spent just then in trying to free himself; the ties would soon be reaching bone, he expected, not that hed be able to feel the difference, not that it mattered They had almost reached his cell, and he waited for them with face blank and expressionless, a well-practiced maneuver, and, as usual, he meant to maintain it for as long as he was able, deny them the satisfaction of knowing how they were getting to him, waited with eyes fixed on the little opening hed managed to make between the floor and wall of his cage in one corner, work carried out with painstaking care the last time theyd let him have his hands for a few hours. It had been a while, well over a day, so far as Einar could remember; hed tried to contact Andy then while he worked, establish some communication with him, his enclosure only a dozen or so yards distant, best as he had been able to determine, but hed got no response. For more than a day Andy had been too silent over there, seldom even crying out anymore when they visited his cell, and Einar knew he was himself likely only days away from ending up in a similar state, if they didnt start feeding him or at least giving him occasional access to water. Which-twisting his head in an attempt to close from his ears the maddening ripple and lap of the filthy swamp sludge that passed for water down below him, entirely inaccessible yet so greatly desired despite the suffocating stench that rose from it, the object, for the past few days, of his darkest dreams and deepest longings--did not appear likely to happen. After working that past day on the small but growing gap in the corner of his cage floor, hed carefully camouflaged it with bits of leaf and fibers hed pulled from the walls and carefully arranged to look as natural as possiblehis secret hope, a thing to work towards, and in that moment, his interrogators reaching the door, undoing its rough bolt, he knew that if and when the opportunity presented itself he would take it, finish enlarging that gap, escape. Not now though, not going anywhere right now, because there they were, in there with him, had raised him in one swift, agonizing movement completely clear of the floor, and he could not move, could not breathe Einar sat up with a stifled bellow of rage and pain, drenched in sweat and narrowly restraining himself from reacting violently to the comforting touch of Lizs hand on his arm, managed it, managed to get his bearings just in time but knew he might not, the next time around, couldnt stay, went scrambling from the bed to stand shaking in the dark spruce-shadows at the edge of camp, wanting terribly badly to take off into the timber, find a rainy clearing and sit facing into the wind, let the storms icy pounding scour him clean, awake, keep him that way, fill him with the blessed, merciful chill of the night, but he didnt, remembered Lizs words and, though finding the effort immensely taxing, managed to stay, to sit down, spear in hand, staring out into the rainy darkness.

Some time later it occurred to him as he sat there rocking back and forth on one of the granite chunks beside the fire that there were things, perhaps, which simply shouldnt be talked about, things that ought to be left neatly tucked away in the boxes to which ones mind had over the years worked so hard to consign them, forgotten, or as close to it as could be achieved, and while he knew such a strategy wasnt always entirely successful, knew from experience that those boxes would tend to come open from time to time, one by one or sometimes even several at once if a person didnt keep a careful watch, fall unceremoniously from shelves to splatter their contents all over the neatly swept and freshly painted interior of ones carefully arranged brain, such haphazard occurrences still had to be better, he was fairly certain, than intentionally prying the things open, dumping out their cargo and dancing determinedly in the resulting mess until finally losing ones mind altogether. Which he hadnt done, not yet, not quite, not that last part, anyway, but the prospect did not just then seem entirely unreasonable to contemplate. Unpleasant, though, decidedly unpleasant, and he struggled to turn his mind--whats left of itha!--in another direction, because the night was already quite dark enough without adding the prospect of imminent personal dissolution into the mix. Liz was coming, he heard the faint rustle and slide as she left the hides that made up their bed, soft steps coming across the ground and there she was, faintly highlighted in the pale light of a nearly full moon behind the clouds, stopping at a respectful distance, a reasonably safe distance, and he couldnt blame her, speaking. Einar. Can I sit with you? A nod, the realization that she couldnt see him nearly as well as he could her, and he grunted his assent, leaned the spear against his rock-seat so she might find it a bit less threatening. Liz came to him then, draped the deer hide around his shivering shoulders and sat on the rock next to his, silent for a long time. He sounded cold, the whistling and puffing of his breath loud in the muffled silence of the surrounding trees. Would a fire be Ok? Its still raining Hearing no objection from Einar she went ahead with it, taking some of the previouslybroken twigs that had been left over from their supper fire and propping them with the pit, fluffing up a bit of dry aspen inner bark and striking sparks, coaxing the little blaze to life and setting a pot of water on the cooking rock to heat; it was a damp, chilly night; some tea seemed a very good idea. Finished with the tea preparations she took the pot, sat next to him. He didnt appear to have moved. Youve been having those dreams again. Yeah. Tell me. Will you tell me? He looked up at her, and for a moment she thought she saw a wavering in his eyes, just a

hint of softening, a fleeting humanity that allowed her to hope hed respond, let her in, but then the distance returned, he shook his head, leaned with elbows on his knees, staring into the flames. Couldnt do it, just couldnt bring himself to speak the thing, couldnt even look at her, as it seemed certain shed see it in his eyes, read the story there, spread his hands and lowered his head. No. II dont Its Ok. You dont have to. Not until youre ready. Justhere. Have some tea. Nettles and serviceberries. Einar took the pot, sat there for a long minute breathing its steam, didnt especially want to drink but Liz was watching him so he did, passing the pot to her, after, and in silence they finished it, Einar gradually relaxing, finding himself able once more to meet Lizs eyes when she spoke. Which she was doing at the moment, urging him to come with her back to bed but he just shook his head, mumbled something about wanting to stay by the fire for a while. Without a word Liz began preparing a bed of spruce needles there by the fire, fluffing them up, testing, finally, satisfied, spreading the makeshift bed with the ewe hide and beckoning to Einar. Come to bed? Itd be better if I was alone tonight. Let me be here with you, please. You need to sleep. So do you. He shrugged, shook his head, too tired to argue, lay down on the pallet shed prepared and allowed her to curl up behind him, deer hide draped over the two of them and their seat-rocks, bolstered by the log shed rolled in between them, reflecting so much of the fire-heat that they were soon quite comfortably warm, asleep, remaining that way until morning, Einar finding in the sleep a blessed, comforting blackness, dreamless, restoring, and he woke with daylight, gently freed himself from Lizs grasp and went to begin work on the bear hide. A soft and soaking rain continued that morning as Einar hurried down to the staked-out bear hide, hoping very much that no scavengers had come upon it in the night and seen fit to remove chunks and strips of the thing for their entertainment. Doubted it, figured the rain would have kept most critters under shelter through the night, most sensible ones, anyway. Or, the wry thought occurred to him, those who have sensible and un-endingly persistent mates. Which it seemed most of them must have, for the bear hide remained exactly as he had left it, except of course wetter, which was a good thing, and when he bent a corner of it, testing the hides state of dryness and finding it to be fairly thoroughly soaked. Exploring the entire surface--and becoming himself more than a little damp in the process--he worked on a few areas where it appeared the water had not yet thoroughly penetrated the layers of dried bearskin, gently rubbing them with smooth bits of sandstone and granite to help the water find its way through. He knew that those dry

spots, if left untouched, would refuse to take the brain solution and would always remain a bit crunchy even after the rest of the hide had been made soft and supple. Working with a single-minded focus which kept him moving along at quite a good pace, Einar soon had the hide all ready for its first braining, an activity which he knew would be most effective if the brain solution was first heated gently for a while over a fire, and he made the short walk over the spring, retrieved the well-preserved bear brain from beneath Lizs stone cairn. All right! Looks like between this and a few chunks of fat melted own to supplement it, well have plenty of the stuff. Liz had a fire going when he returned to camp, stew of some sort bubbling gently beside it, wanted to hurry him out of his wet clothes and get him seated near its warmth to begin thawing from what appeared to have been a rather wet and chilly morning early morning of work on the hide, but he shrugged her off, thawing stiff hands over the flames for a moment but not wanting to sit down, not just yet, as he could feel that it was going to be somewhat difficult to get back up again, and he had a lot of work to do. Need a big pot of some kind to heat these brains in, but the biggest things we seem to have are these cooking pots. Mind if I borrow the pair of them for a while, just until I get this first round of brains spread on the hide? Well, Ive got breakfast in one of them right now, but could transfer it to a jar, I guess hey! I have an idea, though! What about the bear stomach? Its way bigger than both of these containers combined, and if I help you move the rest of the fermentedglopinto some pieces of aspen bark, youll have a great brain-boiling container! Hmm. Good plan. Pudding would start to dry out in those half-round aspen bark boats, but I guess for the two or three days its gonna to take me to brain the hide, itll be alright sitting there. Maybe we can cover it with some soaked strips of inner bark we pull out of those bark container, let the stuff work like lids to keep it moist. Youre not really thinking of using the bear stomach as a food container again, after it holds boiled brains at air temperature for a day or two, are you? Uhnot anymore, apparently! Good! I dont really think we need whatever bacteria might decide to take up residence in boiled bear brain over the course of several summer days added in with the ones that are already running rampant in this pudding, not if we plan on eating the rest of the stuff! Well technically, the acids produced by fermentation really ought to kill most any bacteria that you would need to be worried about, but yeah, guess we can retire the bear stomach after the braining. Keep it for a brain boiling container, because hopefully were gonna be tanning an awful lot of hides between now and snowfall. This bear, possibly another if were able to get ahold of one closer to winter when the furll be even better, another sheep, deer, elk, maybe, got to make us some winter boots since these weve been wearing all summer are really starting to show their age, and I figure deer or elk lined

with rabbit furs would be just the thinga few martens, some more marmots, maybe a bobcat or two, even, and then this winter, beaver and muskrat. So, lots of call for a brain bag. Einar had, as he spoke, been transferring the contents of the stomach bag to the four smooth-sided arcs of aspen outer bark with which Liz had provided him, draping strips of wet inner bark over the resulting heaps of pudding in the hopes of keeping moisture in and flies out until he could find better, more permanent containers for it. A basket would be good, one of Lizs tightly woven willow creations, coated on the inside with pitch. Perhaps later that day or in the evening one of them might find time to work on such. Until then, the pudding was relatively safe--he tasted a fingerful of the stuff just to be sure, squinting and shuddering slightly at the results, eyes tearing up, not sure even flies would dare bother this, as tangy as its become, a good thing, maybe--and he turned his attention the emptied bear stomach. Needed washing, as he wasnt certain what the fermentation enzymes might do to the tanning process--might speed it up, for all he knew, but didnt seem like a good risk to take, not with that extremely valuable bear fur, anyway--and he left for the spring to do the washing, over Lizs objections that he ought to stay by the fire for a while, warm up and have some breakfast. Wanted breakfast, was really feeling the need for some nourishment after what seemed in retrospect like a terribly long and exhausting night, but thought it wise to get the brain mixture prepared first, so it could simmer while they ate. That hide would need at least two treatments in order for the mixture to thoroughly soak it, perhaps three, with intervals of one day between each, and the sooner he got started, the sooner--remembering the warm, sound sleep of the night after his return from the red ridge when Liz had all but dragged him beneath the bear hide and held him there until he fell asleep, and supposing it would be alright if they could manage to repeat it now and then--they would have the hide back for use as their sleeping robe. The stomach-bag rinsed as thoroughly as seemed practical in the achingly icy water of the spring, Einar scooped up a half gallon or so of water in it and returned to camp, suspending the vessel above the firepit and adding the bears brains, along with several large chunks of fat. Now Im ready to eat! More than ready, actually, and ready to get warm too, he supposed, as hed gone from mildly chilly to numb-fingered and shaking uncontrollably while washing out the stomach in the spring, clothes sodden from the mornings rain and still-undernourished body having reached its limit as far as resisting the resulting chill, a problem with which Liz had recognized long before he did, and she gladly helped him, getting him into dry clothes and settled by the fire with a pot of hot tea as she crumbled dried nettles into the stew as a final touch before serving. A splendid breakfast, if the smell was any indication, and Einar watched gratefully as she stirred in the final addition to the stew, stopped her, hand on her arm, as she was about to take it from the fire and gave her a brief but most welcome smile of thanks. Youre an awful good cook, Liz Am I? Well, prove it. Eat! Which he did, the two of them passing the pot back and forth until it was quite empty, Einar scraping out the remaining broth and devouring it hungrily, and Liz could see from the look in his eyes that he clearly needed more. Was still shaking a little, too, despite the dry clothes and his time by the fire, and she wished

he didnt have to immediately head out into the rain again to carry out the first braining of that slimy-wet bear hide. Knew there would be no talking him out of it, but doubted he would object to her coming along and helping out, either, as he was always anxious to see her improve her skills in one area or another, and perhaps her presence would make the task go more quickly so she could talk Einar into returning to camp for a second breakfast. Working together to spread the cooked brain and fat mixture over the staked-out bear hide, thoroughly rubbing it in all the way to the edges but avoiding spilling it over onto the fur side--which would, Einar had explained, potentially cause the fur to start slipping, falling out--they finished the job in somewhat less than fifteen minutes, Liz watching in amazement the fierce energy with which Einar went about his work. She was somewhat concerned for him--thought he looked as though he would have been far happier tearing down trees with his bare hands, moving piles of rock, something of that sort, and wondered if she ought to try and find him some such task--got the feeling that he was still to some extent living, despite his valiant and largely successful efforts to carry on with the routine tasks of the day, under the shadow of whatever dark and terrifying world he had apparently found himself trapped in that past night, and she wished he would talk to her about it, wondered if she should risk bringing the matter up with him but hesitated, not wanting to make things worse. Well. Perhaps the correct course of action would become clear as the day went on; for the moment, they had plenty to do. Finished giving the hide its first braining, Einar, with Lizs help, got the massive, waterheavy thing folded in half, flesh side in so that it could in effect soak in the brain solution, giving the oils time to begin soaking into its fibers. The next day they would return, scrape off the remaining solution, reheat and reapply it, but for the moment, their work on the hide was done. It was with much relief that Liz greeted the completion of the task, as Einars lips and hands had gone decidedly purple during the last half of the job, and no wonder, she told herself, as he hasnt eaten anything yet today other than a bit of soup and is out here soaking wet for the second time this morning, entire body trembling uncontrollably whenever he let his focus lapse in the slightest--progress, as far as he was concerned; at least he could control it again when he made the effort, as opposed to recent days--and though he laughed it off when she mentioned the fact--this is how arctic critters keep warm, you know; its just the bodys way of producing more heat--she could tell that he needed pretty badly to be out of his wet clothes, had better eat something soon and spend a bit of time by the fire, if he could be talked into it. Arctic critters, she reminded him, are supposed to have blubber, last I checked, layers of blubber, and you, mister, dont have the least bit of blubber on your bones, so get yourself on up to that fire! And when he tried to protest--which he did, mentioning that they had better stop at the spring and wash the brain goo from their hands, she gave him a playful swat in the shoulder with the ever-present rabbit stick, leaving him to hurry laughing and shivering up the slope. We can wash up in camp, she shouted after him. This stuff will come off so much easier in warm water than cold. That icy spring water would just solidify it on our hands and make it near impossible to get off, dont you think?

Nah, not if weused enough sand to scrub with, and itd save us thetrouble of heating the water, but Im not going back now, n-not with you standing there ready to brain me with that war club of yours. Hot water it is, at least this time! Which water Liz had ready to go soon after reaching camp and getting the fire built back up, anxious as she was to get Einar warm as well as to scour the tanning grease from her own hands, the idea of having some creatures brains plastered all over ones hands and arms holding just a slight bit more aversion for her, still, than it did Einar. Seeing her hurry to be rid of the stuff Einar took an handful of ash from the edge of the firepit, showing her how it could be very helpful in cutting grease when washing ones hands, a fact which Liz already knew and had taken advantage of nearly daily when washing dishes--sprucebough tip for a scrubber, handful of ash to provide grit and cut the grease--but in her hurry shed forgotten it. You know, she pondered, holding up hands covered in wood ash paste, I dont see why we couldnt use this stuff to make a rough sort of soap. Filter water through it to make lye, mix it in with some melted bear fat, and wed have soap, right? Nodding, he shook the water from his own hands, held them over the flames in the hopes of restoring some quick mobility, but knowing such wouldnt be likely, until hed got into some dry clothes. Should, in theory, but this is mostly spruce and pine ash, and as far as I know it wouldnt produce enough lye to really make soap. Maybe if we burned just aspen for a while, added in some willowI really dont know, and kinda hate to contaminate any of our precious bear fat like that, render it pretty nearly inedible supposing the recipe fails. Willing to do a little experimenting, though. Just a tiny batch to test out the theory, then more later if it works. Which left Liz trying hard not to laugh, its going to be pretty nearly inedible even if the experiment does work, unless youre wanting to eat soap, but I do know what youre saying--you cant stand the thought of wasting any of that fat when weve worked so hard for it, but were not starving anymore--Im not, anyway, and neither would you be if youd just eat like a normal person when food was available--so I think we can afford to put a little of that fat towards the effort. It sure would be good to have some soap! For now though, Ill be quite happy to settle for scrubbed hands and then some dry, brain-goop-free clothes. You could definitely use some too, and looks like Im gonna have to get after you to change, because there you are shivering over the fire in your wet things looking perfectly content to go on that waysometimes I really have to wonder just whats the matter with you, you goofy guy! Clothes changed--Einars set from earlier that morning had not yet been quite dry, hence his lack of motivation to change back into them, but Liz had insisted--and Liz working to reheat the second serving of breakfast whose eating had been delayed by the hidebraining project, Einar gave his attention to the marrow fat hed begun rendering the day before--seemed like a lot longer ago, but as he recalled, no more than a day had elapsed since hed started the process--glad to see the thick layer of solidified fat floating atop the inch or so of water in the jar. Scraping the stuff out and adding it to the second of the cook pots, the one Liz wasnt using, he set the pot near the fire to heat, knowing that one

final heating would benefit the marrow fat, as a means to drive off any excess water that might be remain trapped in it. Working, he took a taste of the rich, buttery stuff, very sweet--absolutely wonderful!--held the pot out to Liz, offering her some. This stuffs real rich in minerals, fat-soluble vitamins, too, would probably be good for you and the baby if you took a spoonful or so of it every day to add to whatever else youre eating. Sort of like wilderness pre-natal vitamins Ill do it if you will. Hey now, I dont need pre-natal vitamins! You need them more than I do, probably. Vitamins, anyway, in a general sense, and theres nothing specifically pre-natal about bone marrow, so far as I know. So. Well each have a spoon of the stuff every day. Well, I was really intending to save it for you and the Each of us, you hear me? With our breakfast every morning. Or youll be hearing from my rabbit stick! A look of irritation, perhaps anger, even, passed briefly over Einars face but it turned quickly to a silent laughter that left his shoulders shaking harder than they had recently been with the cold, and he shook his head, sat down beside her. You sure do have an odd way of reinforcing whatever point youre trying to make at the time, dont you? I like it! Kinda refreshing, leaves no doubt Its definitely not my preferred method, but seems to be the only language you understand sometimes, you big goof! I am no such thing. Im Youre contrary, thats what you are, and this child of yours is going to be just the same, isnt he? I can already tell by the way he kicks me from in here, refuses to move or change position when I need him tocontrary, just like his father. Einar just smiled, shrugged, went back to his work. He, is it? Wonder whatever happened to Hildegard? Needing containers into which to pour the marrow fat after its final rendering, Einar inspected the two Mason jars in which they had stored what was left of the bears blood after hed added some to the stomach pudding and berry-stuffed sausages the day after taking the creature, finding it to have dried thoroughly, the results shiny, dense and very black. Carefully chipping the stuff free with his knife and shaking the chips, as he went, into a half-round of aspen outer bark he finally got both jars more or less empty, the resulting heap of dried blood chips and chunks rather resembling in both texture and weight a small pile of glassy, reflective anthracite coal fragments. Testing one in his mouth Einar found it very good, its concentrated iron giving him an

immediate and noticeable boost in energy--definitely let myself get too far behind again, need to make more of an effort to get regular meals it looks like, and lots of them--but when he chewed the stuff stuck rather persistently to his teeth, not entirely unpleasant, but he doubted Liz would like it too well. No matter, the blood had been intended more as a supplement in soups and stews than as a crunchy snack, anyway, but seeing the immediate beneficial effects his small experimental taste had produced for him in his rather chilled and exhausted state, Einar was prompted to add a few of the smaller chunks to the elk skin pouch he always kept around his neck, putting them alongside the pitchcoated tinder fragments, jerky bits and other small items he normally carried there. Breakfast was hot, then, Liz pulling him down on the rock beside her to eat. Youd mentioned yesterday that it might be about time to wrap things up here, move back to the cabinwhat do you think? Seems maybe wed be smart to be spending our nights in there, since so much of our meat and all that fats stored in there, make sure its safe from wandering critters this evening So, what do you think? Good project for today, or do we need to stick around here until the bear hides done? Einar shrugged, eyes for a moment taking on a vacant, faraway look that he tried very hard to conceal from Liz--so, she mentioned the fact that evenings eventually coming. Its a reality, live with it. Not gonna put it off, no matter how busy you keep today, and he found himself somewhat taken aback by the strength of the dread that came over him at the prospect of facing another night such as the past one had been, told himself to forget it, push the thing aside--shook his head and glanced up at her with an apologetic smile. Sure. Would be fine to move back over there today, I think. Bear hide can be moved just like everything else. Its handy being here where the waters so much closer by, but really, the walk from cabin to spring isnt such a bad one. Lets do it. On his third day there assisting with the investigation of the terrain around the mine blast, Bud Kilgore had been offered by the Agent in Charge at Mountain Task Force headquarters an unofficial and semi-permanent position as consultant to the ongoing search based out of Culver Falls. An effort which, considering its increased urgency and national priority after the terrible casualties of the laundry-poisoning incident and subsequent mine blast, was progressing at a maddeningly slow pace to those with a stake in seeing it end. A pace which Kilgore--having accepted the position with an enthusiasm which the AIC found somewhat puzzling at first, in light of the prior ill-will between him and the Bureau--was determined to see maintained. Bygones were bygones, Kilgore had insisted; his problem had been with Toland Jimson and never with the Bureau itself. He had, though, attached one stipulation to his acceptance of the job: he had to be allowed to bring in an assistant or two, trackers who he had worked with in the past and whose judgment he trusted. The AIC had made no objection.

After all the trips Liz had made during Einars recent absence, there truly wasnt too much to move, now that they had decided it was moving day. Cooking pots would need

to be transported, jars, a few batches of recently dried jerky, the hides theyd been using as bedding and that of the coyote Liz had taken with her rabbit stick--his carcass, too, which still hung in the shade of their camp-trees--their packs and the remainder of Einars fermented pudding, which Liz was secretly hoping he might decide to leave, so she wouldnt have to be smelling it for the next month or two every time she was in the cabin--knew there was no chance whatsoever of any such occurring, but one can hope-and of course atlatl, bows, arrows and darts. That was just about it, a moving process which ought to take, by Lizs estimate, three or four trips to complete. But that was before she saw Einar, wasting no time and already laden down with two baskets of jerky, both cured hides and the largest of the aspen-bark vessels full of fermented pudding. Well, there go my hopes of leaving the stuff Whats the idea, you planning on carrying everything yourself? Leave some for little Hildegard and her mother! Oh, I left you plenty, both of you. Figured with the cookpots full, one of leftover breakfast and the other with water that wed better take, youd need to be doing a lot of balancing, might not want to be carrying too much else. Which sounded sensible to Liz, though she wished he might have thought to take the full pots himself, leave her the larger load. Which wouldnt have been any more like him than would have been wasting food by abandoning the remainder of that hideous pudding, and she gave him a big smile, shook her head and fetched the breakfast pot from its place by the fire. Too hot to carry, but she had an idea, hung it from its bale on a long spruce stick, intending to hang the other, once filled with spring water, from the opposite side, balancing the thing on her shoulder. A fine way to carry the liquids, and feeling ambitious after seeing the way Einar had loaded himself down for the walk, she twisted the cordage tie at the top of the bear stomach brain-goop container around the stick as well, figuring she might as well carry it on the same trip. Theyd still have to come back for the bear hide and the rest of the pudding, but if the pudding was somehow packaged up and put into one of their packs, she figured they could finish the job with one more trip. The rain, much to Lizs relief, had greatly slacked off by the time they were ready to leave; she had not been looking forward to their sleeping hides ending up soaked from the journey, knowing that they would never dry thoroughly in time for bed, and she hoped the weather might be moving out for good; it was time for a sunny day or two. Though the cabin was much as he had last seen it, Einar strangely felt as though he was entering the place for the first time when they at last reached it, Liz relieving herself of her burden and unbolting the door for him--his hands were quite full with all he had insisted on carrying, strength visibly starting to fade after the walk--pushing it open. Seemed like an awful long time had passed since theyd last been there together, and Einar stood there alone for a moment in dimness of its interior, breathing familiar scents-smoked jerky, the tang of willow from the numerous baskets which Liz had woven, filled with months worth of food and hung from the center beam, and somewhere way in the background but not yet entirely faded away, the acrid bitterness of berberine, dried and hung roots for future use, and, no doubt, a fair quantity of the spilled liquid from dozens of dressing changes on his foot. A strange experience, and he was glad when Liz joined

him in there and lit the candle, but it was very, very good to be home. After making sure everything was in order and unmolested by scavengers there in the cabin--which it was-they emptied their packs, bolted the door and emerged blinking out into what was rapidly becoming a sunny day. They were about to head back up to camp for the second load when something caught Einars eye. Scrambling up among the steep rocks that reared black and sheltering behind the cabin, Einar made his way up to the high lookout which he had first visited the day of his leaving to keep watch on the intruding hikers, took, as soon as he got himself settled near the edge, the binoculars and trained them on the valley. Liz soon joined him, making the climb with some difficulty as her growing belly somewhat reduced her agility on the rock, but she made it, lay down beside him. Einar lay scanning the valley with an eagleeyed intensity which surely would have turned up any random movement or misplaced branch that happened to pass through his field of vision, attention centered around the spot where hed first seen the hikers some days before. Saw nothing, had not really expected to, but still found it somewhat reassuring that the valley appeared devoid of human presence. Figured, despite his previous certainty to the contrary, that the little expedition must have been exactly what they seemed--a small group of wildlife enthusiasts seeking out a glimpse of rarely-seen herd of mountain goats for observation and photography. Theyd found it, got their photos and gone on their way, and Einar, trying without success to retrace the convoluted thought-passages by which he had arrived at the unshakable certainty that the intruders had been sent as part of an elaborate scheme to draw him away from the basin so that Liz could be captured and turned against him, shook his head and set down the binoculars, wiping a trace of sweat from his forehead. Warm there on the sunny rock, a welcome contrast to the damp chill of the morning, and for a time he lay still, watching Liz as she followed with her eyes the distant ribbon of the creek, a thread-thin trace of black down there two thousand feet below them on patchwork green of the valley floor, winding between short stands of willow, fireweed, red osier dogwood, and in that moment he was overcome by a sense of almost-disbelieving amazement at her existence there with him, the incredible patience that it must take for her to live day to day with an ornery old mountain critter such as himself, even when he wasnt spending the better part of a week chasing after shadows and leaving her alone to process most of a bear, abandoning herand when she finally felt his eyes on her, rolled to her side and turned to him, she was puzzled at his tears. Forgive me, Lizziecan you forgive me? But he couldnt say it, not just then, because he didnt have an explanation, thought she really deserved one and couldnt come up with an answer that would satisfy even his own curiosity at the moment, let alone hers--had certainly seen nothing frivolous in his actions at the time, had believed he was taking steps to defend her, the child and their home to the very best of his ability, and under similar circumstances he expected he would do it all again--so he just kept quiet, took the hand she was offering to him. Mighty fine place youve picked out for us, Mr. Asmundson. I cant even tell you how blessed I am to be here sharing it with you. Our home. At which Einar bowed his head, pressed her hand to it as the tears fell, wishing he had the words

Liz and Einar did not stay long there on the sunny lookout rock, despite Lizs wish that they might do so, seeing that Einar was, for the first time in what seemed like days, really warm if not thoroughly relaxed, the pressing need to finish retrieving their possessions before evening set in and scavengers became a threat soon sending them to scramble and slide down from their high vantage point and head back to the cabin to retrieve empty packs for the second trip. Returning to camp, Einar and Liz loaded themselves down with their remaining possessions, not too much of a load, with the exception of the brained and soaking bear hide, which Einar estimated must weigh significantly in excess of seventy five pounds-knew his own weariness might be adding somewhat to the estimate, but either way, the thing was heavy--fitting leftover food and the somewhat ripened coyote carcass into and on top of packs and finally settling on a way to transport the bear hide. Choosing a strong but small aspen which had died young and remained standing not far from camp, Einar snapped it off near ground level, setting it over the soaked hide and beginning to wrap the hide around it, lifting first one end and then the other until it was roughly coiled around the aspen, wrapping and tying it in several places with nettle cordage in the hopes of keeping it in place for the walk. Time to try it out, then, Einar tentatively lifting one end of the little tree while praying, weary of struggling with the weighty hide and well on his way to being covered once again with water and sticky, greasy tanning solution, starting to get cold, that his attachment job would hold. Sure didnt want the things coming loose halfway through the walk, rolling away down the slope and becoming encrusted with spruce needleswhat a job it would be then to clean it Which, to his immense relief, it seemed would not likely be necessary after all, for when Liz took her place at the other end of the log and lifted along with him the hide hardly budged from its position, sagging some near the middle, but remaining firmly attached. Einar let out a sigh of relief, grinned at Liz and rested the weight of the pole on his shoulder. You ready? You doing Ok with this? Not too heavy? Yes, its fine. Guess weve got everything, or pretty nearly What about the woodpile, though? Should we come back for it, maybe build some sort of a travois and lash the wood to it so well have it to use at the cabin? Einar studied for a moment the carefully broken and stacked pile of branches where it rested not too far from the location of their firepit, well-protected there under the spreading boughs of the largest of their camp-spruces, stacked carefully up out of contact with the ground by Liz, who had built it a crude rack of sorts by laying down a series of large branches perpendicular to the direction shed stacked the wood, shaking his head. Its looking real good and dry here where it is. Lets leave it for now, let it sit here as a reserve and also so well have it available if we come up to use this camp again. Good to have things like that set aside in different places, never know when youll end up needing something and be without time to collect it, out here. Which seemed a reasonable idea to Liz, and they started off, moving carefully at first while they worked out how to balance under the heavy sloshing of the soaked hide, how to move without unsteadying one another and causing a fall.

Just over halfway back to the cabin Liz started feeling a bit strange, hardly noticed it first because she was so very focused on maintaining her balance and footing under the awkward load, and on hoping that Einar, walking in front of her and appearing at times close to collapse under his share of the weight, might manage to do the same. It was undeniable, though, the strange tightening in her stomach that made it hard to walk properly, and she half wanted to call out to Einar, get him to stop and allow her a rest to see if it would change the way she felt, but she didnt want to alarm him for nothing, really, really did not want to risk making him lose his footing and fall under that heavy load. And besides, they would be there within minutes. Which they were, Liz hastily setting down her end of the burden as soon as she saw that Einar was thinking about doing the same with his, taking a few steps back and sitting down on a chunk of granite. It took Einar, himself badly exhausted and dealing with leg cramps that had nearly halted his progress a time or two there near the end, a minute or so to realize that anything was amiss with Liz, the fact becoming plain when he glanced in her direction and saw the rigid posture with which she sat on the rock, hunched forward with her hands on the sides of her somewhat bulging stomach. Lizzie? He was beside her, kneeling there with his own hands over hers. Whats happening? Whats wrong? Nothing, Im pretty sure, buthere, feel. Which he did, seeing that her entire stomach area seemed strangely rigid, inflexible. Does that hurt? No, not at all. Just feels strange, and makes it hard to walk right. I felt like I was really waddling for the last half or so of the walk. Half, huh? Well, you could have said somethinghere. You sit right here and Im gonna get you some water, maybe some of that broth weve got left from this morning. Which he did, hurrying away to prevent her seeing in his eyes any of the apprehension that he was suddenly feeling, fetching her a jar of water and the one that held the leftover soup, and sitting with her while she drank. Has this happened before? Not quite like this. Once when I was getting up out of bed in the morning I felt something similar, about a week ago, but it didnt last this long. It doesnt hurt or anything, just feels awfully strange. I think its what Susan called practice contractions,--she never liked the name Braxton Hicks for some reason, which is what most people call them--just my body starting to get ready for the big dayshe said they usually happen all through the pregnancy, but can start to be really noticeable for a couple of months before the actual birth. I hope thats all it is, anyway. Which struck Einar as a rather casual attitude to take about the entire thing, a good sign, he supposed, when it came to how she might handle the actual labor and birth when the time came, but that

time had definitely not come yet, had better not come for a few months, still, and for the moment he really wished shed sit still and take it easy for a little while so they could figure out what was going on, make sure nothing was wrong, but she was already on her feet, apparently feeling much better. The water helped! Its gone back to normal, now. Dehydration can increase those practice contractions, Im pretty sure. Maybe you let yourself get a little bit behind on water in all the busying around this morning, and on the walk. Better make an effort to get extra water today. Here, go ahead and finish this jar. Ill make a trip back over there for more later, so we have plenty for supper and the night. Want to check things out back at camp anyway, walk over it one more time and make sure we didnt leave anything important Which Liz highly doubted he had been planning to do at all, before her little incident, could see that he was badly worn out, starting to get a bit shaky and unstable on his feet and half wished shed never mentioned it to him. Knew she was right to have done so, though; they were definitely in this together, and it made sense for both of them to know what was going on, especially as the time drew nearer. Well. Everything was fine for the moment, would, she was pretty sure, continue to be so--though she found herself secretly wishing Susan was there; it would have been good to be able to ask her questions, just get a confirmation that everything was alright--and she left Einar with a smile and a squeeze of the hand, retreated to the cabin to begin setting things in order again after their move. Einar, after taking a minute to catch his own breath, got to work also, making several trips up into the timber to gather firewood for that night, hoping that his so supplementing what they already had leftover there near the cabin would alleviate Liz of any feeling that she needed to do the task, in case she felt like resting for the remainder of the day. Which he doubted, but still wanted to give her the opportunity, and he hauled down quite a few armloads before starting to think about heading back to the spring for the extra water hed promised her. Realizing what a shortage they had when it came to containers of the water-bearing variety and wanting to eliminate the necessity for multiple trips each day over to the spring to refill water jars, the thought occurred to Einar that they really did need a large water storage vessel there at the cabin which could be filled once every few days, being drawn on during that time as their sole water source, if necessary. Wouldnt be necessary in the winter, as they would have snow and ice to melt, but he hated to think of the difficulty they might find themselves in if at any point during one of the snow-less months both he and Liz were for any reason simultaneously incapacitated, unable to reach the spring for a few days. Not a pleasant thought but it could definitely happen, and in such a case, a good twenty or thirty gallons of water there at--or even in--the cabin could make a huge difference. The easiest and most long-lasting way to accomplish this, as far as he could tell, would be to burn and carve out another log similar to the boat hed created for the bear fat storage, though perhaps this time it would be best, provided he could find and cut a suitable tree-section, to hollow the log out vertically creating more of a barrel than a boat. The finished barrel could then be coated with melted bear fat or even spruce pitch--that one sounded better--to prevent the wood from absorbing too much moisture and becoming waterlogged, a lid made to cover it, and their water storage

system would be complete and ready for filling and use. A good project to begin on that following day, perhaps, or possibly even late that afternoon if he got everything else done and could locate the right tree, but for the moment, his trip to the spring had to take first priority. Hurrying back along the path they had taken from the camp, Einar reached the spring in less than ten minutes, a very quick pace for him those days, but one which had been made almost inevitable by his desire to return quickly to Liz, to be with her just in case there were any further concerning developments related to the apparent contractions she had experienced while carrying the bear hide. Which he did not expect, believed she was almost certainly correct in thinking them to be of the practice variety, but still he worried; it was far too early for the baby to be coming, too early to even think about it, as he expected there would be almost no chance of survival for the little one up there in the thin, oxygen-depleted air of their basin if he happened to come before his lungs were fully ready, let alone anytime in the near future. Not a good thought, but it got Einar to wondering just what he--they--would do if such an event began to look likely, whether he should try to get Liz down lower where the air carried more oxygen and things might go more easily for both she and the baby, but, unless done well ahead of time and in a thoroughly thought-out manner, any such move seemed to him far riskier than staying put. Guessed hed better talk with her about it, make sure they were on the same page, at least, when it came to how and when to make such decisions. And must do it without worrying her, too, if he could, because hed hate to take what was in all likelihood a routine development of her advancing pregnancy and turn it into a major cause for concern, get her to fretting unnecessarily--not that she was in general the type to do so. These thoughts tumbling through his mind as he went, Einar arrived at the spring badly winded, for he had very nearly been running without even quite realizing it, sinking to his knees in the rocks beside the little spring-pool and remaining there, dizzy and struggling for breath, for a good minute before he could see straight enough to trust himself to fill the water vessels without dropping them. Well. Not much good for running yet, it looks like, at least not after carrying soaked bear hides, but youll get there. At least you managed to stay conscious this time, has to be a good start. Whew. Come on, get up and back to work before you go to sleep, here. Serve you right to wake up falling headfirst into that little pool, wouldnt it? Which actually sounded like a reasonably good idea to him, cold water calling almost irresistibly to him. Soon. Got to get back to my training soon, do it on a regular basis. Would make the days a lot easier to get through, Im pretty sure, and I need it to help me prepare for winter, anyway. But not today. Lots to do today, and I need to get back to Liz pretty quickly, here. Still a bit dizzy he scrubbed his face with a handful of icy water from the spring, felt better and went on to refill their water containers, reminded once more of their need for more such. Have to keep on the lookout for that soon-to-be hollow tree section on my way back, see if I cant get started on it later. That, and weave a couple real good tight willow baskets, tall and narrow and closely-made enough to easily waterproof with a good coating or two of pitch. Or could make thirty, forty feet of thick cordage from aspen inner bark, coil and sew the stuff into a tall, narrow water vessel that I could coat the same way with

pitchdone that before. Was the only way I had to carry water there for a good while last summeror was it the one before that? Anyhow, worked before, can work again, and it would give me a way to carry an awful lot more water per trip than these jars do, when it comes to filling the water barrel. Willow basket would be the faster way to go about it I guess, since we dont have much aspen cordage made up right now. Got lots of nettle, but not much aspen, because the nettles so much stronger, anyway, got lots more uses than the aspen when it comes to tying and lashing and such, andright. Back on task here, Einar. Get this water back to the cabin so Lizll have more than plenty to drink for the rest of the day, and then you can worry about the water barrel and how to fill it. A task which was not to prove quite as simple as it sounded, Einar finding himself, several minutes into the return walk, sitting half in a daze on a fallen aspen beside the trail, leaning on his spear and staring up at the spruce-tops as they waved and danced in a gentle early afternoon breeze, half asleep and wondering, when he finally thought to question the matter, just what he was doing there, and in which direction hed been headed. Found a clue in the water jars lined up neatly at his feet, took a sip from one of them and, mind returning with a jolt to the present, scrambled to his feet. What was that, Einar? How long have you been sitting here, anyway? Doggone it, cant even trust yourself to make a little run to the spring and back without getting lost or delayed in one way or another. Thats pretty bad. Nowherebetter have a little snack of some sort, see if you cant keep on your feet for the lousy few minutes itll take you to get this water back to Liz. Useless, Im telling you. Fumbling with the pouch around his neck he fished out one of the black-shiny chunks of dried bear blood hed earlier stashed there, chewed it for a minute, feeling an immediate rush of renewed awareness, wakefulness, strength. Better. And looks like youd better have something more when you get back to the cabin, some stew or a few bites of jerky and bear fat, maybe some nettles, if Liz has any stewed ones left over. Cant be wasting time like this, losing yourself halfway back to the cabin and wasting chunks of the day away dreaming and staring at the sky like this. Covering the remaining distance quickly he hurried into the cabin clearing, glad to find Liz out gathering kindling for the evening, her appearance and demeanor quite normal. Seeing the difficulty he seemed to be having in keeping to his feet she hurried to him, relieved him of part of his burden. You alright? No more of those contractions? What? No, no more. I think it was just like you said--lack of water. Theyve probably been happening for a while, but just got more noticeable today because in all the excitement of moving back here to our home, I forgot to keep up on my water. Ive solved that, though, because Im going to make a big pot of raspberry leaf tea every morning, fill the entire pot, and make sure its gone before the sun goes down. Thatll be a good start, and should help remind me to keep drinking water through the day, too. Sounds good. Here. Some water to get started with, and Im working on an idea so well never run short of water here at the cabin, wont have to make so many trips back and forth all the time. Just need to find the right tree At which Einars legs collapsed most unceremoniously beneath him, leaving him to snatch at the spear, which hed leaned on a nearby tree, just narrowly catching himself and avoiding an embarrassing fall. Tried hard to make the entire thing appear deliberate, hide from Liz how badly hed worn

himself out, but she had already seen, was guiding him down to a seat on the ground. That was a fast trip! What did you do, run the whole way? He shrugged, came close to telling her about his accidental nap, but refrained. Just as well that she didnt know, as she already looked inclined to make an attempt at persuading him to come with her into the cabin and rest for a while--which indeed was her thought at the moment, but she was of a mind to insist, rather than persuade, considering the amount of work she knew hed already done that day--and with great care and deliberation lest he fall again he got to his feet, helped her carry the water into the cabin. Before Liz had a chance to suggest that he stay awhile--he didnt want to do it, not yet, not with evening approaching--Einar was out the door again, mumbling something about water barrels, willow stakes and the need to take advantage of the recent rain as he disappeared down into the timber, heading for the nearest basin-meadow. Liz was left to wonder, open-mouthed--shed been about to speak, but his departure had been too swift-just what he might have in mind, and whether she ought to be concerned about it, ought to follow him and see just what he was up to.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ In addition to beginning his search for the perfect water-barrel log, Einar had realized that the recently rain-softened ground around the cabin offered him another opportunity which he ought to take advantage of. Even before completing the structure the idea had been in his mind to insulate the place by creating a debris wall around the perimeter of each wall, holding the insulating pack of spruce needles and shed aspen leaves in place by driving in a row of stakes some foot or foot and a half out form the cabin walls and weaving willow wands between the resulting uprights. With the ground soft and moist, the time seemed right to drive in the upright stakes, completing the first step of the project and as soon as he had reached the nearest willow thicket, the one that lay just below the cabin along the edge of the nearest basin-meadow, he began seeking out the thickest-diameter willow shoots, cutting them until he had accumulated a big armload. Knew, looking back on his struggle with half the weight of that bear hide, that hed have trouble carrying many more at one time, laid them on the ground and bundled them together, lashing the bundle with the length of cordage he always carried in his pocket. Bundle didnt look very big, and as he couldnt see its willows covering much of the distance around the cabin, once trimmed and driven into the ground, he went back for more, nearly doubling the quantity there in the ground. Back up to the cabin, then, weighed down heavily by the burden on his back as he struggled to maintain his balance, to prevent the long willow shoots from tangling with nearby vegetation as he passed and halting his progress in a rather sudden and aggravating manner, a task at which he succeeded, all but once By the time Einar got himself picked up and the scattered willows re-bundled after his fall Liz had really begun to worry--it was, by that time, nearly evening--was almost ready to go out in search of him, and when finally he made his way limping and weaving up to the cabin-clearing, she met him at the timbers edge, getting herself under the awkward-looking willow-bundle

so as to take part of its weight and thus helping him over to his final destination, where he collapsed for a moment to the ground, totally spent. Liz brought him water, waited for him to catch his breath a bit before she said anything. Willows. Whats the plan? Yeah, willows. Cantankerous things got me hung up in thebrush and didnt have enough breath to finish the sentence, as it turned out, started laughing instead but was soon reduced to silence on that account, too, and when Liz offered him more water, he gladly accepted. Must have been quite a sight me trying to push my way through the chokecherry scrub with these things poking out in all directions like the spokes of some broken old rimless wheel, but now here I am and theyre here with me, and youre about to have an insulated cabin. Insulatedhow are you going to insulate the cabin with willows? Im not quite understanding Like this. Gonna cut these willows down to two, three feet each, drive them in around the walls like stakes, weave the thinner portions--lots of them, more than I have here right now, in between them to create a giant basket all around the cabin, then stuff the space between the basket and cabin with spruce duff. Itll keep the wind out at least down there on ground level, keep things a lot warmer in there. Wont have to do the angled sides, just the front and back. Can pile the needles and stuff directly on the angled parts, hold it in place with more chunks of aspen and spruce bark. When the snow comes itll help too, of course, insulate real well where it heaps up against the walls, but until then, this debris wall should provide a good foot or so of insulation down along the floor where its most needed. Wont that be just a bit of a fire hazard, though? Ha! Only if it catches on fire! Which Liz did not find nearly as humorous as Einar apparently did, grabbing his arm and helping him up from his crumpled sprawl on the wet ground, where he had collapsed in laughter, or exhaustion, or perhaps both, and with her assistance he got dizzily to his feet, managed to stop laughing and have another gulp of water. Speaking of fire hazard, guess its long past time for me to get started building us a stove like the one we had back at the bear den, stacked stones mortared with a mud and spruce needles mix, chimney made the same wayitll be a lot more efficient than this open fire, let us use less wood and cut down on the smoke we have to deal with in the cabin, besides posing far less danger of inadvertently igniting its surroundings Ill help. I know you already carried a bunch of flattish rock slabs over from the cliff when we were staying here before, and Id be glad to help you carry them into the cabin so you can start assembling the stove. Maybe that would make a good project for tomorrow. Maybe. Have to see what tomorrow brings. Sometimes tomorrow brings its own

projects, doesnt leave us much choice, and Einar, are you alright? She took him by the arm, led him through the door, having seen that he appeared increasingly unsteady on his feet, eyes strange and unfocused despite his efforts to prevent her seeing. Come here. Maybe its time to sit down for a while, have a little soup. Youve been on your feet for an awfully long time today, and I dont think you really got much sleep last night Struggling free of her grasp Einar thanked her for the offer, took the strip of jerky she pressed into his hands and hurried back outside. Had a lot of work to do before it got dark. And after. Especially after. Untying the two by-then haphazardly bound willow bundles and spreading their contents out on the ground he sorted them into two piles, those whose lower ends looked stout enough to be cut for stakes, and those that didnt, trimming the stout ones with the axe until he had a pile of thirty or forty of the things. Choosing a granite round whose weight put it just at the edge of what he could reasonably expect himself to repeatedly lift at the moment and using it as a hammer, he began pounding the willow stakes into the ground, gently at first to avoid splitting or crushing them and then a bit more enthusiastically as he saw that they were standing up well to his efforts, burying a good foot of each in the damp, reasonably soft ground and only having to move two or three of them and start over due to encountering buried rocks. Starting along the back of the cabin where he seemed to remember most of the drafts coming in at night Einar thoroughly covered the area with stakes placed a good foot apart at first, but then closer as he realized that he was going to have no shortage, moving around to the front and staking it, as well. It was by then past sunset and beginning to grow chilly outside, Liz emerging from the cabin, where shed been working on supper, to see what Einar was up to and hopefully talk him into taking a break, if not quitting for the evening. Einar had no such intention, though, and before she knew quite what was happening he had managed to recruit Lizs help in weaving the crosspieces of the insulation-holding baskets into place, a task which came to a premature end sometime around dark when finally they ran out of willows. Einar, of course, wanted to go after another load, but Liz grabbed his hand, dragged him forcefully--though fortunately he put up no resistance--into the cabin and planted herself in front of the door before he could get up and leave, hurriedly explaining. Hildegard says shes hungry, and needs to eat right now. The stews been ready for hours, and she cant go on smelling it like this, but not eating! And I dont see how you can, either. Come on. Weve had a good full day, got the hide brained, moved back over here from camp and got most of the framework for an insulation wall done! Tomorrow Ill help you start collecting needles and leaves for the insulation. How about that? Einar gave her a nod, a big grin, a good day, indeedhuh, seems like two or three days, actually, when she puts it that wayand shes right, Im sure, about the little one needing some supper. Eating, the cabin warming comfortably as they enjoyed the stew, Liz was looking forward to a relaxing evening followed by a good bit of sleep for both of them, but she could see that Einar, staring into the fire with his half-emptied portion of stew all but forgotten between his hands, was growing increasingly unsettled as evening moved on towards night, and she could all but see him searching for reasons to stay up, for one more task that absolutely must be completed.

Roger Kiesl arrived that afternoon at the Culver Falls airstrip in the little green and white 1959 DeHavilland DHC-2 Beaver which he had owned and piloted for the past twenty eight years, met there by his longtime friend Bud Kilgore. The two had not seen each other since Roger and his associates had visited Bud several months prior up at his cabin, after themselves leaving Culver Falls in disgust following a brief and contentious stint as trackers for Mountain Task Force under the command of the previous Agent in Charge. That time, pulled from what theyd believed to be fresh sign of fugitive Einar Asmundsons presence to investigate what was to them an obvious hoax immediately outside the perimeter of Task Force headquarters--tracks, a bone arrowhead, clever, but clearly not left by the fugitive himself--they had left in disgust, vowing never to return, even if asked. Roger, though, had not counted on being asked by Kilgore himself, and as Bud Kilgore was one of those people hed do almost anything for--would trust with his life, and indeed had--he had hardly been able to refuse. Greeting Kilgore, looking him over, Roger knew better than to say anything telling--who knew just who might be watching, listening?--but the knowing little smirk at the corner of his mouth said it all. Bud hadnt been involved in any dirt bike accident. Not lately, anyhow, not while in the middle of blowing up that mine and doing laundry service for the feds When I said you needed to get out more, buddy, this is not necessarily what I meant! But itll do. Good to see things stirring around, good to be in the middle of it again. Think Im gonna like it here, this timenow just what do you have in mind for us? Use of the plane, thats what Bud Kilgore had in mind; hed known Roger would be likely to fly to the area rather than drive or take other alternate transportation, and he couldnt wait to get up in the air, up there, that was, without the federal escort with which hed been encumbered while serving as spotter for some of the more recent search flights, which had, due to a batch of somewhat creative intelligence passed on to his employers after his days-long analysis of the terrain around the site of the mine blast, not come within eight miles of the area where hed had his last encounter with the fugitive. Couldnt wait to get up there but knew hed have to, needed to take a day or so to get Roger established and up to speed on the nature of the ongoing operations, introduce him to the Agent in Charge and to the men under whose direct command he was working, see if Roger couldnt persuaded to hold his tongue and play nice for a while. Kilgore had never been much of a diplomat--well, there had been that once in Mozambique when hed talked himself and three buddies out of an incredibly tight spot, but his success then had been more attributable to his being the only one in the group with a passable command of Portuguese than to any special diplomatic skill or tact he might have possessed--and knew hed have his hands full for the next few weeks trying to keep the peace between Roger and the feds, if his presence was to be long tolerated there at Task Force headquarters. Which Bud mightily hoped could be arranged, because

he sure did need that doggone plane Working together that evening after dinner Einar and Liz got the cabin back in order, newly dried packets and baskets of jerky hung so that they lined the ceiling-beams in a most homelike and satisfying manner, bed of fir boughs dismantled and rebuilt with fresh, soft boughs, draped with the two hides which would have to serve as their nighttime protection until the braining was complete on the bear, plenty of firewood carried in and stacked for that night and the next morning, and by the time they finished, the place was looking like home once more, beginning to take on the familiar feel that Liz, at least, had so treasured during their first stay there. Einar appeared slightly less enthusiastic about the entire thing, eyes distant as he listened to the sweep of a rising wind through the spruce tops, its soft rustle growing in the aspens to the muted roar of a distant creek swollen with snowmelt, and when Liz suggested heading to bed, he told her to go ahead, that hed stay up for a bit and keep feeding the fire, maybe finish off a few yards of cordage on which hed earlier begun work, scraping and pounding nettle stalks to free up their fibers. Which work kept him occupied for the next hour or so as the fire slowly faded away to coals and he watched Liz go from weary wakefulness to what appeared a very calm and comfortable sleep wrapped up in the ewe hide on their little pallet of freshly cut fir boughs, and he went to her, quiet, careful not to bump into anything that might wake her, spread the deer hide over her lower half, which had remained uncovered, wanting her to be warm. Sleep well, you two Back to the fire, then, and he added another log, gave the pulsating orange of the coal bed a gentle breath of air until the freshly-added chunk of aspen caught, flamed, providing him with light by which to return to his work with the cordage, and he completed another yard before again stopping, this time to shift positions in an attempt to alleviate a cramp in his leg, the right one; foot had been hurting pretty badly since that morning, and he was sure he must have been walking somewhat abnormally in an attempt to alleviate the pressure on the recently healed spot where his toes had once been. Figured he had better check the foot to make sure it didnt need any particular attention, let it air out some and get into a pair of fresh socks, which he did, pleased that though the new skin over the toe area was somewhat raw and aggravated, it wasnt broken. Looked like he might be over the touchiest part of the healing process, well on his way to being able once more to use the foot fairly normally without worrying about ending up with a life-threatening infection or twoa very good thing. Finishing with the foot he sat for a time staring into the darkness to the side of the flames, stood, stretched--cramping up again, seat aching from prolonged contact with the ground, and he took off his sweater, folded it up to act as a cushion when he next sat--and went to the door, easing it open and standing there for some time testing the night air, listening, tasting, finding it, despite an unnamed and at times nearly overwhelming apprehension that seemed increasingly to be taking hold of him as the night went on, to be good. Quiet. Home. Sat back down and tried to focus once again on the cordage--one could never have too much cordage, living out as they did, and theyd been growing a bit short of late--but couldnt seem to get his body to cooperate, realizing himself at that moment dead weary, eyes blurring and hands shaking so that he had to set his work aside, get himself propped up so that he wouldnt succumb

to a sudden and incredibly strong urge to lie down, to curl up right where he was and sleep, mustnt do it, had to stay awake An hour later Liz woke, missed him in the bed beside her and raised her head just a bit, searching, finding. He was getting cold sitting over there against the back wall, she could see it in the flickering glow of the fire on his hollow features, the bulk of its warmth not quite reaching him as he sat with bony wrists bent around his drawn-up knees, head bowed, appearing the picture of resignation and clearly quite ready to pass the entire night right there where he was, alone and shivering with his back against the not-yet insulated logs of the wall. Which she expected to be exactly what he had in mind. Come to bed, Einar No answer. She asked again but he just shook his head, didnt appear inclined to speak, and she got up, moved closer, draped the deer hide around his shoulders and put a gentle hand on his wrist, icy cold, starting to tremble just a bit despite his efforts at keeping still. She wished hed respond in some way, move closer and allow her to warm him, but it was clear that he didnt want to be touched, so she stopped, sat there quietly with him for a time but she was getting tired; the day had been a long one for her, as well, and for the baby. It was time to sleep, to return to sleep, and she meant to take him with her, if at all possible. Why wont you come? Please wont you talk to me? Are you afraid itll end up being like last night, with the dreams? He turned on her, barely suppressing a snarl. You want to know why not? You really want to know? You want to hear how Im terrified to come to bed with you because just about every time I close my eyes lately I wind up tied so tight I can barely move a muscle on the floor of some stinking cage with a couple of gooks in black pajamas standing out there--I can smell 'em, that strong fishy smell, you know, even over the stench of the swamp water; your sense of smell gets awful keen when youve gone long enough without eating--about to open the door so they can spend the next hour or two trying to pry more information out of me 'cause Im not talking, havent been talking, pulling those doggone ropes so tight that I cant breathe, and then they let them loose for a little while, just long enough to keep me conscious so they can ask a few more questions and see if Im ready to answer, which I am, I really am, but for some reason I dont do it, know I cant do it, even though by then I dont really remember why not, dont even remember who I am, half the time, but it makes em mad that I wont talk so they start prying and poking and twisting andandwhen I woke last night you wereI thought you were and I was this close to coming at you with a sliver of bamboo Id pulled from the side of that damned cage and hidden where it was just within reach, I could see the starlight on the whites of your eyes and it was this close, and I was gonna be free Now! Now youve heard it! Do you still want me to come to bed, now that youve heard it? He had been shouting, standing, palms braced against the nearest ceiling beam as he spoke as if to raise it, tear the place down, but in finishing all the strength seemed to go out of him in a rush and he sank back to his position against the wall, head in his hands, silent, and

Liz knelt beside him, answered calmly and without hesitation. Yes. Come with me. He took the hand she was offering, pressed it to his forehead, lips--dear, dear Lizzie--released it back to her. No, not tonight. You have to sleep, or this is just going to keep getting worse. Ill sleep. Just need to do it over here for tonight. For a good while Liz, curled up in the bed once more, tried to get back to sleep and respect Einars need to be left alone that night, even managed to go to sleep for a good while, but was finally able to put the situation out of her mind no longer. The fire had died down and it was dark in the cabin, a faint glow only from the nearly-dead coals illuminating the area immediately around the firepit, and in that dim glow she thought she could just make out the tumbled heap that must be Einar, appearing in the gloom to be nearly doubled over on himself and pressed hard against the back wall. She was pretty sure from the sound of his breathing that he had managed somehow to get to sleep there on the packed dirt of the floor but he sounded awfully cold, breaths shuddering and puffing, teeth rattling occasionally in the nighttime silence. Didnt want to disturb him, risk interrupting whatever sleep he was managing to get but neither did she intend to lie there warm in her own bed while he slipped further and further into a dangerous hypothermic state from which she was doubtful of being able to successfully retrieve him. A real possibility, it seemed to her--though she knew he would almost certainly disagree--as acutely as he seemed to have been affected of late by the cold, his body simply lacking the resources with which to sufficiently resist it. He tended to make a joke of the matter whenever she brought it up, laughed it off with a declaration--serious, she knew, frighteningly so, as she was well aware that hed eventually follow through with it--that he had better start spending more time out in the rain or some such, but in truth she could not remember ever seeing him quite as emaciated and was just then, not even in the days immediately after the operations on his foot when he had barely been able to eat at all, body fat down to starvation levels. She could not help but think that she might well end up losing him sometime that winter, if not before, if he didnt manage to put on a bit of weight as a barrier against the cold. All of which Einar knew, had to know, for hed been the one to tell it to her in the first place, but when it came to applying the knowledge to his own lifewell, seemed he hadnt quite been able to manage it of late, and she could not quite understand why. Not that the why of it mattered, not that night, because at the moment he was by all appearances lying there freezing, lacking the desire and perhaps by then even the ability to do anything about it, and she knew that she couldnt leave him like that for the remainder of the night. Well, how should I go about waking you this time, you goofy guy? Say something? Throw something? Just creep in there beside you and hope youre too far gone to put up much of a fight, even if you do mistake me for the enemy? Which sounded horrid, when

she thought about it, the fact that she could even joke with herself about hoping such a thing, but it was in reality seeming like the best option to her, as the others would almost certainly result in startling Einar most unpleasantly from his sleep and likely as not causing him to want to leave the cabin and find an even more remote spot in which to curl up and finish freezing himself. Even if that wasnt how he was thinking of it, which it probably wasnt--he was just trying to pass the night in a way that allowed her to get some rest, keep her separated from his anticipated struggles--but that was certainly looking to be the likely outcome, at least from Lizs perspective. Einar was entertaining no such thoughts as he lay pressed up against the cabin wall that night, the chill that had stolen into his bones as he slept very nearly as routine a thing to him as breathing, even if he was feeling its bite just a bit more keenly of late; he was simply glad to have been getting a bit of sleep, even if only in tiny snatches between the worst of the shivering spells. Could have got up and tended to the fire, thawed himself out a bit and prepared some hot rocks to warm his earthen bed, but was concerned that such might have wakened Liz, set her to trying once more to talk him into joining her in the bed, which he remained determined not to do, at least not for that night. It was during one of his wakeful periods, fortunately, when Liz finally approached him, speaking softly as she neared and letting out a little sigh of relief when he responded to her words, lifted his head and seemed to see her. She put a hand on his shoulder, felt him jump a little but keep still. Just going to sit here with you for a minute, woke up and thought Id make sure youre doing alright To which statement Einar responded with a string of shivery mumblings the meaning of which Liz could not begin to discern, though had they been a bit clearer she might have realized them his attempt to assure her he was just fine, urge her back to bed. A bit alarmed at his apparent condition, she moved closer, pulled the ewe hide up around the two of them. It appeared hed shed his sweater at some point and tried using it as a pillow, shoulder feeling like ice when she found a bit of exposed skin, but the indistinctness of his speech still seemed disproportionate to the chill of the night. Einar, hey, whats the matter? Are you really that cold? His answer was slow in coming, words thick and muddled, an attempt, of sorts, at humor. No, justpretending. Real warmactually. Yougo back to bed. No, come here, come, please let me Einar made no objection as she worked her way in behind him, wrapping the two hides as well as she could to conserve heat and working to get him warm. They fell asleep together there against the cabin wall some time later, managed, the shared warmth keeping them reasonably comfortable and Einars sleep quiet, for once, to remain in slumber until Liz was wakened finally by the arrival of daylight outside. Squirming free, she hurried to get a fire going and some breakfast heating before Einar could wake and object to the fact that she was risking the production of a few wisps of smoke. Einar was still cold when he got up a few minutes later, having never thoroughly warmed

in the night, but instead of crouching near the fire and waiting for Lizs pot of breakfast tea to begin simmering he left his sweater there in the cabin and went outside, choosing a dim, dew-damp rock beneath the spruces and sitting there on it until he was, between strict control of his breathing and a great deal of concentration, able to bring the shivering under control, circulate some more of his chilled, sluggish blood and get himself headed towards warmth. Got to do more of this sort of work. Have really let myself slip too far A statement with which Liz would have wholeheartedly agreed, though her solution would have been decidedly different than his own. Speaking of solutions, there she was at the door, seemed to have something to say Breakfast! Which turned out to be a hearty stew of bear fat and what Einar was pretty sure he recognized as coyote, though the way shed spiced it up with wild garlic and nettles, he couldnt tell for certain until he asked, then had to have a second helping of the stuff just to make certain he was understanding correctly. Definitely the best coyote Ive ever eaten, here. Better keep this recipe! Well, wed talked about drying it for jerky, but I figured it had probably been aging just long enough hanging in that tree, and it seemed time to try some. Not something Ive ever cooked before, so I boiled it for a little while last evening, then buried the pot in the coals overnight to keep cooking real slowly. It turned out better than I had expected. After breakfast Liz went to check her snares, Einar remaining behind to work on the insulation wall. Hed wanted to run her snare line for her that morning so she could keep close to home and rest, just in case she ended up having any more of the contractions that had troubled her while she carried the bear hide, but she pointed out to him that hed never made the rounds of the snares with her before, didnt know where they were and would therefore be slower at the task than she would, herself, to which Einar had wanted to respond that he could certainly track her, follow the trail shed left while checking them previously, but hed kept quiet, nodding, knowing that she most likely needed that task like he did so many of his little daily duties, and would not find it the least bit helpful to be involuntarily relieved of the job. The walk, he expected, would do her good, anyway, so long as no further alarming signs seemed to be developing in regards to her pregnancy, which, seeing the cheerful buoyancy with which shed gone about the breakfast preparations, he expected they didnt. With Liz gone--hed asked her, if she happened to pass any on her rounds, to cut and bring back some willows, just a small bundle of thin shoots for weaving the insulationwall--Einar got started on the project himself, beginning along the back wall, the memory of his recently-past chilly night leaning up against it quite fresh in his mind. Insulation would help a great deal in that regard, as would, he knew, his making the choice to wrap up sensibly for the night and separate himself somehow from the cold ground rather than curling up directly on it as hed done that past night, but that was neither here nor there; the insulation was still a good idea, and he made good time in weaving in the willow crosspieces that were to help hold it in place, knowing that he still had the second braining of the bear hide to get done that day, and hoping to be finished with the back

insulation retention wall by noon or so, in order to have time for the braining and then pass the remainder of the day in hauling loads of spruce duff and aspen leaves with which to create the debris wall.

Returning after a quick check of her trapline with one rabbit and arms full of thin willow shoots for weaving into the wall, Liz found Einar hard at work on the project, the top row already nearly finished along the back wall. Einar, as he had told her, intended to weave a series of five or six rows of horizontal supports into the stakes with the intention of keeping the soon-to-be piles of insulation in place. Whether or not the resulting corral would really be enough to keep the duff in place he wasnt sure, but figured they could always leave in more vertical sticks, if not. Liz hung her rabbit in the shade beside the cabin, relieved herself of her willow bundles and joined Einar where he crouched, back to the sunlight as if to absorb as much of its warmth as possible but still looking a bit chilly, hard at work. Finishing the row hed been working on he rose, greeted her. Pretty good morning out there? One rabbit, so not too bad I guess. Looked like Id got another, but I was too late. The snare was all torn up, little bits of fur left behind and Im pretty sure the tracks in the dirt around it belong to a bobcat, a pretty big one. Hmmbobcat. Bobcat would make you some real fine mitten liners, you know. Well, he wouldnt do it himself, of course, but if we can manage to snare him, Ill be glad to turn his hide into mitten liners, a hat, something to keep you warm this winter! Oh, that sounds great! Or something for the baby. Speaking of keeping warm, did you finally thaw out from last night? To which Einar did not respond except with a subdued growl, and she hadnt expected him to, really, had simply been hoping to find a way to launch into what was sure to be a very difficult if necessary conversation, and hadnt been sure how to do it. Still wasnt, so, taking up a handful of willows and beginning to weave and twine them into position beside his last row, she simply took a deep breath and launched into it. What happened the other night, Einar.can we talk about it? You can. If you have to. No, I dont have to, its just that it seems to be happening more and more often, and if theres any way I could help youwell, Im just trying to figure out whats going on. Ha! Life, thats what. Itll be fine, but youve got to believe me when I tell you I need a night or two by myself, thats all. I believe you. Its just thatwell, has it always been like this for you?

Einar, busy weaving a final willow wand into place for the bottom row of basket work glared at her out of the corner of his eye, wanted to ignore the question or respond in what he knew would have been a rude and inconsiderate manner--Like this? Like what? What do you think youre talking about? You have no idea what youre talking about--but refrained, shaking his head and wishing desperately that he might be somewhere else, be by himself. Wasnt though, and she was staring at him, apparently waiting for an answer. Huh? Nope, no, guess not. Was like this for years after I got out I guess, finally got back from Rhodesia and was running arounduhwell, I told you a little about that intel job they offered me, but it didnt really matter, then, was too busy to notice it for the most partbut then once I settled in and got up to the cabin--my first cabin, youve never seen it, wish you could, someday--the dreams and all that pretty much left me alone for a while, long as I kept working hard enough. Was a real quiet place, pretty simple existence with awful long, hard days of labor attached, and I think that was a good thing. The one or two times I went down into town and tried to keep a regular job for a while again--had the idea I could work down there for a year or two, set the money aside and be real comfortably set when it came to keeping the property taxes paid, some food items bought that I liked to have around but couldnt grow or hunt up there--well, it turned out pretty badly both times, ended with me quitting the job and high-tailing it for my hills again after a while, taking a few months to work off the poison of living down there in town and then settling back in to normal. My version of it, anyway. But right now you havent been to town in years, literally, and do have long hard days filled with physical labor, up here. I would think Yeah, go figure. Think the trouble is that Ive been laid up, hurt, you know, with the toes, and not doing what I normally would be. Not really something I know how to live with too well, apparently. Nor to talk about. Dont know how to talk about any of this. Oh, I think you did just fine living with it. You got through it, and now here your foot is doing so well, finally. A growl from Einar, who had been more than done discussing the subject before the conversation had ever begun, and he returned his full attention to the task at hand, whipping the ends of that willow into place with a speed and dexterity that somewhat startled Liz, different as they were from the steady deliberation with which she had so far seen him construct the wall. She let the matter drop, then, working with him in silence until they had finished the back section of the wall. Time to begin hauling in the duff and leaf insulation, then, a task for which Liz could not help but wish they had access to a few large, sturdy trash bags to expedite the hauling, but Einar already had a solution, taking the two cured hides and spreading them beneath a large spruce some distance above the cabin. By the time Liz caught up to him he was down on all fours, shoveling great armloads of the deep, dry needle and pinecone litter onto one of the hides. She helped him, both hides soon holding all they could, at which Einar pulled their corners together, tying them for easier transport. Liz was somewhat surprised at how thin the bulging

contents of the hides seemed to spread when dumped in between the cabin wall and the outer insulation corral, and she could see that they would need many, many loads if they were to tightly pack the space around the cabin. A hard days work ahead, considering the fact that Einar also seemed set on doing the second braining on the bear hide, but the results, it was certainly appearing, would be worth the effort. Working in silence for a good while, the two of them took turns making trips up into the timber for loads of insulation, Liz returning from one of her trips with a big load of spruce needles in her ewe hide knapsack and a bunch of dock, seeds ripe and brown, over the other shoulder. These seeds are edible, right? I seem to remember you showing me that they can be used a lot like buckwheat, so I thought maybe if we get enough of them, I could make us some little cakes or crackers to eat with our stews in the evenings! Yep, a close relative of buckwheat, and pretty tasty, especially after you roast the seeds on a hot rock for a while. You can sprout them, too, so if youve found a big patch, might be a good idea to set some aside for sprouting later, like you did last winter with those salsify and other seeds. Was good to have the fresh greens during the snowy months. Oh, Im afraid it wasnt a very big patch really, just a little cluster, nothing like those huge swaths of the stuff that you see along the highways and fencerows down in the valley. But Ill collect what there is. Itll be chokecherry season pretty soon too, wont it? I see that the berries are starting to get bigger and turn from green to something closer to red, and weve got so many of them up here Youre right, itll be time before we know it. If we were down lower itd be acorn time in a month or so, too, time to spend a good week in under the scrub oaks making like bears and filling our packs with pounds and pounds of the things, crunching them up and submerging em in a creek or spring somewhere to leach and turn sweet, drying the meal for use this winterbut we arent too near their territory, up here. Acorns. Theyd sure give us a good source of protein and fat for this winter, a supplement to the bear jerky and whatever other meat we get. Think of it--boiled acorn meal for our breakfast, acorn bread cooked up in our rock slab oven to go with stews in the evenings, acorn pudding sweetened with serviceberry syrup Ok, if youre trying to make me hungry, its working, but like I was saying, you wont find any scrub oaks within a couple thousand feet elevation of our basin, here. So? We can walk! Why dont we make a trip down lower in a month when the acorns come in? Youre always talking about what the tribes who lived here would do, how theyd be somewhat migratory, you know, following the game, spending a week here, a week there to harvest spring beauty, serviceberries, living a pretty nomadic life And the week or two we spend down there gathering acorns might be a good chance to get ahold of some fish, smoke them, dry them and haul them back up here to give us a little more variety in our diet

Definitely a tempting idea, perhaps even a necessary one, of they were to have much chance of seeing a good winter, but Einar doubted the wisdom of spending so much time down lower where the possibility of encountering others was so much higher. Though they went on with their insulation hauling and packing work, slowly but surely filling the gap between the back wall and their newly woven retention fence, the silence that grew between Einar and Liz was a noticeably uncomfortable thing, the result, Einar was certain, of his failure to respond to Lizs proposal that they spend some time down lower that fall, gather acorns and whatever other edibles they might find in the somewhat more abundant and hospitable terrain that was soon to lie spread like a feast-table just beneath their current location. Not that they couldnt come up with enough right where they were, especially assuming he got his act together, stopped moping around camp and went out there to take them a bighorn or two, an elk, maybe, as the season progressed, but Liz had been quite correct in saying that the local tribes who had formerly made their entire living off that land, season after season, had done so by moving with the seasons, traveling in order to take greatest advantage of the changing habits of the game and the wild bounty that was coming ripe in various locations throughout the year. A failure on their part to vary their routines in this way, any inflexible insistence on remaining in one location or even at one general elevation year-round would have led in rather short order to deficiencies, greater risk of starvation and the eventual dissolution of the tribe. The fact that there are only two of us--well, three actually--does put us at something of an advantage, gives us a lot more leeway than wed have in a larger group, but still our options are quite limited if we restrict ourselves to the highest of the high country, especially this time of year when theres so much available down just a bit lower. You made it though one winter like that, your first out here, though truthfully you werent quite his high most of the time, and looking back on it, youd have to admit it wasnt much of an existence. You lived, but thats about it. Spent a good bit of it huddled like an injured and hunted old mountain lion in the back of one old mine tunnel or another just trying hard to get through the night without freezing to death and finally ending up too weak to go out and check your snares, even, about half the time, just lying under that uncured bear hide and praying youd be allowed to see one more morning, but not sure half the time why you even wanted to, really, bad as everything hurt. Wouldnt have made it at all, if that porcupine hadnt been gracious enough to wander under your little hideyhole that one morning just as you were passing the point where you couldnt even get to your feet anymore, stood there and allowed you to drop a rock on its head so youd have a little something to eat other than the roasted spruce bark youd been using to fill your stomach in a ridiculous attempt to make yourself forget the hunger Have you forgotten what that was like? Can and will do it again if you have to, because its so much better than the alternative, but to put Liz and a little one through something like that? No. No way. They wouldnt make it. Little one wouldnt, anyway, and can you even begin to imagine what that would do to your Lizzie, to lose the baby like that and know it was at least partly because of things she--we--could have done something about? Yeah, I think you can begin to imagine it, actually, though not quite from her perspective

So. This food-gathering expedition. We can do it carefully. Dont have to make the choice between possible starvation and probable capture, not if we do it right, keep signs of our presence to a minimum and never for a moment let our guard down while were down there. Whole areas about to get an awful lot more dangerous, anyway, with hunting season coming up. Itll be the one time of year when we might well end up seeing a stray person or two wander along our red ridge up there, maybe even find his way down into the basin, though Im sure hoping were remote enough that there wont be too manyso were gonna have to be taking extra care, anyway. Nothing to lose, I guess, by a carefully-executed trip or two down to the valley--some valley--after acorns and a few fish. He looked up, saw that Liz was watching him, a look of concern on her face at the troubled concentration that darkened his own. Alright, well do it. Do it? Your acorn gathering expedition. Gonna have to take care of a few things first, get some real good secure caches set up around here so we dont come back to find all our meat stolen, make a couple good large stout pack-baskets so were able to carry back a useful amount of acorns, things like that, but the good news is weve got nearly a month to do it before the acornsll really be ripe down there. Sound alright? It sounds great, Einar! Ill get started on those pack baskets just as soon as Ive finished the woven willow water-carriers we were talking about the other day. I guess theyve got to come first, just because water is an everyday need, and its going to eat up a lot of time every day if were having to run back and forth refilling the quart jars all the time. Oh! Im so excited! Acorns and fish! Which earned her a crooked grin from Einar, acorns and fish, is it? Youre gonna make one fine mountain woman you know, if you can get this excited about acorns and fish Got to admit I wont mind the variety, either. Gonna be real nice to have those acorns to add to soup, cook up into a real rich porridge-like stuff on cold mornings this winteryeah, guess I could get pretty excited about it too, if Id let myself! Yeah, water carriers have to come first. And I need to hurry up and find that tree section Im gonna use for a water barrel, start hollowing it out so we can carry water maybe once a week, every few days at most, fill the barrel and live off it until it starts getting low again. Would save a lot of time and effort. Was hoping to work on that barrel today, but got started on this insulation, and He shrugged, nodded towards the nearly finished wall and threw up his hands. And its awfully hard for you to stop with a project until its all finished, once you get started, isnt it? Well, thats just fine, as far as Im concerned. Better than starting ten projects with great enthusiasm and never finishing one of them, ever, as Ive seen so many people do! Well. Almost done with the insulation wall for the back, here, and then Ive got to do

the second braining on that bear so tomorrow well be ready to start stretching him out, doing the final drying and all, and then Ill worry about the water barrel. Figure the bear hides got to come first though, because I get the feeling youll be real glad when we have it available again to use at night Me? Youre the one who nearly froze last night! And youre the one who seemed to find that somewhat objectionable. The only one, Ill remind you. I was quite content to You are absolutely impossible, Mr. Asmundson! Impossible! Thanks! Now do you want that bear hide finished, or dont you? A question which got him a quick and admittedly well-deserved swat with the rabbit stick, sending him hastily back to his work. Later, the back wall fully stuffed and packed with insulation, bear hide scraped, re-brained and folded up to soak again in the greasy and by-then rather strong smelling solution, Einar left camp in search of a water barrel tree, finding it in a large and fairly fresh fallen aspen. Going at the tree with the axe, which hed carried with him on the hunt, Einar worked to free the piece he had in mind, a four foot long section of the lower trunk. Now to decide whether hed be better off simply creating a second coalburned boat similar to the one hed made to hold the rendered bear fat, or flatten one end of the log and stand it on its end, creating more of an upright barrel for water storage. Either way, the project was now well on its way to becoming a reality, and would mark a major improvement in life at the cabin. Freeing, after much work, the log section that was to be their future water barrel, the bottom few feet of a large old aspen, Einar tried to move it, pushing with hands and feet and finally getting down on the ground and using his shoulder, but barely able to make it budge. Aspen, though a light wood in its own right, could certainly end up awfully heavy when packed together in such bulk as contained in that large-diameter tree section. And how, precisely, did you think you were going to be getting this thing back down to the cabin? More pushing and grunting, a bit of anger creeping in to lend strength and purpose to his movements as he found himself struggling more against his own weakness than the tree, itself. By rolling it, thats how, youre just gonnayeah, there you go gonna get the thing rolling, try to direct it some, and its all downhill to the cabin. It was downhill, alright, the log, after much coaxing and prying and an angry shove that had Einar lying on his back and pushing with feet and legs until he was out of breath, taking off under its own power and leaving Einar to run somewhat desperately along beside and then behind it, quite unable to influence its course, hard as he might try. Slamming once into the uphill side of a spruce the log allowed Einar momentarily to catch up to it again, but as soon as he freed the thing, pulling from below, swinging it around so as to bring it out from behind the spruce trunk and very nearly getting himself run over in the process, the log took off again, rolling and then tumbling down the steep, timbered slope. It was thus that Einar arrived breathless and gasping back in the cabin-clearing less than a minute later, head and arms a mass of scratches from his hasty dash through the timber

but a big grin on his face when he saw that the log had come to rest safely at the edge of the clearing without crushing anything--or anyone--along the way. Staggering over to it he sat down heavily, elbows on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath, laughing and pounding on the log when Liz, somewhat alarmed by the crash and crunch of its arrival and by the subsequent desperate wheezing of Einars own breath, poked her head out of the cabin door, rabbit stick poised and ready to throw. She saw him, took a hasty glance around in search of approaching danger--though doubting there was any, casually as he seemed to be sitting there--and stepped outside, shaking her head. What happened to you? I thought you were being chased by a bear, or something, and from the looks of you, maybe I was right! Where is it? What did you do with it? Ha! Sitting on it, here. Was a bear, alright, but I got the thing moved, and now heres your water barrel. Will be, anyway, soon as I cancan, uh lowered his head for a minute, dizzy, laughing, breathing carefully in an attempt to avoid blacking out, which sounded just fine to him at the moment, but would have caused Liz some undue alarm, soon as I can get it hollowed out for us. Got tokinda got to catch my breath first though, doggone thing took some chasing before itd agree to come down here and sit still for us, would have used the atlatl, but the critters pretty near impervious to darts you see, real thick hide Oh, I see alrightsee that you need to get out there hunting some real live four-legged critters, it seems, so you wont feel a need to go chasing inanimate objects through the woods at top speed with your atlatl! And axe. Didnt anyone ever tell you not to run with an axe? Well I was only chasing the thing because I didnt want it going off course and running rampage through the camp, coming down here and squishing you if you were standing out in the clearing for some reason, and the doggone thing wouldnt steer, wouldnt even let me catch up to it, half the time! Squish me! Well with the racket it was making--and the awful ruckus you were making chasing it--Id have to be deaf to stand here and get squished, now wouldnt I? Anyway, you got it, and it looks like a good one. Should hold plenty of water, for sure! How do you plan on hollowing it out? Burning? Mix of burning and carving, I guess. Was just gonna make another boat like weve got the fat in, but with the adze I ought to be able to get this thing pretty flat down on the wider end, stand it up and have an actual barrel-shaped barrel...figure that would cut down on loss to evaporation, over the wide open boat-shaped thing. Be good to come up with a lid for it too, eventually. Woven willows like a basket, maybe, but flat, then coated with pitch on the inside like the barrel will be. Thats about it I think, unless you want a spout on the bottom to draw the water out of. A real working spout? You know how to do that?

Ha! Was really kidding about that one. Id figure out if there was a need, but theres not, is there? Figured we could just dip the water out of the top, same as we put it in dont want the thing failing and leaking all over the cabin floor one night just because my barrel spout-making skills were somehow lackingthink of it! We might well wake up to find the floor a solid sheet of ice, and us frozen to it, if our beds still down on the floor like it is now! Which wouldnt bother me too much, but you Oh, for goodness sake, please just skip the spout then! I can almost never tell for sure when youre joking and when you arent, you know. But yes, of course, itll be fine to dip the water out of the top. Itll be great just to have the water here in the cabin! Maybe we can even keep it from freezing in the winter, if we can keep a fire going in here sometimes The more we can insulate the place, the easier thatll be. Figure we can add the occasional hot rock to the barrel in the evening or before we head out for the morning to help keep things from freezing solid in there, too. Well pretty much be melting snow for all of our water in the winter anyway, I expect, because that spring probably freezes up solid, as little volume as comes out of there, but that doesnt mean we cant get ahead, melt extra whenever we have the fire going, so if times come when we have to do without fire, were not stuck with melting little bits of snow in our hands or over candles like we have been from time to timethough for most times, I expect well just be melting it by keeping a pot always set on the stove Im just about to build you! Good stone stove like in the bear cave, only this time maybe with a little oven on top so you can bake that acorn bread you were talking about somewhere other than in the coals, when you want to. Shouldnt be any trouble at all to keep that barrel full of water if were diligent to add snow to the pot whenever it starts getting low, dump in from time to time into the barrel whenever it gets fully liquefied. What do you think about making another qulliq lamp like we had over at the bear cave? Just so we could have a way to melt snow, cook and keep the place warm during times when its not a good idea to have a fire? It would give us another option Id been thinking about that, and it might be a good idea, just because we dont know how things are going to go this winter, what the air traffic will be likeand especially good for during hunting season, which is coming up real soon, here. All the little planes that may be coming over to scout for elk, the greater likelihood that folksll be up in the high country where they wouldnt normally bemaybe even up around here Anything we can do to cut down on our signature during those times would be a big help, would make it that much more likely that well actually get to spend the winter here. Spend the winter hereyep, it sure would be great to have a winter where we arent packing up and moving on every few weeks or more, leaving almost everything behind and wearing ourselves nearly into the ground hauling the rest over ridges and down the other side trying to get away fromwho knows what? And especially with the baby coming, just cant be doing that, if theres any alternative. Women have done that, I know, had their babies while on the move, but the little ones chances will be so much

better if were not on the run at the time! So anything we can do to stay here, to make that possible, to make him believe its possible Ill be looking for a good qulliq-rock, then, so we can have it ready to go well ahead of hunting season. And for wick materials, too. Ill be looking, too. Still hoping to be able to use wood most of the winter though, so will be looking for that, also. Hauling a little in every day and leaning it up against spruce trunks where itll stay dry, kind of creating a pyramid of firewood around each trunk, just storing it there until we get the chance to break it up and put it somewhere else. Gonna be a major job hauling in the wood to keep a fire fed if we plan on staying in one place all winter, and Id just as soon have a lot of that done ahead of time, before the babys time gets too much closer. We need to try and leave as much as we can of the stuff immediately around the cabin here, just leave it alone so itll be here to use if we need it later and cant for whatever reason get out too far from home to haul it insort of an emergency reserve. For the rest, the stuff we haul in, Ive been thinking it might be a good idea to have a woodshed of sorts, just a lean-to here beside the cabin where we could stack up the stuff weve already broken and shortened, a place to keep it handy for during some of the serious weather thatll be coming, later. No room along the back of the place because of the cliffs, and I cant really see how itd work to attach it to either of the leaning walls, so that leaves either here along the front, just to one side of the door, or building it as its own stand-alone structure. Might be simpler just to do that, but think of the extra insulation and wind protection itd provide if we attached it here to the front of the cabin. Something to think about, anyway. Liz was thinking, alright, her head practically spinning with the array of ideas Einar was suddenly spouting, Einar, for whom just a day or two ago speaking more than a few words at a time had seemed very nearly an insurmountable burden, and she was delighted to see the change in him, the day of constant work punctuated by animated descriptions of the improvements he still intended to make on the place, hoped very much to keep things headed in that direction. Which meant, with all the heavy work hed been doing without so much as a pause for a sip of water, that it was past time for another meal, and she hurried back into the cabin to finish work on the rabbit stew shed been preparing when interrupted by the crash and tumble of their future water barrel making its way down the slope. Bent on testing and enforcing the level of independence he had been promised by the Agent in Charge when agreeing to aid in the search, Bud Kilgore wasted no time in giving his newly arrived friend and former associate Roger Kiesl a tour of the wellfortified Mountain Task Force compound, which term, often abused, could now be applied to the installation without reservation, considering the three layers of concertina wire-topped fencing, manned guard towers and high intensity security lights that surrounded the place. All it lacked were a few dozen landmines in the surrounding hay meadows to complete the picture, and for all some of the locals knew, perhaps those were already in place, as well; there had been rumors. Not that all the fortifications in the world are much help when the man who planned and coordinated Operation Laundry Day

is walking freely through ones thoroughly secured eating and sleeping quarters with his future partner in crime in tow, causally holding up the ID badge around his neck and making a pass through the Command Center, studying maps and photos and generally making himself at homebut the agents, thankfully, were, though admittedly a bit uncomfortable at the presence of the eccentric outsider and his newly-arrived companion, blissfully unaware of his recent extracurricular activities. Though they had been given a talk by the AIC at the morning briefing the day before Rogers arrival, a few of the agents, remembering well his past dealings with them and the abrupt departure made by him and his two companions at a time when their tracking services had been rather desperately needed, watched with cold stares as the two men toured the facility, one young agent making the mistake to speak under his breath but still within Rogers hearing, derogatorily referring to the pair as the mercs. Which led to Roger quickly cornering the hapless young man against the cafeteria door and pounding into him--almost literally, for the thing nearly came to blows--a much needed but perhaps rather ill-timed history lesson. Though the pair might well be described as mercenaries at the moment, he told the young agent, they certainly hadnt been while serving in Rhodesia, had received the same pay and operated under the same command structure as any Rhodesian soldier at the time, had been darned proud to do so and would do it again, if they couldafter which he went on expound on the events of thirty years of African history, the evils of Communism and the general decline of the Western world, all while keeping the stunned agent pinned against the door. Bud stood by through the entire exposition with a look of mild amusement on his face during the entire exchange, ready to rein Roger in (or at least make the good faith attempt; the man made his own decisions--all of them) should the matter threaten to come to blows, but it never did, not quite, the young agent nodding and swallowing and finally leaving, red-faced and looking a bit befuddled, before things had a chance to move beyond words. Finally, finished with the inspection of their erstwhile working environment (hostile, for sure, but whos keeping track?) Bud and Roger left for town, Kilgore wanting to familiarize his friend with the areas important features, but wishing even more to discover how closely the two of them were to be watched. Which, it seemed, was not very closely at all, at least not that day, for after a series of well-planned but innocent looking maneuvers, it became clear to the pair that they were not being followed.

Beginning work on the barrel as he waited for Lizs rabbit stew to be ready, Einar found himself suddenly very tired, in danger, it seemed, of losing the ability to keep his eyes open, and he knew that though he had been able for the most part to maintain a nonstop pace that day when it came to getting things done, he still hadnt fully caught up on his sleep and was a very long way indeed from being caught up on eating. Frustrating, but no great concern, perhaps, as there was soon to be food waiting for him, evening drawing near and night, and the possibility of some sleep, soon to follow. While daylight remained, though, he had work to do, returned his attention to the barrel-log, working to

flatten the bottom end so that it would stand and be stable,wanting to have that task completed before he began burning and carving out the interior. Near setting, the sun was just sinking behind the far fringe of spruce-tops that lined the ridge on the opposite side of the basin--it had been gone from the clearing for some time already, save for a random patch that fell here and there through the timber--when Liz stuck her head out to announce that the stew was ready, leaving Einar to make a few lastminute modifications to the log before wrapping up that portion of his work for the evening. With the absence of the sun a chill had come quickly to the basin, warmth of the day dissipating quickly into the thin atmosphere, the wind rising, and Einar shivered, flexed stiffening arms; not a time to stand too long still watching the day end, perhaps, not with clothing work-dampened and a body that was crying out for some nourishment, but for several minutes he remained still, watching the last of the evergreen-fragmented sun-glow disappear from the ridgeline, sniffing the breeze--sun on spruce needles, blooming fireweed and lupine from the meadow, the soft, mysterious perfume of evening rising from the dark timber, a damp, cool aroma that spoke plainly of the coming chill of night, and he turned towards the cabin, and Liz, a little hint of a smile, wistful, almost sad, showing at the corner of his mouth as he watched the faintest wisp of smoke from the dry-wood cooking fire curl its way out of the little smoke hole and up into the evening sky. He wanted to go in, but something made him hesitate. Standing outside the cabin, smelling the wonderful odor of Lizs rabbit stew and finding himself with a need to pause and take it all in for a moment before heading inside, Einar began considering the possible location of the woodshed, seeing little reason not to add it right into the front of the cabin, butted up against the vertical pole wall just to the left of the door opening. Would cause the cabin to stick out just a bit further into the tiny clearing, might make it ever so slightly more susceptible to being seen from the air, but with careful construction and a creative camouflaging job on his part, he was sure of being able to all but eliminate that concern. Would be good to have firewood so handy to the house, good, especially, to be able to put it to a second use by having the stacks of wood serve as additional insulation and wind protection for the cabin, and, turning away from the incredibly tempting food odors that were seeping out around the closed door, he began looking for appropriate timbers that might be used in the construction of such a lean-to. Finding one of them in a small aspen that had been left over from the cabin construction he got a grip on it, hauled the thing over into something like the right position--no easy task, as he seemed to have gone all jelly-legged and shaking with exhaustion since his struggle with that barrel-tree--and fought to raise it, brace it against the roofline of the cabin. Good. First timber in place. Get a couple more of these in position, and we can start stacking shorter poles horizontally between them for the roof. Doesnt need to be an airtight structure, or anything close. Just needs to keep the bulk of the snow off. That would let us But his train of thought was interrupted by the appearance of Liz at the door, her form silhouetted in the dancing firelight from inside. She was saying something whose meaning he couldnt quite make out and she came to him, took his arm, led him inside and got him seated by the fire; hed been very nearly asleep on his feet, had not

even realized it. Liz and Einar went to bed early that night after a shared supper of stew, both of them weary and Liz, at least, very hopeful that the night might prove to be the quiet one that they so badly needed. Having fallen quickly asleep, Einars dreams were as busy as ever that night if a good bit more pleasant than they had normally been of late, his mind busy with how best to finish the woodshed and hollow out that water barrel, running over and over the steps necessary to finishing the bear hide so that it could be put back into use, and before the night was half over hed got it all done and was sitting there on a stump out front of the cabin watching in some amazement as a young man--couldnt have been more than six or seven years old, but very strong and lean--honed his dart-throwing skill by using a child-sized atlatl to fling sharp-tipped willow wands at a bound-together bundle of dried grass that sat over at the far end of the clearing. The boys technique was solid, darts sticking a good three or four inches into the bundle of hay--why do we have hay sitting around? That seems odd, unless of course weve managed to domesticate a bighorn sheep or mountain goat or two without me noticing--and Einar could tell that hed soon be taking game with the weapon, if he wasnt already. Tiring of the atlatl the boy leaned it up against a spruce, trading it for a rabbit stick which appeared carved in places with intricate designs, their detail highlighted by some sort of black ink or pigment which had been rubbed into the etchings. Reminded him of the work hed done on Lizs bone snow goggles that past winter, and he wondered if the etchings might be his. Whoever had produced the rabbit stick for the boy he was quite proficient with it, quickly taking down the two targets hed placed on a distant log--furry balls of some sort that looked to be rabbit hides stuffed with something and sewn shut, a good idea, he couldnt help but think, a good training aid--and Einar put a protective hand to his head, boys every bit as good as his mother when it comes to handling a war club, guess Id better watch out, Id be no match for the two of them The saying of which led him to realize that it had almost certainly been Liz, and not himself, who had trained the boy in his war club technique, as he recognized it as her own, the steady hand and sure throw that had many times secured their supper, as well as securing his attention from time to time when shed seen fit to turn its fury in his direction Missing Liz, wondering where she might be--seemed a long time, somehow, since hed seen her--Einar was about to get up and go look for her when he heard it. The plane, a little green and white De Havilland--it was, to Einars alarm, low enough for him to glean that information from a single quick glance through the treetops--was the first theyd seen at such close proximity in a number of days, and the boy seemed oblivious to its approach, striding with an unconcerned ease over towards the target-log to reposition the dummy rabbits for another throw, didnt respond when he shouted, waved, couldnt seem to hear him. The thing was getting awfully close, would soon be in view and suddenly Einar was on his feet, diving for the boy but coming up short against the cabin wall, the inside wall, beyond which lay early morning daylight and then Liz was there beside him, pressing a wad of usnea to the blood-oozing wound where his forehead had contacted the rough logs of the wall, trying to get him to sit, to be still. Which, dizzy and disoriented from the force of that blow--hed nearly knocked himself

out, running full speed into the wall--he did. Its only a plane, a little plane, and we dont have a fire going, so theres nothing for them to see. Were you having those dreams again? Hey, look at me Einar--are you Ok? Which he was, more or less, still a bit confused but just fine other than the bruised purple knot on his head, looked up at her with a big grin, awash in relief. No, not those dreams, other ones, better ones, and let me tell you, that kid of yours is really something with a war club. Takes after his mamma, for sureonly trouble is he doesnt listen to me when I tell him hed better get in under the timber because a planes coming! Oh! Is that why you were trying to bring down the cabin wall with your head just now? Well Ill save you the trouble of having to do that because Little Ones still safely tucked away in here with me at the moment, and you can go ahead and give him that talking to, if you want. And she placed Einars hand on the side of her stomach, where the little one was making its presence known most unequivocally with a series of insistent kicks and shoves. Einar crouched beside her, spoke to the child. Thats a plane, little Snorri, you hear me? And maybe someday youll be flying one yourself, I dont know, but for now theyre the enemy, and when you hear one you got to make for the nearest timber like a flock of guineas thats just seen a hawk, Ok? Got to move real fast, hide yourself till its all gone, or were gonna be in for some major trouble. I think he hears you. He quit kicking. Hows your head? Still attached. Sorry to uhstart the day this way, especially after such a good night. No problem. Id hate for littleSnorri, is it? We really need to have a talk about names! But Id hate for him to have run out there under that plane and got us spotted. It was a low one. Still is. Sounds likeis it circling back? Einar, bleeding forehead quite forgotten, had hurried to the door and opened it a few inches, crouching there with a look of intense concentration on his face as he listened to the changing pitch of the distant aircraft. Yes, definitely turning, circling back, approaching again, and he flattened himself against the wall, peering out from the shadows and fighting hard against an urge to go dashing out into the timber, watching as the little plane came into view. Green and white, as hes somehow known it would be, yet the sight still set his scalp to prickling, the exactness with which that part of his dream resembled reality. Hunters, most likely, scouting for game ahead of the start of the first season. The timing would be just about right. Couldnt help but wonder, though, worry just a bit, and the incident, though soon over as the plane took off along the ridge and was gone, cast a definite pall over the morning, led to their eating a cold breakfast of sheep jerky, dried berries and bear fat as they sat pressed close together for warmth beneath the hides.

Breakfast finished and the plane having made no sign of a return Einar left to begin work on one of his numerous projects--wanted to start hollowing out the water barrel, but had no intention of producing that kind of smoke, not until a few hours had gone by without the plane making a return--heading up into the woods above the cabin in search of timbers for the woodshed, but soon finding himself at the base of the lookout cliffs, climbing, making the top and flattening himself on the rocks, watching, for a time, the valley floor, the surrounding ridges, assuring himself that nothing was amiss. Nothing he could see, at least. And no sense further delaying the days work, either, Einar scrambling down from his perch on the cliffs and busying himself with the bear hide, scraping it, preparing it for the next braining, somewhat frustrated that most of the tasks he had planned for the day required the use of fire.

Four. Four times that little plane returned before the sun reached its high point in the sky, never lingering long but always spending just enough time above the basin to leave Einar terribly disconcerted and wanting to flee with Liz into the timber, and on its final trip, watching from his hiding place under a big spruce, he was certain that he saw it dip a wing very deliberately as it passed over the cabin-clearing. Which didnt make sense. None of it made sense, not unless theyd been seen, their presence detected, some little clue speaking to a search team, an oddly-worn trail showing in one of their satellite images, aerial photos, perhaps the goat-photographing hikers had, after all, been part of the search effort, maybe theyd seen something, a little puff of smoke from the basin that had caught their attention, led to the area being more closely surveilled over the following days, suspicions confirmed, the little plane sent tono. No, stop it. Doesnt make sense, Im telling you. If theyd been sent to look the place over, why the obvious wing-dip, why would they let you know theyd seen you, like that. You know they wouldnt. Probably just a couple of outfitters checking on the condition and range of one herd or another ahead of the opening of bow season, starting to take a look for rife season later on, even, you know they really plan ahead when it comes to some of the hunts they lead, where to set up their camps, all of that Einar knew it was entirely possible that he could have misinterpreted the apparent greeting given by the plane as it made the final pass over the area, could have, but didnt believe he had, really--it had been a pretty obvious movement, and there was, he could tell, little to no wind up there, no turbulence that might provide an alternate explanation, which left him right back where hed started, wondering why a search team would give him that kind of clue, all but announcing that theyd been seen, their presence detected, didnt have any answers but figured theyd better be getting out of there before the aircraft came back, before there was time for the enemy to get other assets in place, surround the place, cut off their retreat, it could happen awfully quickly if they decided to land choppers up on the red ridge, a definite possibility considering the clear, calm weather which prevailed over the entire area that morning Rising, though, he stopped, shook his head. What if this is exactly what they had in mind, spooking us, flushing us out of here so wed

be easier to run down, capture? Maybe theyve seen signs of our presence but dont yet have the exact location fixed, are figuring well be easier to spot once were on the move, which we may well be, if we dont handle this just right Which left only a single question, that of which course of action was called forthe hasty departure that seemed to him most wise but which might well be the very thing the enemy was attempting to force them into for one reason or another, or a time of watchful waiting there at the cabin, effective, perhaps, if they hadnt yet been pinned down, but a death-trap if they had? No answer, no good one, anyway, not without more information, and he had no way to obtain that information, knew what hed do if there by himself, would be gone, would have been gone hours ago, probably, when that plane made its second pass, packing light and moving fast, awfully fast, finding a ridge some miles distant where he could hunker down, wait, watch, take a couple of days to decide whether or not he was ever going home againbut, as he had pointed out to himself numerous times already that morning, he wasnt alone, was far from it, needed to make the decision that would best serve Liz and the little one, and not simply his own determination never again to come close to capture, not too close, anyway, not without good reason, and saving the two of them from capture would certainly, he realized, qualify as a good reasonwhich gave him his answer. Hed stay, they would go. Or perhaps the other way around, depending on whether he decided the aim of the enemy was at the moment to drive them away so they could be spotted while on the move, or simply to pin them down while other elements got into position, and he was already fairly well convinced of the latter. Liz, when he carefully approached the cabin from the back, snuck around to the door and quickly entered, was far less convinced when he explained the proposal to her. Had, for the most part, been carrying on with her normal daily activities, modified only slightly by the need to avoid smoke and open areas due to the repeated plane-passes, and was, when Einar found her, in the middle of stretching and softening the third rabbit hide of the day. The hides, saved from the rabbits shed taken on her trapline, had been carefully scraped, dried and re-moistened in a procedure she had developed through much experimentation, made just moist enough to allow for some stretching and softening as they dried. Even at their high elevation the summer rabbit skins were thin and delicate, rather prone to tearing, and she had learned to treat them with a good deal of care until made somewhat sturdier and more flexible through the curing process. So far she had thirty seven skins cured and set aside--not all of them whole and in good condition; there had definitely been a learning curve when it came to discovering how best to process and treat them, but each was useable, if not in peak condition--a good three or four more waiting on trees outside, and every time she counted them it was with greater delight at the knowledge that she was nearing the fifty Einar had told her were supposed to be necessary to construct the good sized woven rabbitskin blanket she wanted to have ready when the baby came. Listening quietly as Einar launched into his quiet-frantic explanation of the planes activities, their origin, purpose and what the two of them needed to do to mitigate the potential dangers, she continued work on the skin, not looking up until a good minute later when she had finished the stretching. Einar, when she did finally meet his eyes, was staring at her with a focused intensity she had seen many times before, and it was a thing she knew better than to dismiss lightly, despite her desire to shrug off his concerns and return to her work.

Youre saying that you want me to pick go up and wait in the timber on the far side of the basin while you stay here and act as a decoy, then wait to see if they have anything planned? Yes. For how long? Long as it takes. Got to find out what theyre up to, whether or not theyve really discovered the cabin and all, and I cant think of a better way to do it. Ill send you with a bunch of food, jar of water and the hides so you can be warm tonight, just find a good secure place deep in the timber to hole up, come out in the morning if you dont hear a bunch of activity overnight, and wait for my signal. If its a sunny day Ill give you a few flashes of light from the bottom of the cookpot, a few times each hour after sunrise to make sure you dont miss it, if its cloudywell, if its cloudy and I decide its safe to give you the all-clear, Ill just build a big old smoky fire out there at the edge of the dropoff where you wont be able to help but see the smoke. If I dont signal you can assume something happened, they snuck in here and took me, or showed up and I had to run. If I get away, which I intend to do if at all possible, Ill meet you in three daysno, better make that four, just to be safemeet you down at the creek where you told me Kilgore had camped that time you stumbled upon him. Think you can find the place I again? Yes, I know I can. Lets give it some time though, see if the plane comes back again. Theyre probably just spending a Saturday scouting all around the area looking for the nicest herd of elk--I bet theyve looked this closely at just about every basin up here. They never circled us or anything, so is it reasonable to even think they have anything to do with us, really? Cant afford to think anything elseyou know that! And I told you how he dipped his wing on that last pass, like he knew we were here, like he was trying to tell us something I wasnt looking at the time, maybe it was just the wind, but supposing he did do that on purpose--well, why would anyone whos involved with the search try to communicate with you like that? Warn you. It doesnt make any sense. Doesnt make too much sense no matter how I look at it, cant figure itjust know that it seems unwise to sit here waiting to see whether or not the planes for us, when we have options right now This--all of it, the cabin, food, hides, everything--is replaceable, but if we sit here until theyve got us surrounded and decide to move intheres no replacing the sorts of things were liable to start losing, then. Liz nodded, set aside the hide that had continued to occupy part of her attention as he spoke. I really think we need to stick together. Both go, or both stay. This business of

trying to meet each other later, or of me waiting for your signalwell, I can see so many ways that could go very, very wrong. It would normally be a fine idea I think, but Im remembering what happened last time you left and I stayed, last week when you went down to check on those hikers, how you came back here four days later half dead and having convinced yourself beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was the enemy, compromised by the enemy, anyway, and it took two more days to finish unconvincing you of it, days that you really almost didnt have, and I cant tell you any of this because I dont want to make it seem like Im questioning your judgment--which I guess I am, really, just a little--but thats what it boils down to, and I hope youll see it, Einar, find some way to see it, and let us stay together No solid resolution reached, Liz went on with her rabbit skin stretching, Einar with the packing and preparation of food, gear and hides for her to take when she left, and by the time the two of them finished with their respective tasks--Liz having taken a quick break from hers to run to the spring for water, their jars being nearly empty; she made a discovery on that walk, did not have time to act on it other than very briefly, but it was to prove very important over the following days and months--it was early afternoon, and the plane had not returned. Which of course signaled to Einar that their mission had been accomplished, surveillance completed, critical details confirmed and the job of continued watching given over to other, less visible technology as ground troops moved in, and the fact that Liz did not agree with him--she didnt say so, but he could see it in the unconcerned ease with which she went about softening those little hides, pausing now and then to work on some sort of food mixture that she had going in one of the pots, unheated, as they had no fire, but apparently still needing tending--left him on edge and irritated with her, feeling at times almost as though she must be deliberately delaying action to give the enemy more time to get into position. A line of thinking which he tried his best to conceal from her, knowing--most of the time, anyhow--that it was almost certainly baseless and seeing that she really was making more productive use of the day than he could claim to be, all else being equal. Which it probably wasnt, because they were likely out there already, would soon be making their move, and it was time for her to go; hed travel with her at least over to the far side of the basin, make sure she got safely into the black timber of that steep slope, and on her way to safety. At which point, hed come back and wait. Just one thing left to do before departure, and he set Lizs finished pack down beside her, rose to go, meaning to spend a few minutes in watching and listening atop the lookout cliffs before starting out. Liz--who had been anticipating the moment, waiting for it, trying to come up with a plan of some sort--had other ideas, caught him by the hand. Stay. Have some food with me first. Its been a long time since breakfast. And may be a longer time still until we next have the luxury to sit down and eat, especially if we keep dawdling around like this But he sat, took the soft lump of pudding she was offering--a mixture, near as he could determine, of jerky bits mashed up fresh serviceberries, a bit of bear fat and something very sweet and good which he could not quite identify--and ate, despite food being very nearly the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. She waited until hed got a few bites down, handed him another

lump of the stuff, which he accepted hungrily. The plane seems to have moved on A nod from Einar as he took another bite, what is his stuff? Better teach me how to make it, because it sure is good, never had anything quite like this and he didnt even think to answer until hed finished the snack. Yep, gone. At least for now. Looks like we need to be real careful for a day or so until we see whether or not its gone for good, avoid making smoke during daylight hours, for sure, maybe at night too, at least for tonight, keep our thermal signature real low in case they come back in the night, but you may be right about hunters, outfitters, it is that time of yearstill dont understand the wing-dip, and I know I saw it, but the feds sure arent gonna be doing anything like that, are they? Thatd be a real stretch. Ill say! It certainly would Alright, no fire. Not until you say its a good idea. That still leaves us several projects we can work on todayfind the qulliq-rock so we can get started on that, keep working on the great little woodshed youve started, gather rocks for the stove youre going to build us so I can bake acorn breadlots of things! What about the bear hide? Whats next for it? Scraping, then waiting for more brains? Yep, more brains. Thought we might get by with just the two applications, but its looking like three will be a good idea, if we want it to be particularly soft and flexible. We do! And then? I assume we have to stretch it somehow like with the deer hides, while it dries? Yes we sure do, and I probably ought to build it a frame, string it up in there so we can do that final stretching and softening with a couple of rounded deer shoulder bones, pressing, stretchingcan even lay whole the thing horizontal when youve got it in a frame like that, prop it up off the ground real good and stand on it, walk on it and even do a little jumping to help stretch things as it dries. Not sure yet if Im gonna go that way, though. We could also just stretch it by hand, but with a hide this big and tough, it really would take both of us to do it right, each standing or sitting here with a real good grip on the thing and just pulling for all were worthfor several hours. So. Want to have a tugof-war with me, when the hides all ready to stretch? Oh, Im getting pretty good at that it seems, even winning every now and thenso sure, why not! Which gained her a sideways glance from Einar as he tried but failed to figure out just what she could be talking about, for certainly she seemed to be referring to more than hide-stretching, but after a moment he gave it up as yet another of lifes mysteries, got back to eating the wonderful snack Liz had prepared for them. Something special about the stuff, for sure! Tasted almost like it had a good portion of box elder syrup in it, felt like it, too, as much quick energy as it seemed to be giving him, though he knew theyd used up the last of the syrup long ago, and he meant to ask her about it, but she was gone, had hurried out the door after something or other, leaving him to quickly finish his food, gather the hide preparation tools and head out to tend to the bear hide. He

could, at the least, do the scraping, drape the thing over a log and remove the by-then mostly dried layer of braining solution, preparing it for the next application. Who knew? Perhaps theyd be blessed with a rainstorm that night, and could have a fire, after all. Good to be ready for the next braining in that event, as it was a job he could easily do after dark, if necessary, once theyd heated up the solution. Would be good to have that hide finished and in use again, give Liz--and, he had to admit, even himself; cold was still affecting him awfully sharply at times, yet another reminder that he needed to put more of a focus on getting out there and increasing his resistance to it, again--more restful nights, especially during times when they werent able to have a fire to warm the place a bit in the evening or prepare hot rocks to take to bed. Outside it was quiet, a warm, sunny day, and Einar might have begun growing a bit sleepy as he scraped away at the hide, collecting the scrapings--dried brain and bear fat-on a large piece of bark for re-use--had his every sense not been so alert for the return of that plane, formatting that might indicate to him the approach of danger on the ground. Not that there would likely be much he could do about it, if the enemy did get in that close, but with atlatl and darts close at hand and spear driven into the ground beside him, he would certainly make his best effort, if it came to that. Which he did not especially expect it would, not just then, wasnt, looking back, even entirely sure what had got him so thoroughly convinced there for a while that morning that the repeated passes by the plane had some connection to an impending invasion on the ground, didnt really add up now that he thought about it again, and he shook his head, went on with his work. When Einar finished with the hide, folding it fur-side in to await the next braining and covering it with a thick blanket of spruce needles to ward off flies, he returned to the cabin to find Liz kneeling over the firepit, arranging splinters of sun-dried and finely split spruce as if she was about to start a fire. For later, she quickly explained. Just wanted to have it ready in case you decide we can have it later, and thought it made more sense to prepare it now while weve got daylight than to wait. This way, itll be here when we need it. Finishing with her careful pyramid-building, Liz got into the small pouch around her neck and fished out a tiny wad of milkweed down, tucking it in beneath the kindling. Were almost out of this down, and I havent seen any milkweed up here. No juniper either, to get strips of that good shreddy bark from, the stuff that takes a spark so easily what do you think our chances are of picking up a good supply of each when we make that trip down lower for acorns, later? Should be able to find some probably, if we go late enough for them to have reached the fuzz stage. Juniper bark for sure, if we go down that low. Wasnt really planning on it, but well have to see In the meantime, you know, there are some things we can do to stretch the other tinders weve been mostly relying on. You ever make a feather stick? In response to which Liz took a feather Einar had saved from their last grouse meal and stuck it in a crack at the end of a spruce branch shed brought in for firewood, presenting it to him.

Like this? Ha! And you say Im the one whos too literal about everything Nope, not like that. Like when you take a real good dry stick and shave it down with your knife, shave off fine curls of wood and leave them attached down at the end, then stick in with your kindling to help the fire take off. Surely youve Yes, of course I knew what you were talking about, but little Hildegard was feeling ornery at the moment, and so was I! Hmm. Is that how it works? Guess Ive got no excuse then when Im feeling ornery. Except maybe that Im part wolverine and all wild critter, and we do have our ornery timesbut as I was saying, if you make feather sticks with real dry wood, theyll catch easier than almost any kindling you can find or make, cut down on the amount of tinder youre having to use when striking your sparks. And if you go ahead and shave the little bits of wood off the stick in long curls--the stuffs gonna be so thin its almost transparent if you do it right, so thin you can read through it, if you have anything to read--you can make a pile of these, and theyll take sparks from the fire steel pretty well, can also be used to form the tinder nest for a bow and drill coal, if you dont have any good dry grass or juniper bark handy. As he spoke, Einar had been working on a stick of long-dried willow that had been leaning up against the cabin wall since shortly after theyd completed construction, a former constituent of one of his backpack frames that had cracked and been replaced, and by the time he finished his exposition, the floor in front of him was littered with a large heap of curly white willow wood shavings, just as he had been describing to her. Scooping them up and packing them into one of her recently made willow baskets, one of the few empty ones, he held it out to her. Here, try some if youd like. Strike sparks, see if you can get them to go. But the smoke? Aw, wont make any appreciable smoke. That was some real dry willow wood. Successful on her third try, Liz watched in wonder as the entire heap of shavings shed placed on the cooking rock above the firpit went up in flames. Not, perhaps, quite as easy to light as a fine, silky pile of milkweed down, but a suitable substitute when none was available. And a good direction for the afternoon to be going in, also, considering that she might have been well on her way up to the far ridge to wait out an anticipated federal raid, by then, and wanting to keep things moving in the right direction if possible she rose, handed Einar another lump of the special pudding that had saved the day, and followed him outside to begin collecting flat granite pieces for the stove. Around to the left side of the cliffs that rose up stark and sheltering above the cabin lay an area of granite talus, tumbled-down rock chips and chunks that had, over time, fallen

and slid from the massif above, and it was from this pile that Einar went in search of stove-making materials, his vision being of a stacked-stone stove against the back wall of the cabin, chimney of similar construction up the outside, emerging beneath a particularly densely-branched cluster of firs whose mat of boughs he knew would help disperse any smoke their fires might produce. The stove would be a major project, he knew, had been so at the bear cave and would involve a bit more work, still, there in the cabin, as the chimney needed to be designed in such a way as to protect their log walls from overheating and ending up in danger of smoking or even igniting, a task to which he was confident in being equal, despite the amount of work it would surely involve. Might as well get started here as soon as possible, so were sure to have the thing done, tested and re-worked in any way necessary before the really cold weather comes along. Which means a month or so at most, unless it ends up being a very long, slow fall, snow and cold late in coming. Possible, but not likely. Certainly not something to count on. Einar choosing the rocks and both of them carrying, they soon began amassing a good pile down near the cabin, though neither of them were able to carry as great a load as they would have expected, Liz due to the constraints of her growing belly and Einar because he simply hadnt yet rebuilt enough muscle after his long period of near starvation to allow him the work he would have expected of himself. Which frustrated him, led to his attempting to carry far more weight than perhaps he ought to have out of a sheer stubborn determination to prove to himself that he could do it, sweat streaming down his face by the time he reached the clearing with his third oversized load, legs growing dangerously unsteady and threatening to spill him, and his load of granite, to the ground. Glancing around to make sure Liz was not within sight--which she wasnt, having gone into the cabin for something--he sank to his knees, load of rocks still in his lap as he rested his head on them, breathing, striving to chase away the billowing clouds of blackness that had started welling up before his eyes during the last half of that descent. Too much. Definitely too much, he was shaking all over with the effort, chest hurting, but he was determined to do it again, get himself back up there and carry rocks until either the task got easier, or he dropped, whichever came first. Simply couldnt give in to the weakness that was weighing so heavily on him, softly urging him to take easier paths, less steep ones, rest; he knew the voice, knew that only through relentlessly and habitually resisting its call had he endured the things life had thrown at him through the years, was certain that, despite the cost, he must go on living that way; to relent in the slightest would, near as he could see it, leave him open to being swallowed by the sea of futility and despair that he knew must wait for him out there beyond the walls. Wasnt sure how long he could swim in the stuff, if it came to that. And besides, he knew no other way. Liz did, though, finding him there on the ground some two or three minutes later, lifting the rocks from his lap, freeing him and helping him to stand. Here, have some water. Ready to go for another load? Accepting the water, nodding, Einar stared thankfully at Liz as he drank, immensely grateful that she hadnt said anything, hadnt taken advantage of the situation to make one point or another or to try and compel him into taking a different course of action, and when back up at the rock pile she suggested handing him rocks, stacking them for him

before gathering her own, he made no objection, walking beside her with the slightly smaller loads and having lost nothing for the change. Three more loads of flat, stackable granite stones Einar and Liz gathered up in the cliffy area behind the cabin, carrying them back and piling them under a tree just to the side of the partially-completed woodshed, ready for use in constructing the stove and chimney. Einars breathing had slowed somewhat after carrying the second more moderately-sized load, heart rate steadying a bit, returning to a more workable level, and realizing, as the difficulty of the work eased some, that he was terribly hungry, Einar began taking short side trips at the bottom of each run, snagging bits of jerky and hoping--though he was pretty sure theyd used it all--to stumble across a bit of remaining pudding from earlier in the day. Noticing Einars quick and discreet prowlings around the interior of the cabin each time they returned there and guessing what he was looking for, Liz procured the remainder of the pudding--a substance whose texture more closely resembled pemmican or suet than anything which would typically be called pudding, but that was her name for it--which she had wrapped in a large fresh thimbleberry leaf and stashed up in the rafters, took it to him. Smelling the stuff before he actually realized what Liz was carrying and reminded of the snack, he glanced up at her a bit sheepishly from the spot where he was sorting and stacking stove rocks. Not wanting to pester you about it or anything, but what was in that pudding you made earlier? Had to be just about the best things I ever tasted, at least lately You liked that? Want some more? His eyes lit up, voice belying a strained attempt at nonchalance when he answered. Theres more? Yes, you big goof, theres more. Here, take it. And then come with me. I have something to show you. Which Einar did, following her but stopping, a bit confused, when she seemed to be leading him a good distance from the cabin. Had a lot of work to do yet that day, water barrel to get started on, woodshed roof to timber, hopefully the hide to brain, provided the plane didnt return and they could have a fire, and with all of that in mind, he wasnt too keen on making a long trek into the timber to see who knew what Show me what? The source of that pudding youre enjoying so much. Come on, it wont take long. And he went, hoping she was about to show him a berry patch of some sort--what sort, exactly, he could not guess--but unable to ignore a prickle of warning that crept up his scalp as they passed from sight of the cabin, something about the tone of suppressed excitement in her voice that gave him pause, and he could not help but scan the skies as he went, ears straining for any hint of approaching aircraft. Up into the timber Liz led him, moving quickly and taking his hand when he began

lagging behind at one point--a function, he told himself, more of the fact that he was trying to listen, to use some caution, than of his own exhaustion after hauling all of those rocks, but he knew it was almost certainly a bit of each--all but dragging him up the slope until he got his feet under him again, kept pace with her. Not halfway to the spring Liz stopped, breathless, eyes sparkling, pointing at a cluster of trees some thirty yards up further into the timber and motioning for Einar to be quiet, to follow her, which he did, spear at the ready and hands tingling with the uncertainty of the thing, doubting very much from the look on Lizs face that she was leading him into any sort of trouble, but too weary and on edge to be quite sure. She had gone ahead again, scampering up the steep slope and stopping beside one of the trees in the group, beckoning excitedly for him to follow. The tree, an ancient-looking blue spruce, was a giant, at least for that elevation, its lower trunk strangely twisted and thickened, some of the upper branches long-dead, the result, Einar expected, of early winters spent weighted beneath the snow, summers blasted by winds that could and occasionally did reach near hurricane force as they tore their way across the slopes, leaving in their wake a jumble, in places, of downed timber, the ones that didnt survive, and the tree, itself, was a marvel in his eyes, an anomaly, that which have been well worth the walk. Liz hadnt brought him all that way just to see a tree, though, fascinating as it might be, as became evident to Einar when she reached around the side of its trunk on the downhill slope and brought her hand away sticky and dripping with something that he at first took to be fresh pitch. Ah! A pitch tree. Good discovery, because were gonna be needing a lot of the stuff here pretty soon when it comes time to coat that water barrel, the baskets were going to use to haul water to fill it, and Liz was laughing at him, though, licking the pitch from her fingers with apparent relish and when she held her hand close to his face and offered him some, he realized with a sudden startlement that the sticky substance was not pitch, at all. He knew that smell, took a taste and looked up in wonder to see, high up among the twisted branches of the tree, a steady stream of bees making their comings and goings. Yes! This morning when I ran to the spring for water I was taking a slightly different route because of the plane, you know, keeping to the denser timber up here, and when I got near these trees I heard something, just a faint hum off in the distance, and at first I thought it was the plane coming back, but when I hurried uphill to get in under these trees and hidewell, I smelled the honey! Oh Lizziewhat a find! Do you have any idea how much honey it takes for a bee colony to get through the long, cold winter up this high? No, I dont, but But were gonna be finding out, arent we! And he circled the tree, studying it up and down and grinning in half-dazed wonderment, his movements looking to Liz more like

the dance of a young child who has stumbled across a bucket full of candy than the pained, clumsy movements of a half starved and decidedly not-so-young man whod just spent the morning seriously overexerting himself hauling loads of granite by hand. Einars dance, joyful though it was, did not last long, his weariness soon threatening to spill him to the ground as he traversed the steep, uneven terrain around the tree, waves of dizziness assailing him as he stared up through its branches, and Liz saw, scooped up a generous portion of the honey that had oozed its way down from the combs, wherever they might be, and out the split in the trees lower trunk, shooing away several dozen ants and depositing the sticky stuff on a piece of aspen bark and taking Einar by the arm, leading him over to a nearby patch of sunlight. Flopping down on her side on the sunny spruce needles and pulling Einar down beside her, Liz set the improvised bark container full of honey between them, taking a taste and sliding it over towards Einar until he followed suit. For a good while they lay there together sharing the snack and eventually rolling over onto their backs in the sunlight, staring up at the bees as they came and went in what eventually began seeming like a regular pattern from their little entrance some fifteen feet up in the tree. Between the warmth of the day, the drone of bees as they came and went from their tree-home and a gentle, sighing breeze that brought them the scent of sun on spruce, fir, melding it deliciously with the odor of honey, it was all Einar could do to keep from dozing as he lay there, Liz already appearing asleep, a soft smile on her lips, dreaming, no doubt, of the bounty of honey that they would harvest from the tree and have to work with that winter, and Einar lay there watching her for a time, resting, but not wanting to sleep. Not out there in the open, anyway, in the sunlight, in full view of anything that might happen to fly over, and the thought had him quickly scrambling to his knees, alarmed at how close he had come to dozing off. Would have stood, but Liz, who had not been sleeping, not quite, sat up and grabbed him by the hand, pulled him back down to the ground, offering more of the honey. I know its awfully hard for you, but try and be still for a few minutes, wont you? I would have figured us to be too high up here for honey bees, but here they are! Einar nodded sleepily, stretched out once more in the sun beside her, yawning. Well I sure would have thought so too, except that I remember my friend Willishuhkinda wish you could have met Will. Would have liked him, I think, and he probably would have offered you a job as a guide with his mountaineering outfit, once he saw how good you are out here, like he more than once offered menow that would have really been something, wouldnt it? The two of us traveling the world with that outfit, Himalayas, Alaska, Patagonia, Kilimanjarobut anyhow, I remember him telling me how hed seen locals at what we on this continent would consider to be some pretty extreme elevations in Nepal harvesting honey from hives in the cliffs above their villages. Said theyd rappel down from the top with baskets slung over their shoulders, carrying long, hookended sticks for grabbing honeycombs from those hives. All the honey used to be wild like that, he said, even in recent history, would be harvested every year by the same families in the same locations, every family with its own section of the honey cliffs and its own rituals for how the stuff had to be harvested, pouring milk over the cliff from

above before rappelling down, only going out during certain phases of the moon, things like that, but now theyve domesticated some of the bees, raise them in hives similar to what you might see in this country. Guess honey and wax production are a major industry there, now. So while I cant say Ive ever seen a swarm up anywhere near this high myself--well, not before today!--it is definitely possible. And I know bees like spruce pollen, because Ive sure seen them hovering around and collecting it sometimes during pollen season. Got to be a good bit of honey in there. Ive never been a beekeeper or even known one very well, but think we can figure this out Well have to be careful when we go to retrieve this stuff, however we decide to do it. Ive been stung before and never had an allergic reaction, but what about you? Nah, Im not allergic to anything, so far as I knowunless maybe you want to count helicopters and dark, confined places that I cant get out of and didnt choose to close myself up inso ought to be just fine with the bees. You dont have to be allergic to run into some major trouble though, if you end up getting stung dozens of time all over your face and thingsit can overwhelm you pretty fast, from what I understand. Oh, dont worry. Ill do all the bee handling. You and little Hildegard can stay back at a safe distance in case they start getting mad. Gonna have to wait until its safe to use smoke again, anyway, to really go in there, but it looks like we can probably come up with a good cup or so of the stuff just by digging into this crack here where its oozed down, and thatll be a tremendous start! Youre supposed to use smoke, I know, to get them to settle down, get them sleepy, and Im wondering if it might help to come up here some morning when its real cool, too, so theyll start out a little sluggish? A dilemma whose solution would have to wait, for the plane was returning and they were on their feet, scrambling for shelter beneath the group of trees that stood clustered around the honey-spruce. Once more the little plane--for it was definitely the same one, green and white--circled the basin, passing low along the wall opposite their little plateau before continuing along the great escarpment of red sandstone that marked the main ridge down the valley this time rather than up, as if returning from an early afternoon of scouting the peaks and valleys above the basin. Watching from their hiding place beneath the trees Einar followed the little craft until it passed from sight behind the ridge, prop-echoes fading, finally dying in the distance, leaving only a strained silence, there beneath the trees, and it the whispering of the wind, drone of bees, all as it had been before. Except that Einars hopes of having a fire that evening in order to finish braining the bear hide had been dashed, the semblance of returning safety that had descended over the basin in the wake of his decision to remain in place there at the cabin, letting Liz stay there with him, once more shattered, gone, and his first impulse was to take straight off from the honey tree, not even risking a return trip to the cabin before clearing the area ahead of whoever that

little plane might be scouting for. First impulses though, Einar had learned over the years, are not always correct ones, their heeding sometimes saving lives and preventing further trouble but under other circumstances simply leading to unnecessary and perhaps even dangerous actions whose necessity could have been ruled out through a bit of clear-headed deliberation. In which, shoving aside as well as possible the frantic screaming in his head that told him to leave, get out of here while you still can, theyre coming, are probably almost here by now, he was trying most desperately to engage. Wasnt working too well but he kept at it, reminding himself that at least the thing hadnt dipped its wing again, had not attempted to carry out any further communication with him, real or imagined, which he supposed had to be a good thing, increasing, he figured, the possibility that its repeated passes simply represented the innocent wanderings of an outfitter or future hunter of one sort or another attempting to get a jump on hunting season by observing the location and numbers of several different elk herds. Not likely, not as many passes as the thing had made over the area, but it was the only explanation he could come up with that did not involve an immediate need to abandon the cabin, half-finished bear hide and newly discovered honey tree, and flee. Plane was gone, didnt seem to be coming back, not at the moment, and he stood, motioning to Liz to let her know that it was alright if she did the same. A bit of honey was left on the scrap of aspen bark that had served as receptacle for the bounty Liz had found oozing from the crack near the base of the tree and she offered it to him, but he wasnt hungry, held up a hand to ward off the food and stood there with that faraway, listening look in his eyes that she had come to know so well. Too well, and she knew where it could lead. No, Einar. Come back. Should we try and get some more honey out of that crack, do you think, to take back with us now? Since we cant have smoke yet to go up there and harvest more of it Einar jumped at her words, glanced at the tree, at her, her, nodded. Dont know if theres much more in there, but we can try. Looked like a place where a little bit had leaked from above and oozed down at one point, but I doubt theres access to any of the combs from down there. Would be good to have a little of the stuff to take back today, though. Sure is good, and would be great travel foodif we end up having to travel. Awful lot of energy packed into a little spoonful of that stuff, and it could literally be a life-saver later when it starts getting cold again. Provide the energy to keep going if you get real badly chilled, run out of steam, give you just enough to allow your body to go on shivering, producing some warmth until you can find some way to improve your situation. Like a couple winters ago when I ended up at your house all frozen and near the end of my rope after escaping on the snowmobile and then crossing the mountains in that storm, and you gave me that sludgy-thick Tang stuff to drink. Whew! That sure was nasty, but it did the trick, allowed me to stay awake and start warming, some. Was exactly what I needed, but I was in no shape to tell you, at the time. Whered you learn to do a thing like that, anyway? Well, later in Mountain Rescue they covered that, how one of the best ways to help someone whos in trouble with moderate hypothermia--still awake but just about out of

the energy to stay that way, to keep shivering and get themselves headed in the right direction--is to give them something sickly-sweet to drink, to quickly boost their bodys ability to keep moving and producing warmth. Aside from getting them dry and warm, of course, which Id already done for you at that point, but it didnt seem to be working, wasnt enough But I hadnt joined Mountain Rescue yet that winter, so guess I must have learned that from my uncle, just hearing him talk about some of the rescues hed been on. Huh. Well anyhow, it was exactly the right thing to do, and this honey will give us the option to help ourselves--or each other--out the same way this winter, if we should end up needing it. Would be good to find a way to each carry a few ounces of it along with our knives, fire starters, the other things that never leave our persons, just in case Awfully valuable stuff. Maybe I should give you some every night just before bed, to help you get through the nights a little more easily Aw, hey, I do just fine at night. Wouldnt know what to do with myself if I didnt freeze just a little overnight most times. It helps preserve me, keep me from getting too soft, too complacentbut yeah, I can definitely see some situations where a little honey before bedtime would be just the thing to help a person through a cold night. Especially if you mixed it with some bear fat. Good fuel for your body to work on. Ill make sure and have a good bit of it harvested and set aside for us before the snow flies. And the wax, too, from those honeycombs! Just think of all the uses itll have! Waxing boots, bowstrings, waterproofing all sorts of things Oh! And dont forget that we can use it for making salves, and candles! Candles, wont that be great? Give us some light to read by, save us from using up too much of that bear fat for lighting purposes. And I can use it for sealing jars of serviceberry jam, chokecherry syrup sweetened with a little of the honey, raspberry Great, but where are you gonna get the jars? Oh, I dont know! Make them, I guess. Burned wood bowls, coiled cordage coated with pitch, hey, maybe Ill find some clay in a creek bank and learn to fire pottery! But the point is that I can use the wax to seal things, so well have berry preserves and syrup and things to use during the winter! Thanks to the wax. And dont forget that we can use it to wax skis and sleds, when we get around to making them And cheese. Can use the stuff to coat and preserve our wheels of cheese for long term storage, once we get those mountain goats all captured and domesticated and the milking and cheese making processes figured out Hmmbees: the foundation of civilization, it sounds like! Aw, who said anything about civilization? Not looking to bring civilization up here, no

way. I just want skis that slide, boots that dont leak and maybe a few wheels of cheese! And quick energy that can be eaten by the spoonful when needed on a cold day Well, that will certainly be a good start! Civilization can come later. But first I guess we have to figure out how were going to go about retrieving the honey and wax, in the first place. Right. Ive got some ideas, but unfortunately they all involve the use of smoke, so its gonna have to wait. Everythings gonna have to wait, because that planes likely as not coming back, and Id like for us to be tucked away in the cabin when it does. Less chance of being spotted in there than if were out here moving around, and it provides some thermal insulation, too, just in case theyre looking as it starts to cool off for the evening. I sure havent been able to see the little infrared pod hanging down from the plane, but who knows, they might have another system of some sort so could very well be looking. For now lets just see how much more honey we can get out from the bottom, here, take that and head home for the day. Approaching the tree together, Einar still walking with the quick and furtive movements of a hunted creature, pausing frequently to listen, glance up at the sky, they explored the small reservoir of honey that had become trapped behind a burl in the twisted trunk of the ancient and deformed tree, finding it, as Einar had expected, to consist of little over half a cup more of the stuff, encrusted in places with bark pieces and needles, but still quite edible. Einar, in fact, would have eaten it just as it was, and without further delay, had he not been focused on saving it, making it last. Despite the promise of a bounty of the stuff waiting for them up in that tree Einar was taking nothing for granted, knew that the intervention of a single hungry bear or of events that might compel them to flee in haste before the harvest could well leave them in possession of no more of that bounty than they were able to carry home with them, just then.

Making a quick detour to the spring before returning to the cabin--they were already halfway there, and it seemed a shame to waste the trip--Einar and Liz hastily drank their fill, regretting somewhat that they had not brought along the pots and water jars to fill. They might have done so, had Liz not been so excited to show her find to Einar, and Einar thoroughly focused on the potential return of that plane. No matter. They still had a pot and a jar full back at the cabin, enough to see them through the rest of the day, though one of them might need to make a final trip before dark so as to avoid being entirely out of water, come morning. It would, Einar could not help but think as they started away from the spring, be incredibly good to have that water barrel done so that they could take one day a week, or so, filling it, and not have to worry much about water the rest of the time. Wanted head right home and make some significant progress on the project but knew it would have to wait, aside from whatever work he could do with the adze, alone. No burning that day, and perhaps not the next, either, until he figured out what was going on with that little plane. Which meant no evening fire for cooking, of

course, a fact which was sure to disappoint Liz more than himself, as she had been making some tremendously good stews lately, and he knew that at least part of the reason probably had to do with her own increased appetite as the child continued to grow. Well. Theyd make do. Liz had made her wonderful honey, bear fat and jerky pudding without the use of heat that morning, and surely it was a procedure which could be repeated. He could live on the stuff for days, he was certain, quite happily, but supposed Liz and the little one might appreciate a little variety. Einar collected, as they walked, the ingredients for a dinner salad of sorts, a few shepherds purse leaves here, violets there, a handful, red and riotous against the other greens, or Indian paintbrush flower heads, slightly bitter at times but very good to eat, and by the time they reached the cabin--Einar making the occasional detour out of the heavy timber beneath which they traveled to visit the edge of one little clearing or another--he had a good-sized salad going. Liz, who had been somewhat preoccupied with keeping the bark curl that held the honey from tipping and beginning to spill its treasured cargo, was pleasantly surprised when Einar presented her with the salad. Hey, thatll be just perfect with the fresh batch of pudding I was planning to make! Who says we need fire to have a good meal? It is going to be awfully dark in there this evening without a fire, though. How would it be to make a little bear fat lamp or two, just so we can see to get around and do things after dark? Surely that wouldnt emit enough heat to worry about, would it? Ha! Its dark in there without a fire no matter what time of day it is. Maybe I ought to be making us a little window or two, way up high of course and real narrow to cut down on critter traffic, but itd give us some daylight to work with, at leastwhile its light out. For the after-dark times, yeah, I guess we could use some nettle cordage for a wick, burn a few chunks of bear fat for light. Though maybe wed be better off just doing it mountain man style and going to bed when dark comes That would be fine with me, but Ive seldom seen you ready for bed that early. If you think you can manage to settle down and keep still at dark, we can skip the lamp, and itll be just fine with me! Hildegard needs her rest, after all. Well, I am somewhat of a nocturnal critter a lot of times, but maybe could make an exception under these circumstances. Anyhow, its hours until dark at the moment, and nothing says we have to wait on dinner until it comes, thats for sure! Liz, taking the cue and rather hungry herself, prepared a generous batch of the pudding that had been such a success earlier, finely chopping a lump of bear fat half the size of her fist and adding to it a nearly equal portion of serviceberries, half-dried and very sweet. She then pounded several strips of sheep jerky into small chips and flakes. They were fortunate, Einar knew, to still have some of the stuff left, as the bear jerky would need to be cooked prior to use if at all possible, due to the risk of trichinosis, and the realization reminded him of the need to get out there and take another sheep, a deer or elk, some manner of grass-eater whose meat could be jerked and eaten without further preparation. Finished pounding the jerky and stirring in the mashed berries, Liz took the

entire mass in her hands, softening the fat, kneading everything together and finally, when she was satisfied with the state of the mixing, returning everything to the pot from which she had been working and adding a good portion of the honey they had retrieved. Einar, watching with rapt attention in the hopes of being able to himself repeat preparation of the delicacy at some time in the future, nodded. Well, now I know the secret of what made the stuff so good. A bit like extra sweet pemmican, I guess. Supper was ready, then, and they ate, Einar enjoying along with his portion a serving of the by-then highly acidic and rather ripe-smelling bear-stomach concoction, a treat in whose consumption Liz did not join him, not that time. She had, in fact, been rather wanting to get the stuff out of the cabin, its odor at some times nauseating to her, but seeing that Einar was occasionally snacking on it and knowing how badly he still needed the nourishment she hadnt had the heart to put in the request. The various enzymes and bacterial with which he had described the stuff being so replete would almost certainly be good for him, and for her as well, if only she could get past the taste They were finished eating and it was still light, would be for another two of three hours, by the looks of things, and Einar, though weary from the earlier hours of rock-hauling and having a difficult time keeping his eyes open after the meal, headed outside to se what he could get done on the water barrel. Chipping and carving carefully wit the freshly-sharpened adze he was ale to make some progress in hollowing the thing, going down a good two or three inches before pausing, deciding it was time to wait for coals, before going further. Neither during their meal nor while Einar worked had the plane put in another appearance, and though he knew better than to make any such assumption, Einar was beginning to hope they might have seen the last of it for the evening. Still not a good idea to have a fire, as far as he was concerned, but perhaps the small flame of a bear fat lamp would be a reasonable risk, just enough to allow them a bit of light after dark, a small amount of warmth in the cabin. Liz, he figured, would likely appreciate both. The lamp would of necessity be a simple affair, the shallow dish of a water-worn sandstone round that he had once brought back from the spring serving as the lamp itself, out fitted with a short piece of grease-rubbed nettle cordage by way of a wick, simple, but effective. Was still some daylight left when he got the thing done, and wanting to put it to good use, he sought out the tree beneath which they had piled their loads of stove and chimney rocks. Wanted to get started on constructing the stove the next day, and could tell ,after his earlier exertions, that he might well be too stiff to be of much use at rock carrying, that coming day. Choosing carefully from among the accumulated stones, he picked out those that seemed best suited to the floor-level of the thing, hauling them inside and stacking them against the wall where they would be easily accessible in the morning. Despite wishing he would slow down and give himself a break--silly guy, youre gonna work your supper off before bedtime at that rate; how do you ever expect to start putting on a little weight, working like this all the time--Liz was glad to see Einar working on the stove. It meant that, despite the possible implications of the small planes repeated attentions, he intended to stay. By the light of their single bear fat lamp Einar and Liz went about evening chores in the cabin, Liz preparing more of the no cook pudding for breakfast against the possibility

that Einar should decide they were still operating under a fire ban in the morning and Einar, fighting to keep his eyes open, sleepily surveying the rocks he had brought in, testing their flatness by setting them one and then another on the ground, stacking others atop them and beginning to fit their future stove together like a puzzle. A task he considered completed for the night only when, sitting and staring too long at his work without moving--thinking, Im thinking, got to figure out which rock comes next--he toppled forward, asleep, and collided head first with the pile of remaining stones. Picking himself up and grinning groggily at Liz in response to her concerned inquiries as to the intactness of his skull--skulls fine, its the stuff inside thats a bit scrambled. Like eggs. Ha! Brains and eggs. Makes a good breakfast--he crawled over to the bed, set his spear and knife in their assigned places beside it, and fell immediately asleep. Liz, fearing he might be suffering a concussion after that hard and rather sudden contact with the rocks, was of half a mind to wake him, get him talking for a while and make sure everything was alright, but eventually relented, seeing the half-smile on his face and knowing that he was likely as not just thoroughly exhausted after his day of hard work. Crawling in beside him and spreading the ewe hide over them both before he could begin growing cold--the night was looking to be a chilly one, clear and breezy--she blew out the lamp, put an arm around his waist and joined him in sleep. The night was significantly chillier than usual due to the lack of the usual pre-bedtime fire, and Liz dreamt of the bear hide that night, scraping, stretching, finishing it, hauling the soft, supple results into the cabin and covering the two of them warmly for the night, ending the cold-tremors that had come over Einar shortly after his falling asleep and which, in the absence of some better cover, she seemed powerless to ease, though herself reasonably comfortable. Wakened once by the sound of his rattling teeth she tried halfheartedly to rouse him in order to talk him into putting on a second sweater to help him through the night--an offer which she knew he would likely refuse, as the sweater was hers, and he would insist she go on wearing it, a fact which led her to not making too great an effort to wake him--but finally, seeing how deeply he seemed to be sleeping despite the chill, gave up the effort, wrapped herself best as her growing belly would allow around him, found his hands, warming them in hers, drifting back off to sleep. Thus they remained throughout the night, Einar too exhausted to stir and Liz, worn also from the days activities and comfortably full of that rich, sweet pudding resting quite soundly as well, waking only with daylight the next morning. Einar, in the middle of a rather painfully hungry dream about the same pudding that had given Liz and the little one such a sound nights sleep, opened his eyes briefly when he felt Liz moving, rising, took a few seconds to think back through the night, searching for any remembrance of hearing the plane, the distant rumble of rotors, anything to indicate that they had been under further surveillance while sleeping. Finding nothing, he tucked his nose back under the ewe hide and curled up into a tight ball, forehead on his knees and elbows pressed against his sides, in the hopes of warming some before he rose. Wasnt working; he could feel the morning chill creeping more and more deeply into his bones, the shivering reaching an aggravating level now that his heat source--Liz--had left the bed, legs cramping up until he was no longer able to maintain his head-conserving huddle, straightening them in search of some relief.

Time to get up. Way past, actually, and he rolled stiffly out from beneath the hide, managing with some difficulty to get to his knees. Liz was not there, had gone outside for some reason and he remained there trembling on hands and knees for a minute, stretching, finally rising with the help of his spear and drawing the ewe hide around his shoulders, staring somewhat longingly at the cold firepit. Liz had at some point built a pyramid of twigs and finely split spruce there in it, just waiting a spark or two, and he fingered the little fire steel in the pouch around his neck. Shook his head the next moment, grinned fiercely and threw off the hide, his sweater following it in an act of selfimposed penance for wanting the fire so badly. Nope, forget it. Too soon, plane might very well be coming back this morning. All you really need is to get moving, Einar, get some blood flowing. That was quite a night. Dont think you moved a muscle from dusk till dawn, so its no wonder youre half frozen, now is it? You know that doesnt work for you, not at the moment. Worth it, though. Dont think Ive slept that soundly in a good long time. Despite the good sleep he was feeling immensely weary, stomach twisting with hunger; one consumes a good deal of energy, apparently, when spending the entire night shivering in a half-successful attempt to keep up with the bodys heat loss, and he pressed his empty stomach, turned away with some difficulty from the spot where Liz had stored the honey. Later, alright? And youd better make sure she doesnt have plans for the stuff, before you go digging in. Need to work today on a way to smoke those bees, so you can go raid the nest as soon as that planes been gone for a while. Whew! Lots to do all of a sudden, but I sure am thankful, because most of them have to do with making sure we have plenty of food for the winter, a way to keep water and firewood, and thats a big improvement over not having any of it Shaking himself out of a state of half-dazed contemplation into which, he realized, he had sunk far too easily, he pushed open the door and hobbled a bit creakily out into the still-dim morning, seeking Liz and finding her over beside the bear hide, which she had lowered from its secure nighttime position dangling far from the ground from a high spruce branch. She had the hide all spread out on the ground and appeared to be spreading it with something, Einar taking a few quick steps towards her in alarm when he recognized, carried on a stiff morning breeze, the somewhat rancid stench of the several-times used brain solution. He was more alarmed at the realization that she must have had a fire to heat the stuff, thus possibly producing smoke that could have been noticed by any ongoing surveillance of the area, if there was such, than out of concern that she might not have done the deed correctly--she had done it before with other hides, was becoming reasonably proficient--he glanced around for the location of the offending fire, saw nothing, smelled nothing, save for the rank odor of the tanning solution. Liz, guessing at the cause of his wild-eyed concern, gestured towards a nearby thicket of small firs. In there. I used the lamp. No smoke, and not much heat, but I finally got the stuff warmed up so itd soak in well, like youve shown me. I hope you dont mind that I went ahead and got started, but it was time to do this. You almost froze again last night, despite my practically sleeping on top of you for warmth, and Im not going to mention anything about it right now because I know youd just dismiss it with one joke or another about how you do best when half frozen, but one of these nights its not going to be a joke

anymore, its going to be more than you can take, and youre just not going to wake up from it. If its like this right now, how do you think youre going to make it when the nights start getting seriously cold this fall? Look at yourself--the way youre moving, hands all purple and your face not far behindthis is ridiculous! Why arent you even wearing your sweater? I am not going to let it happen this way, Im telling you! Now get over here and help me stretch this hide! You want to work hard? Well then, work towards having this hide ready for tonight, why dont you? Einar did not understand the ferocious energy with which she was going about the rubbing and smearing of the brain solution but he joined her, the two of them completing the task fairly quickly, after which it was time to begin the stretching. Working together to carry the heavy, slimy hide beneath the thickest bunch of firs they could find--Liz wanted to do the stretching out in the sun, but Einar put his foot down on the matter, mentioning how difficult it would be to move quickly with the heavy hide if an aircraft surprised them and they had to get in under cover--they sat across from each other, tugging, pulling, turning the hide as they went, a difficult job, and one at which they would have to persist until the hide was entirely dry, if they wanted it to turn out soft and usable.

Stretching a hide the size of that bears is very hard work, and a job at which one cant get much rest, once begun. Not unless a way is found to keep the hide from drying significantly during rest breaks, which Einar and Liz didnt really, save for folding it in on itself and covering the entire thing with spruce needles, which would have been somewhat effective, but not, Einar feared, quite enough to prevent them from at some point having to re-brain the thing and start over with the stretching and drying process. So they kept at it, pulling, stretching to separate the drying fibers and thus leave the finished hide soft and supple, turning in what fairly quickly began to seem an endless cycle, arms and shoulders weary with the great effort required. Would have been a bit easier had they stretched the hide in a frame as Einar had initially considered. That configuration, in addition to allowing them to stand up as they stretched the drying hide, pressing and rubbing it with dull implements to keep the fibers moving--specially prepared wide-ended wooden tools, carefully smoothed deer shoulder bones--would have also given them the option of laying the entire thing down suspended on a series of props, walking and even jumping on it to aid in the stretching. Next time. Einar became, a good hour into the project with arms tired, legs cramping up and no apparent end in sight, quite strongly determined to use a frame the next time they had such a large hide to stretch, but for the moment they were stuck with what they had, as there was certainly not time to build a frame, punch holes around the perimeter of the hide and string it up without allowing too much drying to occur. Finally despite the urgency of continuing they had to take a short break, Liz going to the cabin for water and Einar sprinkling a bit of it on the flesh side of the hide, folding it in on itself and himself sprawling onto his back in the spruce needles, spending a good minute lying there in closed-eyed exhaustion before getting stiffly to his feet. Liz, who had grown quite thirsty

during the work and was hurrying to get her fill of water before they started up again, offered Einar a half full jar, which he gladly took. They sat together for a time in the sunny cabin-clearing just outside the cluster of trees beneath which the stretching was taking place, drinking, resting, Einar trying to ease some of the cramping from his legs, too worn out to say much, both glad for the undiluted sunlight on their backs, as the stretching had proven rather strenuous, sweaty work, leaving them both damp and chilled shortly after stopping. Liz, finally getting her breath back and feeling as she did quite hungry, went to the cabin and retrieved the leftover pudding from supper the night before, setting it and the dish of honey on the ground beside Einar and joining him for a bit of belated breakfast. What do you figure, are we about halfway done? Einar glanced up wearily, stuffed a bite of pudding into his mouth to avoid having to answer right away--that, and because he was hungry, suddenly terribly, desperately hungry at the scent of that food--suppressing a laugh as he chewed. Not quite. A third, maybe. Drying will go faster as the day warms, which its definitely doing, but that just means well have to go a little faster too, be a little more diligent to keep the thing moving, stretching, so the drying doesnt get ahead of usbut really, well be done before you know it. Before noon, anyway. And then--aside from smoking at some point so it hide stays flexible if ever we get it wet--the hidell be finished, and ready for years of use. Wont that be great? Yes! But arent we going to make all the fur fall out, stretching it like this? Nah, not if it behaves like most other furs. Think of all the rabbits you do, the marmotsand Ive done cat this way, lynx, bobcat. Only thing thatll make the fur fall out is if we get too much of the brain solution on it, let it soak into the fur side, and I think weve pretty well managed to avoid that, aside from the edges where we had to grab real hard and get a handful of hide for pulling. A little of the stuff probably got squeezed over onto the fur there, but it shouldnt be a big deal. Wont have lost much. Well, thats good. Id hate to have the fur fall out, after all this effort! This hide is even bigger than the other we had when we were staying in the bear den, I think, and will be so much easier to use than that one was, since we never cured it in any way. For sure! Ought to be the warmest sleeping robe you ever tried, I do believe, and by the time I get us couple more deer or sheep to go along with it, and you finish that rabbitskin blanketwell, you and the little one will be ready for whatever the winter wants to throw at you. We. Well be ready. All of us. Thats what I said. Yes.

Time to get back to work, then, the two of them sitting once more opposite each other on the ground with the hide spread on and between them, pulling, stretching, finding once more a rhythm and keeping to it and Liz wanted to come up with a bit of song to measure the work and keep them on task. Something like the old sea shanties that were used to keep time and help synchronize repetitive work such as hauling a line or pumping aboard ships, and instantly the first verse came to her, stretch, stretch, stretch the hide, we need it to keep warm, pulling one, the other side, before the coming storm, but, the growing child reducing her lung capacity a bit of late, she lacked the breath both sing it aloud and go on pulling at the same time, so she kept quiet--Einar would probably think it silly, anyway, would almost certainly ask me what storm? I dont see any storm coming--went over and over the rhyme in her head as they worked. Einar had no such rhyme to keep him going, his strategy at the moment involving counting out groups of seven pulls and stretches--why seven, he wasnt sure, but that was the way it had to be--one after the other, finding himself immensely relieved upon reaching the end of each group, starting over again. In this way, working steadily and without speaking or stopping, they finished the stretching, the hide finally ceasing to feel cold when Einar touched and tested it, a sure sign, he knew from past experience, that it was thoroughly dry. Nodding at Liz in response to her query he pushed his portion of the bulky hide from his lap, rolled to the side and leaned back against a nearby aspen, letting out a great sigh. Finished! All weve got left now is to smoke it, and thatll wait until a good opportunity comes up. No real hurry, so long as we keep it dry. Liz was on her feet, lifting the hide, folding it, marveling at the softness and flexibility that their work had brought to its previously stiff and uncooperative expanse. Its perfect! Can you even imagine how warm this is going to be to sleep in? So much better than the untreated hide, because itll actually bend and drape and seal the cold air out at night! Yep. Should do that, alright. I may have to sleep halfway out from under that thing and with my hat soaking wet just to keep from roasting, half the time! Oh, no you wont! I havent seen you come anywhere close to roasting in a good long time, so I hope youll use the hide just like I will be--to keep warm and get good, sound sleep at night. Looks like Im gonna sleep sound tonight, at least. Lot of work stretching a hide this size. You and Hildegard sure did do a good job of it. Glad you went ahead and took matters into your own hands on this one by heating up the brains this morning, because I was inclined to wait until we could have a fire again, and that could have been a good while. No planes yet, though. Hope it stays that way. If the sky stays clear for the rest of the day I guess we should be pretty safe having fire this evening, and I can get back to work on the water barrel! That would be good. In the meantime, were just about out of water, so Im going to

make a quick trip over to the spring, and check my snares while Im gone, if that works for you. At which Einar nodded, got to his feet, helping Liz haul the supple but still rather heavy bear hide into the cabin. A good start to the day.

While Liz was gone retrieving more water and checking her snares, Einar returned to his work on the stone stove, completing the bottom row of rock and beginning to stack the second, working with a slow deliberation that ensured the finished product would be stable and long-lasting. It was tedious work, demanding that he stop frequently and readjust the placement of a rock or two, sometimes chipping and pounding at an offending chunk until its shape meshed more perfectly with the ones around it, but he knew the rewards for such care and deliberation would be great, would result in a stove that needed little chinking to make it ready for a long and reasonably efficient life. Losing all concept of time as he worked, one rock upon another, fitting, shaping, measuring with his eyes and finding himself filled with delight when a piece of the puzzle fit exactly as he had anticipated it would, Einar was surprised when Liz returned after what he would have taken to be mere minutes of absence. Must have been a good while longer, though, because in addition to full water jars she was carrying a rabbit and a grouse--snaring grouse, now? I know its possible, but dont remember you doing that before--set them down on the partially finished second row of stove rocks. Supper! Looks like it! Whered you come up with the grouse? Got her with my war club as I was coming back up from the basin. Heard a little noise in a tree just above me and there she was, just sitting there bobbing her head and staring at me so I real slowly worked my way in a little closer to eliminate a few of the branches that were blocking a clear shot at her, andwhack! Threw the rabbit stick! Hand going to his collarbone where a knot still served to remind him of his own first encounter with the war clubs wrath, Einar nodded in appreciation of her skill with the weapon. Better that than taking it with a bola while its sitting up in a tree, thats for sure. Can end up in some prettysticky situations doing that, as you know. Left to crawl out into narrow branches after your quarry, breaking the branches, taking a fall Oh, you dont even need to mention it! I still have the scars on my leg--both sides of my leg--from where that branch went through it when I fell No more mixing bolas and spruce trees for me, not if theres any choice at all! Think Id have to be pretty close to starving before Id try that one again. I did it once when I was pretty close to starvinggot my bird, too, but nearly fell out of the tree retrieving it. Hmm. Think that was the first time I ever ate a grouse raw. Just

couldnt wait, couldnt have a fire anyway at the time. His face darkened briefly at the memory, desperate times, for sure, but the grin with which he had received the news of Lizs successful hunt soon returned. Dont think well have to eat this one raw, tonight! No sign of that plane. its looking like we ought to be able to have a fire, roast this bird up the right way. Or stew it, whichever you want to do. Stewing would give us that great greasy broth, and then whatever we didnt use tonight could be tomorrows breakfast, with some dried nettles added in. As far as being able to have a fire, it doesnt look like were going to have to worry about that plane for much longer today, anyway. Looks like its about to rain! It does? Guess its been a good while since Ive poked my head outside. Been working on the stove the whole time you were gone, didnt seem like more than a few minutes, but it was clear skies and sunshine when I came in, so Well I was probably gone for two hours, at the least, so its no surprise the weather had time to change! Einar rose, stretched stiff limbs--whew! Guess I was sitting here for a good while, after all--and peered up at the sky, seeing that there had indeed been a significant change in the weather, low, heavy-bellied clouds standing rank upon rank until they disappeared beyond the broken ridge at the far end of the basin, promising rain, and soon. As if to confirm the coming storm, the first distant rumble of thunder rolled down from the red ridge, bounced around the basin and reverberated off the cabin-cliffs, accompanied by a breeze that set the nearby aspens to trembling restlessly. Nope, not much flying likely to take place today. Good! That means I can make some progress on the water barrel. Come on, rain! Standing in the doorway he shivered, stepped outside and tested the breeze, found it to be a good bit damper and more chilly than the one that had earlier that morning aided in the drying of the bear hide, and he found himself suddenly very grateful that Liz had insisted on their doing the final braining and stretching that morning. It wasnt a task that could be done out in the rain, and as there really wasnt space in the cabin to do a good job of the stretching, the hide would have likely sat waiting out there under the spruce needles until after the storm, but for her taking the initiative to get it finished. Its warmth would, despite what he might tell himself, be appreciated by both of them during the damp, rainy night that appeared forthcoming. Just in time, Lizzie And he left the cabin, collecting a big armload of wood from beneath the tree where they had been storing it, breaking some of the more slender pieces shorter for easier use but leaving the thicker ones long, knowing that they could simple be laid across the fire, letting the flames do the work of shortening. Dumping his load of firewood against the back wall beside the future stove he went out for another, seeing as he left that Liz had begun plucking the grouse in anticipation of their supper. Before Liz had finished removing the feathers from her grouse the rain began, sweeping down from the high red ridge and arriving at the cabin-clearing with a booming clap of thunder that sent Einar scrambling through door with a look of startlement on his face that would have set Liz to laughing if she hadnt carefully controlled herself, and then

Einar was laughing, at himself, at the hilarious contortions of Lizs countenance as she struggled to suppress her own hilarity, and at the glorious downpour of rain that had halfdrenched him on the short sprint from the firewood-tree to the cabin. They were laughing together, then, Liz helping him out of his rain-soaked things and into dry ones, lighting the little pyramid of carefully-prepared split sticks that had been waiting for hours for Einars go-ahead, laughing until the tears came as the little flame grew and crackled and lit the cabin with a warm golden glow, and soon sitting comfortably beside the blaze, passing a pot of honey-sweetened nettle and raspberry leaf tea back and forth. While the rain represented for Liz a welcome opportunity to catch up on some work in the cabin as well as a chance to cut down on the number of daily trips to the spring, as they could now collect rainfall for a good portion of their drinking water, it was for Einar much more, the downpour almost literally beginning to wash away the tension that had all but tied him in knots since the first appearance of the plane, allowing him to relax just a bit. Liz, aware of the change and immensely grateful for its implications, set to preparing the grouse for their evening meal while Einar went out to rig up a system for making the most of the rainfall, collecting as much of it as he could for their drinking water. While the cabin was certainly not the sort of structure that could practically be fitted with gutters, there were plenty of spots near it where the spruces were shedding a significant amount of water, boughs heavy and dripping, and Einar explored the area for the best location to place a pot for water collection, finally settling on one directly beneath a large and wind-broken spruce branch that seemed to be serving as conduit for much of the rain falling on that particular tree. The pot, he saw, would be filling fairly quickly, and he wished the water barrel was further along so they had a place to dump and store the accumulated water. No matter. It was not as if they had set up camp in the desert where the rainfall was a rare and treasured thing, the nearest water a three day walk from the shelterit would rain again, and in the meantime, they always had the spring. Wouldnt hurt though to be able to collect a bit more water than the pot and the single glass jar that was currently free for water storage would hold, and his mind went to the pitch-coated willow baskets hed seen tucked away up near the cabin ceiling, constructed, presumably while he was away chasing hikers and mountain goats, and he wondered if one or two of them might be made available as water catchment and storage devices. Only one way to find out, and again he sprinted across the rain-soaked clearing, shaking as much water as he could from hair and clothing--hed got back into his wet clothes before heading back outside, and he was glad, thankful that hed have something dry to get into when he was ready to remain inside--and ducked into the cabin, standing briefly over the fire until he started steaming. Bad idea, because not only was the warmth causing him to shake worse--hed somehow kept it down to a manageable level while outside, despite the damp, cutting wind--but his actions had apparently given Liz the idea that he was done out there, which he wasnt, and she was handing him tea, trying to get him out of his wet clothes. He stepped back from the fire, putting up a hand to ward off her advances. Hold on, Im not done out there yet. Just came in to ask if I could snag a couple of your waterproof jerky-storage baskets to help us catch more water. Would mean no need for a trip to the spring, as long as it keeps raining Which, seeing what a drenched and sorry state Einar had managed to get himself into during his short stint out in the storm, seemed

to Liz like a very good idea indeed, and she retrieved two of the baskets, dumping their carefully-packed contents onto a series of flat rocks from Einars stove construction pile. Here, take them. What about your jerky? Ill take care of it. You just grab these, get back out there and finish whatever it is you have to do, so you can come in and get dry. Hurry up, go! Einar headed laughing back out into the storm, teasingly grabbing Lizs arm at the last moment as if to drag her out there with him, but she braced her feet against the door frame, twisted free and got the rabbit stick into her grasp, shook it menacingly in his direction, at which Einar raised his hands in surrender, bowed, backed out of the cabin, still laughing. Have it your way, then. I was just looking to show you how much fun a good downpour can be when you let go and just stand in it, dance in it, let it wash over you--its like the waterfallyou remember the waterfallonly an awful lot less intense, so you got to stay out in it longer--but if you prefer the cabin, sensible creature that you are, well, so be it. Someday, though, Im gonna show you And he grinned, shook his head, began casting about for the best locations for the two baskets Liz had given him. One he placed near the pot, seeing that it was already half full and promising to be soon overflowing, making a small depression in the duff with his boot heel and nesting the basket--whose base was far from flat--down into it to give it some stability, emptying the pot into it. Figured hed stop back by on his way to the cabin and empty the pot once more, allowing him to take a full basket of water, a good gallon or more, in for Liz to use in her cooking that afternoon. Quickly scouting the area he settled on a location for the second basket, placing it among the granite scree just beneath a slight overhang in the cliffs up behind the cabin, where the terrain above had created a virtual water spout, an entire series of them in face, the stuff splashing down into the basket with such force that it threatened to tip the whole thing over, leading Einar to brace it with a pile of small rocks. Ha! Perfect place to take a shower, right here And, being thoroughly soaked already and in need, he supposed, of some cleaning, he proceeded to do, picking a spot some distance down the row of overhanging cliffs from the water catchment basket so as not to contaminate their drinking water, getting out of his clothes and scrubbing himself with handsfull of granite sand from the bottom of the scree pile, rinsing it, and the weeks accumulated dirt, off beneath one of the fast-flowing water streams that tumbled down from the cliffs some twenty feet above. Finished washing, standing there beneath the stream and watching as it flowed downhill from the cliff base, down under the scree pile and out its lower end, Einar figured hed better check to see where all that water was going, make sure it wasnt flowing straight down towards the cabin where it would wash or seep under the logs and leave their floor, in time, a muddy, soupy mess, certainly hadnt observed such a problem before, but neither, he was pretty sure, had it rained quite so hard since theyd built the thing, and he

fought his way through the thick brush between cliff and cabin--wasnt much of it, but it was quite thick--until hed satisfied himself that the vast majority of the runoff seemed to be diverting itself without any prompting into a natural depression to one side of the cabin, the side opposite the spring. Studying its flow--for it was actually flowing by that point, the temporary runoff creek thus created quite negating the need for water catchment baskets placed beneath dripping spruces--he saw that with a bit of work and two strategically placed logs, he could ensure that even more of the water missed the area just behind the cabin, possibly even diverting it into a second water barrel that he could insert, cistern-like, into the ground just downhill of the house, which led to his having to seek out a spot, the ideal spot for the cistern, for what better time to make such a determination than while the water was flowing? A process which took a good bit of studying and consideration, after which, having passed the better part of an hour out there beneath the unrelenting ferocity of that downpour, he stood up, having thoroughly spent his frenzy of excited planning and searching, to find himself quite nearly frozen, rather keenly aware all of a sudden of the cutting power of the wind against his wet and mostly numbed skin, the frantic trembling of his body as it tried quite futilely to maintain its temperature and get the attention of his otherwise-occupied mind. Well. Past time to get inside, here. Man! Feels like this stuffs about to turn to snow, sleet, something of that sort, not unheard of for late August, but a little unusual, thats for sure, thatshey. Whatre you doing heading for the cabin without that water basket? It was the entire point of your being out here, if you remember. Got to be full by now Which it was, just as soon as hed got the overflowing pot dumped in to top it off, and he replaced the pot with difficulty beneath the spruce-drip--hands were clumsy, shaking awfully badly, and he focused for a moment on breathing them still, knew Liz would have something to say if he returned to the cabin in such a state, but it wasnt working, and aside from Lizs potential wrath he really didnt care--wrung his clothes out as well as he could so as not to leave puddles all over the floor, draped them over his shoulder and put all of his focus into holding that basket steady as he made the quick walk across the clearing. Liz greeted him at the door, took the basket and hurried him inside, pulling him close to the fire, quickly drying him, despite his objections, with extra pairs of socks and her spare shirt, draping the bear hide around his shoulders. What were you doing out there? I was worried, was about to come out after you, and with good cause it seems, because just look at yourself. Youre frozen. I thought you were just going out to get water! Drinking water, not soaked in water, but it seems you apparently cant tell the difference Hey, nono needbe mad. Got water. And took a bath. And found usplace for a cistern. Waters notflooding cabin but had to make sure ithad toand Oh, you can tell me later! When youve warmed up some and can talk straight again, you goofy guy. Im not mad at you, just a little puzzled about how a quick trip out to set up water collection containers can end like this. Come on, sit down. Ive made you some tea. Well, dont spill it! Here, let me help. Which she did, Einar gulping the scalding mixture of honey, nettles and raspberry leaves, realizing as he did that she must have

finished with the grouse in his absence and set it to cook because he could smell it, leaned over and inhaled steam from the gently simmering stew-pot, stomach growling in sudden recognition of his hunger. Saw also that she had taken out all of her stored bundles of rabbit hides, beginning to prepare them for the woven blanket that she had been talking about for such a long time. Three of them, it appeared, she had already turned into long strips of inch-wide fur-backed leather, the fourth tacked down on a rock-smoothed piece of split aspen, awaiting the attentions of her knife, and seeing how much shed got done he supposed he had better get busy as well, rose to roll the water barrel over nearer the light so he could begin burning and carving it deeper but she stopped him, caught his arm and pulled him back down beside the fire. Wait. Finish your tea and have some food. Supper will be a while, so I made us a little batch of pudding You dont have to rush off and start on the next thing right away. This rainy day gives us a great opportunity--just sit for while if you can, sit and talk with me. Which left Einar, to whom the concept of simply sitting and talking was still a bit foreign, wondering just what exactly she wanted to talk about, how much trouble he might be in Almost bursting into laughter again on seeing the look of guarded apprehension on Einars face at her suggestion that they sit and talk--what exactly can he think I have in mind?--Liz rose, retrieved a series of small pitch-coated split-willow baskets from their hanging spot up near one of the rafters, and set them beside Einar. I was just thinking that we ought to get serious about storing aside good quantities of some of the plants weve used most often, yarrow, mullein, Oregon grape root, dogbane, maybe chokecherry bark for cough syrup, willow bark, and Im sure you could think of some others I made these little basket-pouches while you were gone, and if we could fill one with each of those, maybe two for some of the bulkier ones like mullein and Oregon grape, wed have a good start for the winter. I remember how hard it was sometimes last winter when we were having to scrape down through the snow looking for a last bit of yarrow that might be remaining protected under the aspen leaves, digging between frozen rocks trying desperately to free an Oregon grape root Yep, youre right, Einar replied with an almost audible sigh of relief--plantsnow theres something I can talk about--inspecting one of the tightly-woven and thoroughly waterproofed little baskets and wondering why he hadnt noticed their presence before. Ive been thinking about that, too. Weve done pretty well on the raspberry leaf, and Ive got a pretty good stash of yarrow going, but aside from that, not too much. Good to have a bunch put aside ahead of winter, and ahead of little Snorris arrival, too. Aside from the regular medicinals we need to be thinking of things specific to the birth, too, things youll need before and after that time. You know how I was really focusing on getting a lot of chlorophyll after the work on the foot to help with clotting and to build my blood back up, help me produce more red blood cells, increase the bloods capacity for carrying oxygen? Well, you need to be doing the same thing before the birth to make sure youll be able to clot well afterwards when that may be real important. Probably ought to start pretty soon, here. Im gonna dry a bunch of nettles, lambs quarters if I

can find them when we head down lower after the acorns in a while here, and you can use them as a tea and add them to all of our soups and stews, too, kind of like youve been doing, but in greater concentration. Lots of iron in those, and thatll be helpful, too. Got to keep your iron levels up, and we have no way to measure that, but with all the meat were eating, liver, blood, organ meats, along with nettles and other greens, I dont believe you ought to have any problem with getting enough. Drying and storing a bunch of nettles and lambs quarters is a great idea! Ive been drying some from time to time, but havent got very far ahead, as much as weve been eating with our stews every night. And Ive got those shepherds purse leaves I dried before, since theyre supposed to help stop hemorrhage after birth, if that ends up being a problem, but not much else. For some of the things like hounds tongue and lambs quarters were really going to need a trip down lower Ah! So we get to the real topic at hand A trip lower, is it? Well, I had already conceded that we might need to make such a trip when acorn time came, guess it wouldnt hurt to do a short scouting trip pretty soon here, find the best places for acorns and get ahold of a bunch of greens to bring back up. Though he recognized the sense in such a plan Einar hardly wanted to mention the fact to Liz, could tell that if he agreed to it she would be wanting to undertake the expedition without too much further delay and, still unsure about the purpose of those repeated plane-passes, he was not especially anxious to set out in the near future on any such journey. Especially not if it meant venturing lower where they would be at least somewhat more likely to run into people, whether they be casual hikers, or searchers engaged in the hunt for the two of them. On second thought, might be good to get away from here for a few days, on the chance that theyve seen something to catch their interest, and have the place under surveillance Yes, sounds like a good idea, this scouting and trip down lower. Lets get the water barrel finished if we can, wait for the rain to end and then well plan to go. Too easy, Liz could not help but thinking, he accepted that far too easily, must have something else in mind, some other reason to be eager for something the very mention of which seemed to spook him pretty badly the last time I brought it upbut I guess I cant complain! We really do need to get down there, take advantage of some of the plant resources before they start dying back for the fall, and it seems like his foot is finally to a place in its healing where a walk like that might not be the disaster it has been, previously, which makes this the time to go! Guess Ill just take his acceptance at face value, and well do it. Good. That sounds good. Ill be glad to help with the barrel, if theres any way I can. Where do you have in mind for this scouting trip? The valley with the creek that we can see from the cliff-lookout? Where I found Kilgore that time, and where the hikers Einar paused for a moment, listening intently to the sounds of the storm outside, eyes for a moment distant as he worked to discern the source of the sounds he was hearing, to identify them over the frequent grumble and boom of thunder, the whistle and roar of the wind in the evergreenswhich gave him his answer. The wind. Sounded far different in the aspens than it did in evergreens, and the sound he was hearing, he finally decided,

must be the trunks of close-growing aspens being slammed together in the wind. Good. Got that figured out. Liz was waiting. Back to the matter at hand. No! Id rather not go that way. Might come across more hikers...even though I saw little sign while I was down there that the place is frequented by people. Hikers were just an anomaly, had something specific in mind in coming looking for that mountain goat herdat least I hope thats really why they were here. No, my idea was to head up and Up? Up? I thought we were talking about finding a valley, something with a nice creek flowing through it and lots of greenery, life, you know, and here you have us heading up into the rocks to Putting up his hands as if to ward off any potential war club strike and laughing despite himself, Einar shook his head, scooted back a pace. Hey, give me a chance here. Up and over the red ridge, I was going to say, and down the other side into one of those basins we saw the first time we were up there, similar basins to ours only they drop down pretty quickly into another valley, and the slopes all look real heavily timbered down in there. Never seen the valley, but it seems likely wed find something pretty similar to the one here on our side, only even more remote, slightly, and hopefully clear of any human company. Been wanting to scout that area anyway, because I think it looks like a prime place for elk and itd be great if I could take an elk this fall, so if we can get that done while also finding a meadow with some of the lower-elevation plants like lambs quarters and hounds tongue in abundance, and maybe a scrub oak grove or two for later this fallit would be a trip well spent! Oh. Yes, it definitely would. And I guess we do have to go up to get there, in that case. Sorry for thinking you had something else in mind. Ha! I usually do have something else in mind, so dont blame you for thinking so. Sometimes I have another thing in mind without even realizing it Enough of that, though. Ive got to get started on this barrel, so we can go when the rain stops! Wait. Just one more thing. Ive been meaning to ask you The asking would have to wait, though, as the wind, which had been blasting and buffeting against the cabin since well before Einar returned from his extended watergathering expedition, finally found a target ready to yield to its attentions, snapping the top two thirds of a nearby aspen from its trunk to send it crashing to the ground, coming up short against the spring-side of the cabin Startled to his feet at the impact of several hundred pounds of fast-falling aspen trunk hitting the side of the cabin, Einar threw himself in Lizs direction, hurrying her over against the opposite wall and covering her with his body, believing with fair certainty that the cabin was about to come crashing down around them. Which it didnt, groaning and creaking but standing firm, at least for the moment, the worst damage appearing to be a ragged-edged four inch wide hole that had been punched through one of the roof poles and through which, Einar realized when finally he picked himself up from on top of Liz,

an aspen branch protruded, dripping rain. Well. Solves our water collection problem we can just stick a pot under this spout and not need to worry about leaving the cabin to replenish our water supply during the storm Not a good option, really, and not one he was seriously considering, as it was clear that a good bit of water would lend up finding its way in through that hole to dampen the floor and worse if left unattended, had to be patched, and besides, Einar had no intention of allowing them to go on staying in the cabin until hed given the damage a good thorough inspection and decided whether or not the structure remained reasonably stable. Liz had got to her feet as soon as hed let her up, now stood calmly beside him surveying the damage. That was quite a gust, wasnt it? Yep. Doggone wind-brittle aspens. Id have cleared out the ones near enough the cabin to fall on it except that its a real bad idea for us to go clearing a bunch of trees whose absence might show up clear and looking strange from the sky. Looks like things held up pretty well here, but I need you to come out there with me until I can make sure of that. Dont have to get wet, you can just run over under a tree and hunker down for a few minute in the dry while I take a look at what this aspens done. Together they left the cabin, Einar greatly pleased to find that despite the impact the door still swung freely; the overall shape of the structure had not, it seemed, changed drastically. A fact which proved all the more amazing when they got outside and saw the size of the tree that had landed on them, its upper branches sticking out well beyond the far side of the roof, fractured trunk resting on the horizontal ground-log against which the roof poles were braced. Quite a mess, but it could have been worse. Appeared that the tree had done little damage aside from the hole it had punched in the roof, would be heavy and difficult to move but did not look to be in imminent danger of further destabilizing the cabin. Its removal could wait, and a good thing, too, because as violently as the wind continued to gust, bending the slender, flexible spruce tops into wildly gyrating downward-facing arcs and knocking aspens loudly into one another with a ferocity that was not drowned out even by the nearby pounding of the thunder, Einar feared that any great span of time spent out beneath the brittle white trees might well end in one or the other of them being hit by a falling branch, or worse. Time to get back inside, and he indicated as much to Liz, grabbing her by the hand when she didnt appear to have heard him and leading her back inside. The two of them were silent for a moment, catching their breath after the raw power of the wind, Einar grinning at the wide-eyed sparkle that Liz had been left with after that windy dash and she at the realization that Einar wasnt going to insist that they must spend the night out in that storm. Not unless another tree happened to fall on the place--at which point, he would be hastily seeking out the shelter of a wide, aspen-free swath of timber--and that seemed doubtful, as the old giant of an aspen that had done the initial damage was one of the few of threatening size within falling range. Glancing up at the water-dripping hole in the roof as Liz added sticks to the fire and brought it back to life, Einar realized he had entirely forgotten to do anything about it, hurried back out found it, considering the best way to patch the opening and quickly

deciding that he would need to hack off the offending branch if he wanted to keep it from being a conduit for water. Which he was not sure he did, actually, decided to leave it for the duration of the rainstorm, place a pot beneath it and call that their water supply. Pulling already-loose slabs of white bark from the bottom of the fallen aspen section and hacking them free with his knife he arranged them over the hole, wanting to keep water from leaking in randomly to soak the floor but leaving a small open area around the branch. Good enough for the moment, and with the wind seemingly increasing in ferocity he ducked back into the cabin, squinting up at his repair and deciding that it would do. Liz handed him a warm rock from the fire, which, hands numbed from the wet and wind, he gladly accepted, draped the bear hide back over his shoulders and hers as well, sat down close to him, pushing a half-simmering jar of water a bit closer to the coals. Well, I guess thats our excitement for the day. Hope it is, anyway. We sure dont need any more! No, we certainly dont, but Id take this sort of excitement any day over the insidious little mosquito-hum of an unidentified little green and white plane stalking us all day long Ha! let it storm! Now. Now that the excitements over, Im wide awake and the roofs only leaking where we want it to--right into the drinking pot!--Id better get busy on that water barrel and see how much I can get done before that grouse soup of yours is ready, because that stuff sure does smell incredible! Getting into his dry clothes and choosing a handful of vibrant red coals from the hottest part of the bed that Liz had raked beneath the simmering stew pot, Einar scooped them up with a sheep scapula that he had kept around for just such purposes--the twin of the one hed modified for use as a hide-scraper--and deposited them in the depression he had previously carved into the top of the barrel-log. Blowing gently on the coals he waited until he saw smoke, a span of no more than four or five seconds, eased off on the air supply so as not to cause the wood to burst into flame, and started all over again. When the coals neared the end of their useful life, dimming almost to blackness and no longer responding with the brightening of orange when he gave them a little stream of air, he scooped them out and tossed them back into the firepit, taking a minute to blow on the blackened and slightly glowing bowl at the top of the soon-to-be barrel, taking full advantage of the life that was left in the smoldering wood. Scraping and scooping with his knife he removed the char from the center of the bowl, seeing that a good half inch of wood had been freed up by the first session with the coals and continuing until he had exposed a fresh layer of wood. The job, he knew, would go far faster if he would actually fan the coals to flame and allow them to burn for a brief amount of time, but he had experienced too many disappointments when rushing things that way, the entire side of the bowl or spoon or whichever implement he was creating at the time cracking and splitting. Slower, he had learned, was better. The work would get done in good time. Adding another small pile of coals he started the process all over again, thinking to himself that things would go a good bit more quickly if he had a way to direct the air, focus it in one place or another that needed more help, a straw of some sort. He had used reeds for that purpose in the past, segments of the small-diameter green and white

horsetail reeds that grew so abundantly along high altitude creeks in places, making their homes amongst the willows and red osier dogwood thickets, but their current location was too high even for those reeds, and as he could think of no good alternative at the moment, he supposed his current method would have to do, until he could locate a pithystemmed plant or shrub or some sort which could be easily hollowed out and used to direct the air. No matter, not at the moment, because Liz was calling him, holding the stewpot in one hand and wafting its fragrant grouse-stew steam his direction with the other--it was time to eat! Rained out and grounded by the high, gusting winds that had heralded the arrival of the storm early that afternoon, Bud Kilgore and Roger Kiesl sat over cups of coffee and their second round of cream cheese pastries in Rosies Mountainside Diner at the edge of town in Culver Falls, studying maps--Still havent moved on to using GPS, you dinosaur? Roger had asked with a joking condescension, to which Kilgore had replied that Hey, at least Im a dinosaur wholl still be able to navigate after all the satellites go down-and listening to the wind splatter water against the gently curved plate glass of the front windows. Normally those windows would have afforded one a view of the nearby timbered ridges that loomed high and, to those unused to such a landscape, alarmingly vertical-looking across the street above the town, but that afternoon all Bud and Roger could see was the road--Main Street, which was simply a re-naming of the State Highway as it passed through town, a temporary if drastic reduction of the speed limit--their conversation interrupted periodically by the scrape and crash of yet another massive orange plow truck as it left the State Department of Transportation shop next door to the diner. As it was neither snowing nor threatening to do so, at least not down there in the valley, the two men could only presume that the plow trucks must be on a mission to clear the highway of the mud, rock and other debris that were so often brought down from the cliffs above some of its narrower canyons and passages by such deluges. In which assumption they would have been quite correct, as a massive mudslide had not half an hour prior dumped numerous tons of mud, red rocks--many of which were the size of cars--and splintered trees onto the highway not half a mile outside of town, completely closing the road between Culver Falls and Clear Springs. Not a terribly uncommon occurrence, but that afternoons slide was the largest in a number of years, and was, according to Department of Transportation estimates, to keep the highway closed at least through the night as they worked to clear it and make any necessary repairs to the heavily damaged road surface. While residents of Culver Falls were used to such temporary inconveniences--they could get out of town during the closure, but it meant a long, slow drive up over the pass in the opposite direction--the agents at Mountain Task Force headquarters a mile outside of town, whose access to town had been cut off by the slide, were less so, insisted at first that state highway crews work faster to clear it but were soon put in their place by the local crew chief who knew very well that his future employment depended far more on the timely and safe re-opening of the highway than it did on going out of his way to please some petty tyrant in a suit from Back East. Thus compelled to leave the slide site,

the irate agents, who, like Bud and Roger, had been looking forward to their afternoon hour in Rosies Diner, headed in the opposite direction, making the trip into Clear Springs instead and letting the others know over the radio that if they wanted to do anything other than sit on the side of the road and get yelled at by muddy guys in orange vests, they had better be doing the same. Which led to the somewhat unique circumstance of a town almost entirely devoid of federal agents in Culver Falls that afternoon, a fact which Bud Kilgore figured he had better be taking advantage of. He had some people he wanted Roger to meet, and liked the idea of being able to do it without having to look over his shoulder too much. Paying their tab at the diner and heading out to Buds rented truck, the two of them started up the highway, away from the slide and the inaccessible federal compound, climbing, turning, after a few miles, off onto a steep dirt track.

Returning to his work on the water barrel after sharing with Liz a most welcome early supper of fresh grouse stew, Einar worked steadily to char and remove several more inches of wood, deepening the depression in the top of the future barrel until it appeared that the resulting cavity could easily hold in excess of three gallons of water, a good start, if far from the goal. Liz, as he worked, had been slicing up more of her cured rabbit furs, staking them one and then another to a split piece of aspen and using a spiral cut with her freshly-sharpened knife to turn each into a long spiral of inch-wide lacing that would be used to weave the blanket she had been so long planning. Only trouble was that while Einar could go on in great detail about how the hides had been prepared and the blankets used by their Chippewa originators, he was a bit more fuzzy when it came to precisely how one was supposed to go about weaving such a thing. No matter. Liz had grown up knitting and crocheting--two things that her mother had insisted on teaching her, and while the insistence somewhat irked her at the time, her interests being elsewhere, she was now quite grateful for the imparted knowledge--and between the two methods, expected she would surely be able to improvise tools and figure out a stitch that worked for the rabbit fur strips. All Einar had been able to tell her about the method of the weaving was that it had been done just like the netting on their snowshoes, which, having never made or even knowingly laid eyes upon Chippewa snowshoes, was not particularly informative to her, but as she knew Einar had spoken of making his own snowshoes a number of times, including up at his cabin where he would have had access to more than willow wands for creating the netting, she supposed she could ask for a demonstration of the weave, and see if it looked like something that might work, should her crocheting project begin to look problematic. Which reminded her that shed better get busy experimenting with the manufacture of a crochet hook, if she intended to try that method first, and considering the diameter of the rabbit fur yarn shed be using, it would have to be a large one, something like the device she had seen her mother use for crocheting rugs from strips out of old shirts and other cast-off clothing, when she was a child. She could, she supposed, use either bone or wood as raw material for the hook, though it seemed bone would likely

be more durable, and as they still had many of the bears bones left, ribs, foot bones of all shapes and descriptions, carefully split pieces of the creatures massive leg bones, she decided bone might as well be her first choice. The crochet hook project was to begin soon, but for that evening, she was quite content simply to go on turning one rabbit hide after another into the soft, furry lengths of yarn out of which she would weave the blanket. Plenty of work right there, and pleasant work, too, as she knelt there listening to the wind outside, the occasional rumble of thunder and the soft and steady breaths with which Einar fanned the coals to further deepen the water barrel, stopping now and then to rhythmically scrape out the charred wood and make room for a fresh batch of coals. Considering the rate at which he was working, she expected it wouldnt take too many sessions for him to complete the barrel, hollowing out the three foot depth of that thick aspen trunk and providing them a ready means to keep water always handy there in the cabin. Slowly but surely the place was becoming more than a shelter, a place to huddle at night and keep out of the rain; it was turning into a home, their home, and as she worked, she prayed that they might be allowed to remain in it, to find there an end, at least for a time, to their running, to find, at last, some peace. Glancing up she found Einar watching her, his eyes strange and sad in the firelight, looking almost as if he had guessed the nature of her thoughts, had heard them, somehow, wanted to say something but couldnt quite bring himself to do it. Peace, Einar. Thats what I said. You wouldnt know what to do with it, would you? What to do with yourself Stay with me, and well learn together. Lord willing, well learn.

Working through the rainy dusk and into darkness at their respective tasks, Einar and Liz each made a good bit of progress, Liz sorting through a large pile of rabbit fur strips and Einar doing to final scraping on an eight-inch deep depression in the water barrel log by the time they were ready to stop for the night, weary and near nodding off as they worked. Liz was the first to recognize that the time had come to wrap things up for the night, Einar stubbornly persisting at his work and looking as if he might well go on doing so all night long if nothing got in his way, which Liz did, planting herself between his work area and the fire when he went after yet another scoop of fresh coals. Frustrated at first with what he took to be Lizs inconsiderate unawareness of his need to reach the fire, he tried to work his way around her but she stopped him, grabbed his arm, laughing--you certainly can be dense at times you goofy guy, unless youre just pretending not to understand what Im trying to say, here--and prevented him from accessing the fire. What do you say we head to bed? What do you say you let me at that fire so I can get some more coals and finish up this barrel, so I can join you there? Finish the barrel? Well, I started it, so that was certainly my intention.

But not tonight. Come on, plenty of time for that in the morning. Little Hildegard says she needs some sleep pretty soon, and theres no way either of us will be able to sleep with all that scraping and hissing and blowing of smoke going on. Hissing? Now I certainly havent beenyou wont? Dont want to be keeping you and the little one awake, if it comes to that Come with me, then. The bear hides ready, remember? This is going to be the coziest night weve had in a good long while, between the rain and wind outside, this good strong falling-tree-proof and almost leak-free cabin youve built us, and the good soft warm finished hide What do you mean, almost leak-proof? This here isnt a leak, its running water, he exclaimed, testing the depth of the liquid that had accumulated in the container beneath the dripping aspen branch that had been left protruding through their ceiling. A real luxury to have running water out here, Im telling you! All we need now is a sink of some sort to set up under this tap, a drain in the floor to take the excess and carry it outside where it can flow away, and well be all set! Could even burn out a bit aspen log to make a tub, set it under the spout and wed have a shower and bathtub right here in the cabin! Here, come on, lets test out our luxury bathing facilities! And he tried to pull her under the steady drip of cold rainwater, but she twisted loose, laughing and swatting at him with the rabbit stick, which, it seemed, was never far from hand. Oh, luxury for you, maybe, seeing as your idea of a good time is to sit under a stream of icy water until you turn purple and start losing fingers and toes, and maybe someday youll bring me around to your way of seeing things, but for now, no thanks! I will admit that your idea of leaving that branch as a water spout is a good one though, just as long as the container doesnt overflow in the night and start flooding the cabindoesnt look like its filling up that quickly though, does it? Nah, levels only gone up by an inch or two since we put it there. Cabins pretty well shielded from the rain by all these overhanging spruces, so not all that much waters hitting us to start with. Perfect, then. No flood, but well have a good quart or so of water for boiling up some breakfast and tea in the morning. If it keeps raining. Definitely looks like itll keep raining, at least for a while. Storm really seems socked in, and I didnt see any sign of moon or stars when I peeked out there a while ago. Itd be great if the storm goes ahead and continues well into the day tomorrow, because that would let me make real good progress on the barrel, and hopefully even finish it, without having to worry about somebody spotting the smoke. No way to avoid making smoke when burning out a barrel, bowl, anything like that, since youre dealing constantly with nearly extinguished coals

Well hope the storm keeps up. Now, to bed! Hildegard keeps telling me its past time, and I want to test out the new and improved bear hide. Einar went, giving the firepit full of still-glowing coals one last reluctant glance before settling in for the night. Having finished her last round of the greenhouses for the day, closing air vents in some to keep out the cooler night air and in one case positioning a large pot beneath a leak in the roof to prevent the place from becoming unduly soggy during the night--had to do something about that leak, would get after it tomorrow, perhaps with her sons help; hed gone down to help clear the massive mudslide that had closed the highway, that night, after joining his wife and sons for a hasty supper at her house--Susan Goodland sat with her customary cup of evening tea, listening to the wind-lashed rain hit the kitchen windows and wondering if it might turn to sleet in the night. Was certainly cool enough that such a change wouldnt have been much of a surprise, and she expected it might well be sleeting or even spitting a bit of snow up amongst the higher peaks. If snow did not brush the mountains that night it soon would, she knew, September being only days away and all the signs predicting a heavy snow year, the early arrival of fall. Which got her to thinking about Liz and Einar again, about the child that should be coming along just as the serious snows really descended on the backcountry, locking it beneath the fastness of their deep piles and drifts for a good six months. She shivered, took another sip of the tea. Had long loved winter there in the high country, looked forward to the smell of the first snow in the air as it descended to coat the winter-grey landscape in a blanket of pristine, sparkling white, bringing light back to a world that had seemed drear and dead since the fading of the fall-gold aspens, the departure of the leaves, anticipated joyfully the squeak and crunch of her boots in the dry sub-zero snow, the return of the chickadees and Oregon juncos that flocked around the feeders on her porch, but this year, she anticipated winters coming with some measure of dread, knowing that it might well spell serious trouble for Liz and her little family. The couple was never far from her mind, thoughts going to them whenever it stormed as it was that night, hoping and praying that they were well, had adequate shelter from the weather and enough to eat, praying--though she knew after meeting and speaking with Einar during his brief stay at her house that such was unlikely; he wasnt the sort to seek help, probably not even if he believed such could be done so safely, which she doubted he would ever allow himself to believe--that they would find their way to her if they needed assistance, find some way to send for her. She shook her head, stood, walked to the window that overlooked the steeply snaking switchbacks of the driveway. The truck, which was rounding the first switchback when she first spotted it, was not her sons. Waking in the night by a changed sound in the trees outside the cabin Einar lay unmoving beneath the bear hide, mind going full speed and heart racing, ready for action as he searched for some understanding of what had awakened him, wanting the answer before he moved and potentially gave away his position. Within seconds, he knew. Out amongst the spruces, the evenings rain had turned with night to sleet, was coming down

in great sheets and torrents to crackle against the evergreen boughs and tumble randomly down through the network of branches above them to land on the cabin roof, rolling, sticking, building up. He could hear it. Must have got pretty cold out there, as he could no longer hear the drip and splash of water as it traced its way down the intruding aspen branch and dropped into the container below, telling him that the sleet must have built up and blocked the hole. Which meant a significant drop in temperature over that evening, but he never would have guessed it, aside from those outside signs. Lying there next to Liz under forty pounds of newly tanned and softened bear hide, he was warmer and more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a very long time, and for once, realizing very clearly as he came more fully to wakefulness that the changed sounds from outside posed no immediate threat, he did not fight it, allowed himself to slip comfortably back towards sleep, heart rate slowing and the store of adrenalin that normally would have all but compelled him to get up and prowl around the rainy woods for an hour or two draining slowly from of him, leaving him slightly shaky but relaxed, smiling at the sound of Lizs slow breaths, sleeping. Morning was near by the time Einar stirred again, opening one eye and finding the crack of spruce-swept sky that was visible above the door--got to work on that, find some way to plug it up before winter comes, he sleepily told himself-to be just a shade lighter than black; dawn was on its way. Reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed he crouched for a minute beside the door, stretching, rubbing weary eyes--couldnt remember the last time hed slept as soundly as he had that night, and honestly didnt know whether to savor to feeling or chide himself for allowing his alertness to lapse so entirely for a number of hours--and listening to the quiet sounds of continuing rain outside. Sometime in the night the sleet had ended, a soft and soaking rain taking its place, and he rose, set a few kindling-splinters in the firepit where they would be handily available for Liz should she wake and wish for a fire right away as was her usual habit, and gently pushed open the door. The first thing that struck him--quite literally--about the morning was the wind, blasting up from the basin with a force which was only partially broken by the ranks of timber that thickly shielded the cabin-clearing, the second being the fact that much if not all of the sleet that had fallen earlier in the night still remained on the ground, lying in white-icy drifts against tree trunks and in ground-hollows, looking almost like the snow that he had little doubt must that morning grace the tops of the highest peaks. Not that he could hope to see it, not with the clouds hanging barely above tree-level along the surrounding timbered ridges, rain falling steadily if softly throughout the fog-filled expanse of the basin. Inhaling a great breath of the morning air Einar found it to be quite sharp with chill, damp and smelling unmistakably of snow. He shivered, eased the door shut behind him and hurried across the clearing to a cluster of spruces whose boughs gave some protection from the rain, suddenly feeling as if the wind was going right through him; definitely a different feel to the morning, and it imparted to him a sense of urgency, an almost physical need to be out and harvesting food, taking a deer, elk, sheep, and storing the meat away like a squirrel in its den for the coming cold. Seeking in the dim predawn light the last of the jars he had left outside overnight to fill with water he found it quite overflowing, took a little gulp and set the rest at the edge of the clearing so as to be clearly visible to him when he headed back to

the cabin. Which, already shaking uncontrollably in the sharp teeth of that wind and beginning to feel despite his good supper of grouse rather desperately hungry--youre certainly not ready for hibernation, Einar. Good thing youre not a bear, cause youd be gone within the first week of it--he intended to do without much further delay. One thing he wished to do before returning inside, and he made his way through the timber to a spot where one could look down without too much interference from the trees and see parts of the basin, the edge of the little lake. No such view that morning, as he was greeted only by huge banks of rain-dimmed fog, but the feeling of space, of distance was still there, and it did him good simply being sure of that fact. Liz was still asleep when Einar quietly let himself back inside. Seemed she was needing more sleep these days--and who could blame her, burdened as she clearly was with the growing child?--so he let her remain undisturbed, preparing the fire and striking sparks, coaxing it to life and crouching there for a while over the flicker of its flames as his chilled body shivered itself warm again. Glad Liz wasnt awake to see him--she would have almost certainly chided him for going out so lightly clad, insisted on wrapping him in the bear hide, giving him hot tea, and he didnt want any of that, at the moment--he reminded himself that he really must start getting out again on a regular basis to train in the cold, had let his abilities slip too far and needed to do something about it. The process would be at times rather uncomfortable considering his still nearly-nonexistent body fat levels, but it was a sort of discomfort with which he was quite familiar, and one with which he generally got along quite well. Would even come to enjoy the training after the first time or two, if past experience was any guide. Feeling a strong pull to go and get started without further delay, he shook his head. Later. Already had a plan for it, intended to make use of the tiny alpine tarn in his training, knowing that his fastest progress could be made through fully submerging himself for increasing periods of time, and anxious as he was, that morning was not the time to get started on it. For the moment he had a fire to tend, breakfast to prepare and, as the storm persisted to cover their smoke, a water barrel to finish. Liz woke as Einar stirred the breakfast soup, a thick mixture of jerky pits, serviceberries, bear fat and nettles, honey-sweetened. He had been tempted to add just a scoop or two of fermented bear-stomach mixture but seeing Liz watching him out of the corner of her eye as he worked, he found himself quite glad he had refrained. Though even more reluctant to leave the warmth of the newly-improved bed than Einar had been, Liz soon joined him by the fire, taking over the tending and stirring of the breakfast so he could get started on the barrel. Charring and scraping another inch out of the barrel while breakfast simmered, Einar was happy to take a break when Liz called him, depositing his last batch of dead coals back into the firepit and sitting down to eat. Liz took a bite, handed him the pot. How long do you figure this stormll hang around? Einar shrugged, squinted up at the strip of sky above the door. Dont know. Here to stay for the morning at least, if I had to guess, but hey--its the mountains. Weather is subject to change frequently and without notice. We could have blue skies and sunshine within the hour. Why? You thinking about that trip down to the valley?

Yes. I really think it would be helpful right now, for all the reasons we talked about. Hey, I said we were going, and well go. Just want to be sure and use whats left of this storm to keep chipping away at the barrel, so to speak, and then well go. Need to be thinking real seriously about caching most of our food before we go, suspending it up in trees where the bears cant get at it if they come around. Good stout door weve got on this place now, but a hungry black bear is a real determined critter, and though Ive seen no sign of bears since we took ours, its reasonable to expect that theyd be around. Be a real shame to get back and find our food all eaten up, again Oh, no! We cant let that happen, not now! The jerky is mostly all in pitch-coated and lidded baskets anyway, so itll be easy to stash, but what about the boat full of bear lard? That would be the worst of all to lose! Frowning, Einar stared at the heavy container, pictured trying to move it, hoist it up into a tree, and quickly abandoned the idea. Fat boat has to stay here. What well have to try and do is to make it inaccessible. Rocks, strategically-jammed logs, claymore mines in the doorwayha! Thatd solve our problems, now wouldnt it? All our efforts may not be enough to repel an especially determined bear critter if one should happen along, but the serviceberries are still out pretty good, and theyre not really into the desperately eating everything in sight twenty-three hours out of each day mode yet like they will be in a few weeks, so we ought to be alright. Liz nodded, agreeing, but her mind was really on the first half of his statement, the part about desperately eating everything in sight, all day, every day, and how that time was nearing, for the bears. As it had better be for the two of them, as well, if they wanted much chance of making it through the winter While Einar kept on with his water barrel work Liz began gathering baskets of jerky, dried spring beauty, lily corms and serviceberries, checking their seals and setting aside those she didnt trust to be reasonably water resistant. Hopefully the weather would be dry during their absence, but she knew better than to count on that, wanted to see that the stored food was adequately protected before hoisting it up to hang it from high branches up in the aspens. Finished with her basket sorting she set a few lumps of spruce pitch to melt on a hot rock by the fire, catching it with a tuft of aspen inner bark as it liquefied and meticulously amending the deficient baskets until she was confident in their ability to shed whatever rain might come. Troubled at the prospect of leaving their significant quantity of extremely valuable bear fat in some jeopardy during the journey, Liz was still unwilling to be the one to suggest they forgo the trip to the valley, as she believed it very important to their success that winter--not simply because of the valuable plant resources they would hopefully be bringing back, but because the trip would set a precedent, would, if it went well, hopefully lead to Einars being more willing to make additional descents that fall when acorn time came, allowing them that extra source of protein. Einar, it had seemed, was reasonably certain of being able to adequately protect the fat, and though she would have been far more comfortable if theyd had some way to suspend it from tree limbs also--hey! Ill fill the spare pot and whatever water jars we dont take,

at least, and hang them with the food so well at least have a few quarts of it if the cabin gets raided--she was determined to trust him on the matter. Baskets all ready for hanging--it was too early to fill the spare pot and water jar with bear fat, as she wasnt entirely sure when they would be leaving--Liz ducked out into the rain to retrieve a bundle of lithe, narrow willow wands she had the day before cut and stored out in what would as soon as they finished its roof be the woodshed, their ends stuck down in the damp mud to keep them flexible. Spreading the dripping willows out on the cabin floor she chose a handful of them, laid out a wheel-spoke pattern and began weaving the bottom of what she intended to be a rather tall, narrow basket. No more than six inches in diameter she made the spiraling mat of the basket-bottom before carefully bending the long, flexible spokes upwards and tying them loosely at the top with a bit of cordage. Continuing with her deft weaving of one thin, flexible willow wand after the other, Liz brought the little baskets side walls up and inwards, working until the resulting enclosure looked as though it ought to hold a quart or more of liquid when sealed, setting it aside, stretching, partaking of a few sips of water and a bit of leftover soup before starting on a second. Would have offered the same to Einar, but seeing how completely absorbed he appeared to be in his work, she thought it wisest to let him be. Back to her own work, making even quicker work of the second basket than she had the first, having got the routine quite well figured out. The glass jars, she had decided, would not be coming with them on their expedition to the valley. They needed something sturdier, more easily carried and not such a loss if somehow misplaced or destroyed, and the baskets, once coated inside with pitch and equipped with nettle cordage or rawhide carrying straps, seemed just the thing. Einar, having hardly looked up from his barrelhollowing the entire time, jumped when Liz set the two finished water baskets down in front of him, demanding his attention. For water. When we go to the valley. Hey, those look good! Youre really fast at this basket making business. No Im not! Its probably noon by now. You havent looked up from that barrel for hours, except to get fresh coals. Well, maybe not, but take a look. Things about done. Three, four more inches to go, and Ill be ready to start smoothing the sides out, sanding it down best as I can, then a couple coats of pitch to seal the inside, and were done! Looks like your baskets will be needing some pitch, too. Good thing weve got so much of it set aside. How are you planning on finishing those things? Keeping the water in? You mean lids? Well, I was just going to make little round woven willow mats about the size of the holes in the top, coat them with pitch, too, and hold them in place by crisscrossing some cordage over top of everything. Do you think thatd work? Sure, but without a gasket of some sort, itll tend to leak some. Not a big deal, most of the water would stay in, but Ive got another idea, if youll let me show you with one of

them. She nodded, handing him the basket that she had intended to be his. Visually measuring the opening at the top--three inches, or something thereabouts--he sorted through the woodpile, finally settling on a chunk of thoroughly dry aspen that had split off of a four inch diameter branch when Liz broke it up to bring in. Perfect. Carving the inch-thick chunk into a rough circle he tested it in the opening, found it to be too large and shaved more wood from the edges before trying again. Good. Very nearly a perfect fit, and a bit too tight was fine, because he knew the willows would shrink just slightly as they finished drying. Liz was watching in some confusion, wondering, Einar expected, what made the wooden plug any better than the willow and pitch ones she had intended to use, but he wasnt finished, setting the cap on a rock and rummaging through the items that they stored on the log-shelf along the back wall until he had found a length of good strong three-ply nettle cordage he had made some time ago. Choosing one of the willows Liz had set aside as too thick for her basket-making project he notched the ends, attached the cord and went in search of a very straight and dry foot-long dry spruce stick amongst the kindling pile. It was by that time obvious to Liz that he was assembling a fire bow set, but to her surprise she saw that he was sharpening the business end of the spindle instead of creating the rounded, dulled point he had taught her to use for maximum friction when working to get an ember. Which made sense when she saw what he had in mind, scraping a shallow depression in the center of the wooden plug with his knife and crouching over it with the bow as the wood began to smoke slightly, turn black. The drill, in this case, was being used as a drill rather than a fire starting tool. Pausing halfway through to knock away the slightly charred wood, he continued until the drillstick broke through the other side, turning it over and enlarging the hole. When the opening was approximately as large as the spindle he stopped, blowing away all of the dust and testing, when the thing cooled down sufficiently so that he wouldnt burn his finger, for smoothness. Satisfied, he handed the piece to Liz. Option number two. Stick that in the top of the basket, seal around it with pitch, and that gives you something you can push a cork-stick into for a real tight seal. Itll also keep the basket sides from shrinking and warping there at the top and changing shape as the willows dry, which will happen if you dont re-enforce things somehow. Not a big deal if its just a basket for hauling things in, but when youre carrying water and wanting a lid to fit tightly, that shrinking can really interfere. Ha! Ask me how I know First canteen I ever tried out here ended up that way, all leaky and getting my clothes wet as I traveled, leaving me without water when I really needed it, and I was traveling in a real hurry at that point, too. Not a good thing. Well, this cork-ready lid should really prevent that from happening! Here, let me have that bow, and Ill make the second one. Try, anyway Oh, its not too difficult. Lets sharpen the end of the spindle again before you start though, or you may end up with glowing embers instead of a good clean hole in the wood. Were looking to cut down on friction for this one. Would go even more quickly, of course, with a stone or bone drill bit, but for this soft aspen wood the spruce spindle is

doing just fine. Working together they roughed out and drilled the second canteen collar, trimming and shaping until it fit well with the top of Lizs basket, after which Liz poured a good number of small pitch chunks and flakes into each of the baskets, holding them as Einar dropped several small hot rocks directly from the fire into each. As Liz shook and rolled the baskets to ensure an even coating, the hot rocks worked to melt the pitch and spread it throughout their interiors, leaving them, by the time she shook the rocks out to avoid them sticking and remaining behind with the cooling pitch, with two thoroughly waterproofed baskets. Melting more pitch, Einar showed her how to install the aspen wood collars by brushing liberal quantities of the sticky stuff just inside the top lip of the basket, easing them into place and sealing the outside seams with more pitch. While the pitch cooled Liz tied carrying straps into place, made, at Einars suggestion, from strips of braided bear rawhide. Holding up the finished products she admired them. All they needed now were corks, and her goal of having a good reliable way to carry water while protecting the glass jars would be accomplished. During a brief lessening in the rains intensity Liz, having been cooped up in the cabin all morning and beginning to feel a need to stir around a bit, scurried across the cabinclearing and into the evergreens opposite it, having told Einar that she meant to begin looking for trees appropriate for hanging their food supply while gone to the valley. While Einar wanted to follow and help her choose the trees he wished even more to finish the burning portion of the barrel before the rain moved out entirely, and knowing that such timing was a highly unpredictable thing, he stayed behind to continue charring and scraping. Such was his intent, at least, but no sooner had Liz gone than he found himself sitting there staring dazedly into the fire, mind blank and vision darkening as the long morning of effort suddenly caught up to him in full force with the brief interruption of the rhythm he had established for keeping at the work, fingers and face tingling with the cumulative lack of oxygen that had come of his unceasing hours of blowing on those coals. Had to lie down, and he did it right there on the packed dirt of the cabin floor, managing somehow to get his right shoulder and part of his head over onto the pile of spruce duff hed been using as a sitting cushion--scrawny as he was at the moment, it hurt awfully bad to sit for any length of time directly on that floor, and hed learned the hard way that regularly using a cushion of some sort helped to prevent the unfortunate development of open sores on his seat--before passing out. Some minutes later Einar struggled back to wakefulness, angry and growling at himself for the lapse in discipline that had allowed him to give in to such weakness as he rolled over onto his stomach, got hands and knees under him and rose, crawling stiffly back over to the fire for another load of coals. Think you can give up on your work just because she stepped out for a minute? What is this, you lazy sack of bones? Dont have the motivation to keep going anymore if left on your own? Might as well just crawl out there into the rain right now and lie down in the mud if thats the case, let the weather finish you off, because youre already through. Through, Im telling you, finished. Now if you want to prove me wrong, get back to work. And he would have, tried, but was terribly dizzy all of a sudden, lost his point of reference and spilled his deer scapula-load

of coals halfway between the firepit and the barrel, scraping and pounding frantically to extinguish the glowing, smoking results when several of the lively coals rolled and bounced into his sitting-cushion of spruce needles. Immediate fire danger thus mitigated Einar shook his head in disgust, let it rest on his drawn-up knees and remained that way for some time, breathing, just breathing and fighting to drive away the blackness that seemed set on welling up to interfere with his work and turn him into a clumsy, useless creature who couldnt even be trusted to safely carry a scoop of coals across three feet of cabin floor, struggling at the same time against a very real voice that was trying to convince him to head on out into the rain, leave his clothes there in the cabin, sneak away in Lizs absence and find a place to conceal himself until the chill wind and the wet could do their work. Would--and he could not at the moment come up with any way to refute the logic of the notion; it had him--be doing Liz a favor, especially now that hed got the cabin all but finished, bear hide tanned, fat and meat set aside and a water barrel almost doneit wasnt done, though, and the thought momentarily gave him pause, but he shook it off. She could finish the barrel. All it really lacked was a few inches of work, the pitch coating that would keep the water form soaking into its wood, and shed have no trouble completing that, shed He shook his head, stood in a sudden hurry and shoved open the door, stumbling, rushing--as if needing very badly to get away from himself--outside to stand staring up into the rainy sky, breath showing white and ghostly against the wind-tossed black of the spruce tops as another round of storm swept across the basin to descend on their little plateau. Shed bash your head in with the war club if she knew what you were thinking, thats what shed do, you big fool, and you know it. Now what are youwhats all this? Youve got work to do if youve forgotten, an awful lot of work before winter comes, and youre far from done with it, whatever you may have been telling yourself in there just now. Youve never been one to take the easy path, and this sure as can be isnt the time to start. Not with three lives depending on you--yep, three, yours counts too, sorry to have to inform you--and winter coming fast. Enough of this, now. Enough of Shook his head, scrubbed his face with hands already half-numb from the wet wind, glanced up again at the bending, tossing forms of the spruces. Forgive me, Lord. And you, Lizzie, and the little one. And he turned, went back into the cabin to crouch trembling, humbled but at the same time oddly triumphant over the remains of the fire, breathing it back to life and watching with a growing joy as the flames leapt clear and brilliant up through the fresh sticks hed added, warming his face, leaving hands once again pliable, useful, and he used them, taking up his coal scoop and returning to work. Einar was still cold when Liz returned a good half hour later, not even having bothered to stop and change clothes before throwing himself entirely, enthusiastically, mind, body and soul back into his task with the barrel, and she saw, put a hand on his shoulder as he grinned his welcome to her, found it to be damp and ice cold despite the warmth of the cabin, his body trembling unmistakably with chill. She laughed, pulled him to her and tried despite his protests--got to keep working, almost done, here--to rub some warmth back into him. Goofy guy, here I head outside and you stay behind in the cabin, and you still end up wetter and colder than I do. Its just inevitable, isnt it? Like a law of nature.

How did you manage to get so wet, if I dare ask? Have you been trying out our indoor water spigot as you worked? Sitting under it? Nah, couldnt do that, thatd put the coals out. Just had a little argument with myself, thats all, was losing real bad until I got dragged out there and given the what-for Won in the end, though, must have, cause Im still here! She shook her head, would have rolled her eyes at him and made a snide comment or two, but for the grave note that she detected lurking there just beneath his jovial words, a weariness in his eyes that she had not noticed earlier. That sounds like quite the argument. Im glad you won, but now how about some dry clothes? Im a bit damp myself, but I did end up finding several trees that I think should work quite well for hanging the food. Einar nodded, gave her another grin--whatever argument hed been engaged in seemed to be over, she could not help but notice, for she hadnt seen him so quick to smile in a number of days--and traded his soggy clothes for a dry set, noticing as Liz did the same that she had reached the point where she was beginning to struggle with the fit of her jeans, securing them together with a length of cordage as the baby had begun preventing them from buttoning at the top. Well. Looks like its time to get busy on making her that doeskin dress I promised her a while ago. Might be more comfortable for these next couple of months. Guess Ill use the sheepskin and deerskin both, see if thats enough to get the job done. Liz was asking him something and he looked up, a bit abashed for having been caught staring at her but not wanting to explain that it was simply because he was planning the dress. Doubted that would come out right if he tried to say it, so he kept quiet, waited for her to repeat whatever question she had been asking. The trees--do you think its alright if theyre fairly close to each other so we only have to haul things to one spot, or should they be spread out a lot more in case something happens to the food in some of themin case it gets discoveredso well still have some thats safe? Close together ought to be alright. Bears not gonna be able to get at the stuff if we hang it way out on branches and not too close to the trunks, and if the food gets discovered by anything else, that somethings likely to be human, in which case, as soon as we find it out, were gonna be out of this whole area so fast it wont matter which trees the rest of the food is in! Really though, we do need to be caching some food a good distance from this place, as we get more of it set aside and can do that. Some jerky, a little of the bear fat, just something to get us started if we ever do have to high-tail it out of here without any notice. Need to place it on what would be a likely escape route from the basin, down in the black timber where wed be reasonably safe stopping for a minute to retrieve it. Ill get started on that as soon as we get back from the valley. Susan stood watching in the near-darkness as the vehicle lights bounced and rattled up around another of the driveways steep switchbacks, wondering with a slight prickle of

concern just who might have decided to pay her a visit at that hour, and without previously announcing themselves. Most of her friends knew better, and as for customers, the shop and greenhouses had closed two hours ago. Probably just one of her sons friends stopping by for the evening, she supposed, possibly bringing him home, even if the mudslide trouble had been resolved, though why someone would do that when he had his own vehicle was beyond her, unless something had happened to it, or to him she shook her head, set the mostly-empty mug of tea on the kitchen table and slipped into the pair of plastic clogs she kept near the front door, handy for quick trips out to the greenhouse. Something wasnt right, though, that strange vehicle making an unannounced appearance in the middle of the storm as it was, and she hastily slipped out of the flimsy footwear, got into her boots and was standing on the porch--in the shadows of the overhanging roof where she knew the vehicle lights wouldnt hit her and from which she would be able to watch unseen the guests approach to the door--when the truck pulled into the parking area out front of the shop. As they exited the vehicle Susan saw that the two men were wearing bulky, billowing rain gear and cowboy hats which were pulled down low against the ongoing wind-lashed rain--oh, good, not feds, never seen feds dressed like that, I was beginning to wonder if they might have found some reason to question me again--but something in the way they moved, a certain deliberation, control and confidence that was noticeable despite their awkward clothing, made her think twice about stepping out of the shadows to greet them. Something familiar about that walk---that type of walk, at least, for one of the men limped badly--and it did not take her long to realize that it was her own husband, her Bill, gone a year that summer, of whom the men somehow reminded her. Something about how they moved through the world, interacted with it. Einar, she remembered, had carried himself that way when he made his brief stay with her early that spring, a fact which had been noticeable despite his injuries at the time, and for a moment she wondered if the limping half of the well-concealed pair might indeed be Einar, which would make the other not a man at all, butno, couldnt be Liz. Was too tall by a good five or six inches, even if one didnt count the cowboy hat. Which marked the end of Susans speculation, for the pair had reached the porch, were shaking water from rain gear and brushing it from their hats--which, she noticed, they seemed averse to removing--and she was left with a quandary in that she was not sure how to step out and reveal herself without startling the pair, which was seeming like a worse and worse idea, the longer she observed them. Coming up with no quick answer and not wanting to leave them standing there in the wind for too long knocking at a door that wasnt going to be answered, she quietly retreated further into the porch-shadows, easing herself towards the stairs at its opposite end and, reaching them, descending to the driveway below, the soft sounds of her movements thoroughly masked by the raging wind. Hurrying around and letting herself in by the back door, Susan returned to the front, listening to make sure the men were still on the porch, still knocking, before answering it. Which they were, stood blinking in the light from the kitchen when she eased open the door, one hand on her pistol, which was concealed by zippered sweatshirt shed thrown on as a bit of protection from the rain, before heading outside.

Can I help you gentlemen? Maam, wed like a word with you, if youve got a couple minutes. Susan nodded, gestured for the two to come in out of the wind, and they came, stood there dripping on the kitchen floor and reacting with a strange but somehow not unexpected reticence when she offered to take their coats and hats. One of them, the one with the limp, pulled a device out of his pocket reminded Susan of a hand-held radio of some type, but on second look reminded her even more strongly of the signal detector used by some of Bills friends to sweep the Quonset hut for possible bugs before each of their meetings, and more recently, to check over the house for her. Susan didnt stop him when he began walking slowly around the kitchen and living room with the device, stopping now and then, turning, taking a different direction and stopping now and then to close a blind or two that she had left open that evening. Finally appearing satisfied with the state of things the man, who had at last stopped dripping rainwater on her carpet, returned to the kitchen and took off his hat. Bud, here. Bud Kilgore, and this is my friend Roger. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Maam. Susan shook hands all around, taking the rain jackets the men now seemed all too eager to be rid of and hanging them on hooks beside the door, setting a pot on the stove for tea. You gentlemen certainly do have a strange way of making yourself at home in a new place, dont you? Now. Whats this all about? Kilgore. I seem to recognize that name from somewhere. You were the one who ended up testifying at the Congressional hearings, arent you? Discrediting the former head of the search out here, that tyrant Jimson Yes Maam, that was me, alright. Ah. Well I do respect you for that, then, and for your service to our country, too, but I think it would be best for you and your friend to leave, now. You should know that folks around here dont take too kindly to this whole manhunt business, or to those who are aiding it, and as I remember, thats what you were doing out here when you had your little run-in with Jimson. The papers said you came very close to capturing Asmundson that day, in fact, and would have, if Jimson hadnt interfered. Which is exactly what you said in your Congressional testimony, as well. If my son comes home, which he will be any minute, and finds you here at the housewell, I dont think hed be too happy about that. Whoa, now hold your horses there Maam! Now the part I think youre forgetting is that I did testify against the feds at those hearings, nearly got the Director fired and left Jimson in such disgrace that he went out a month later and got hisself froze to death in the woods on a real misguided quest to redeem his reputationsurely thats got to count for something, now hasnt it? And I got a tree dropped on my leg in the process, too, still got the limp to prove it.

The corner of Susans mouth curling up ever so slightly at Kilgores blustering and somewhat clumsy attempt at defense, she turned away so he wouldnt see her smile--he reminded her so much of her Bill that it was scary, some of the little mannerisms, a certain reserved coolness and distance with which he met her eye, despite his seemingly jovial nature; it was a look she knew well, having still seen it in Bill from time to time, even after nearly forty years of marriage--busying herself with the teapot and returning a brief time later with two steaming mugs and a variety of teabags. Yes. I suppose that ought to count for something. Now. What is your purpose in coming here tonight? I know you cant have come all this way simply to defend your reputation to an old lady who runs an herb and tomato nursery Generally not something I would do, for sure, but considering youre Bill Goodlands Missus, I just might consider that a good use of time. No, though. Thats not why were here. You knew Bill? No Maam I did not, but I knew of him, alright. We all did. Reason were here, though, is that I was under the impression that you may be a friend of Mrs. Asmundsons It was a question and a statement all rolled into one, and left Susan wondering just what the real intentions of Kilgore and his closed-mouthed friend might be, as there was definitely more the tracker wanted to tell her, or wanted to knowshe hadnt yet quite been able to make out which, and didnt intend to say much until she managed to do so. Though Liz was anxious to begin hanging their pitch-waterproofed baskets of jerky from the trees she had chosen, safe from bears and a visible step towards the upcoming valley expedition, she hardly wanted to go out and do so in the still-pouring rain, mostly due to the fact she knew it would make everything slippery and difficult to handle, precision in throwing the hanging ropes a harder thing to achieve than if the active rain had ended, but also because she knew Einar would insist on participating, and she thought he looked quite cold enough already after whatever time hed spent out in the weather in her absence. Was certain hed object if she mentioned the fact to him, probably take the baskets, head out there and stand out in the open until he was soaked just to show that he didnt mind, only then beginning the basket-hanging task, which was why she chose to avoid the subject altogether for the moment, by absorbing herself in her rabbit fur-strip preparation, glad when Einar did not seem inclined to insist that they hurry out and hang the baskets while the storm was ongoing. She was in truth more than a bit worried for him, thought she had noticed in recent days an increasing proclivity on his part to probe the borders of what she considered to be reasonable safety, to test himself with the cold and with tasks that were right on the limits of his abilities, like long and arduous work of stretching the bear hide, and while she guessed it was a good thing that he seemed so focused on getting himself quickly to a point where he was able to do more--goodness knew that they both needed to do more, with winter and the baby coming as quickly as

they were--she hoped he did not view the upcoming expedition as an opportunity to push the matter further. Supposed he almost certainly did though, as that was the way he generally operated. Well. All she could really do was to diligently keep up with her share of the work, see that he stayed reasonably warm at night when willing, try and get him to eat more. Wouldnt be nearly as concerned with his need to meet the challenge of the weather in such a direct and personal way if only he had a bit of insulation on him, a simple matter of gaining a few pounds and thus increasing his margin of safety, but as it was he seemed to be existing dangerously close to hypothermia most of the time, that slight bluish pallor seldom leaving his face and hands unless he was actively engaged in hard labor or sitting in the sun on a windless day, and though he seemed most times quite oblivious to the fact, she knew it was a sign that his body often lacked the energy to produce adequate heat. Manageable, perhaps, in the summer, but not a good situation to be in with winter approaching, and she set aside her work to prepare the two of them a snack of honeysweetened pudding. The little one could use something to eat, as well. Einar, fortunately quite unaware of Lizs internal dialog regarding him, had been putting the finishing touches on the inside of the water barrel, using a roughly broken chunk of granite to rub smooth the worst of the remaining protrusions that his work with the coals and knife had not removed from its interior, as he wanted them gone before he began the pitch-coating process. The irregularities, if left, seemed likely channels for the future infiltration of water into the body of the barrel, as he could see them getting dinged and bumped by pots and jars as they were lowered into the barrel, chipping the pitch from them and damaging the barrels internal waterproof coating. Only when the barrels interior was smoothed to his satisfaction did Einar finally rise from his work and join Liz at the fire for the pudding she had been offering him, marveling once again at its incredible rich sweetness and thinking once again of that bee tree and the fact that they ought soon to think about raiding it. Needed a way to produce smoke, he supposed, to keep the bees from getting too riled up as he climbed up there and hopefully found a way to extract some of the honeycombs from their home. Didnt have any first-hand experience with beekeeping but supposed one has to start somewhere when gaining such knowledge, and even more concerning to him than the prospect of ending up with a few dozen stings was the chance that he might inadvertently take more of the stored honey than the bees could do without, causing the colony to fail over the winter. Sure didnt want that to happen, and in the absence of more knowledge, all he could do was to try and leave the critters a good bit to live off of over the winter, wait and see what happened. In the meantime, he and Liz would be enjoying the benefits of many pounds of the dense nutrition provided by the honey, using some of the wax to light the cabin on long winter evenings and other bits to waterproof boots and perhaps even articles of clothing. For the smoker Einar supposed he might have success using a few wraps of aspen inner bark around a core of pitchy green spruce twigs, just pitchy enough to keep things smoldering, but at the same time too moist to take off like a torch, the entire bundle possibly sandwiched between two squares of the fire-retardant aspen outer bark that made

the trees a reasonably good fire-break when growing together in good numbers. Such a bundle, if given air at the right time, ought, he expected, to emit a good bit of smoke in a reasonably controlled manner, allowing him to selectively sooth the bees as he went about raiding their home. Worth a try, for sure, and as he though it wise to make a test of the method before honey-harvesting day actually came, he rummaged through the wood pile and set aside a wad of inner bark from one of the aspen branches they were set to burn, meaning to have all of the supplies ready for both his test and for the real thing. Retrieving the basket in which they stored all of the pitch clumps, nodules and drips they found in their wanderings, Einar chose a large flat rock, setting it near the fire to heat and placing several large lumps of pitch up near its top where they would begin to heat, ooze and eventually send amber streams of pitch rolling downwards to be caught by Einars makeshift paintbrush. Pitch brush. Painting with pitch. Now if I just had some pigments to add to the stuff, we could have an elaborate pattern or two on the inside of our water barrelha! Sounds like a good way to keep busy during some of the long winter evenings that are coming up, but for now all we need is to waterproof the thing so it can start doing its job as our water-holder, cut down on the number of trips were having to make back and forth to the springwhen its not raining, at least. Ceiling-spigots working great, for now! Havent even had to go outside to get fresh water since this rain started. And despite what Liz may think, it really would make a pretty good shower, if we had a tub or something down here to catch the water that would splash around when we stood under it, keep the floor reasonably dry. Wouldnt be much point to it though I guess, since it only works while its raining, and while the rains falling, that waterfallspout out back of the cabin should be flowing, and it makes a much better shower. Hey! I need to be thinking about how to do that cistern, pretty soon, so we can channel the water coming around the cabin in a rain like this and make some effort to collect it somewhat doubtful that Ill be able to keep it from seeping away into the ground, but sure am gonna try. Thus sitting and musing, Einar had been warming his hands over the fire and watching the pitch melt, suddenly seizing the bundle of aspen bark that was to serve as paintbrush and catching the maple syrup-colored droplets that were oozing their way with increasing speed down the rock face, smearing the resulting brush-load of pitch into the bottom of the barrel and rubbing it smooth with his hands as it began to solidify against the cool wood. Finishing, Einar saw that the little smear of pitch looked pitifully small down in the bottom of that twenty gallon barrel. The waterproofing was going to be a long process, and looking for ways to speed it up he gave Liz a furtive glance out of the corner of his eye, quietly dumping into a jar the water from a pot she had left near the fire to heat for tea and adding several large handsfull of pitch lumps to the still-hot pot. They began to melt instantly, and he eased the pot a bit closer to the flames, knowing that he risked setting the entire thing alight if the pitch heated too much or too rapidly, and losing the bulk of his supply in a billow of black smoke. Though knowing that a hot water bath would be the best way to melt such a quantity he wished they had a larger variety of pots, pans and such like, Einar supposed he could make do with the current arrangement, given a sufficient amount of care, and the plan might have worked, had Liz not looked up just then and noticed what he was doing with her teapot

Rising from her growing pile of rabbitskin strips like an angry cat--hissing and spitting just like one, too, Einar could have sworn, claws out and eyes flashing--Liz closed the distance between the two of them in a single bound, seizing the pot and staring in dismay at its contents, portions of the pitch already quite liquid and sticky, the situation appearing beyond remedy. Einar, not entirely sure how to respond, sat there with a mixture of bemusement and half-laughing apprehension on his face, hands still outstretched as if to grasp the pot, watching Liz warily in anticipation of her next move. Which, much to his surprise and consternation, involved her sinking down there beside the fire, pot in hand, head bowed, weeping quietly. He would have been a good bit more well equipped to handle the situation if shed leapt on him like the she-lynx her movements had put him in mind of, begun attempting to claw his eyes out, and it took him a moment to do anything other than sit and stare, puzzled and wanting very much to be somewhere else. Gently he took the pot from her, then, set it aside and, thinking she might have been burned slightly in grabbing it thus from the fire, pressed her hand into the pot of cool water that had been collecting beneath the roof-spigot. It didnt seem to help, the sobbing if anything becoming more insistent as she stared in apparent despair into the depths of the pitch-pot, its contents slowly congealing as they cooled. Hey Liz, now whats Its ruined. You ruined it. This stuff will never come out, and I have no way to replace a pot like this out here, I cantcant forge metal, or whatever wed have to do, and. Not forged, rolled and stamped. Its stainless steel, so its rolled, stamped andaw Lizzie, its notuhI can fix it, find some other way to melt the pitch if you really At which she shook her head, laid it on his shoulder and embraced him, the tears that had been building breaking free to stream down her face as Einar sat a bit stunned, hands held stiffly out to the sides, not knowing what to do, but Lizs tears soon turned to laughter as she found herself unable to go on being mad at him. Goofy guy, youre hopeless, absolutely hopeless, you know? Rolled and stamped, is it? Rolled and stamped? If I hadnt stopped you, Id have been treated to an hour-long lecture on the properties of stainless steel just now, wouldnt I have? With you sure as you could be that youd solved the problemwhatever it was, because Im sure you have no earthly ideaby telling me. She kept laughing as Einar clumsily embraced her, confused, still not sure what was going on but glad that she seemed to have got things figured out, at least, seemed to be heading in the right direction, and when she looked up he got the distinct impression that her laughter was directed at him for some reason, could not imagine why, but he didnt care, gave her a lopsided grin and pushed the pitch-encrusted pot further from the fire. She glanced up at him again, taking advantage of a temporary halt in her hilarity. Rolled and stamped, you say? Yes, thats the way most stainless pots and pans and such are made, these days. Used to be that theyd

She wanted to listen, really did, would have found the lesson interesting, but was laughing again and couldnt stop, Einar watching her warily for a moment and wondering just what hed said, but eventually shrugging, joining her, not sure whether he was laughing at the apparently-hilarious details of stainless steel fabrication, at himself or just what, but supposing that in any case, laughter was generally a good bit better than tears. Sorry about the pot. Just thought it would make the job go a lot faster, but I can clean it out, and itll be good as new Oh, I dont care about the pot! What? The pot, it doesnt matter. You can use it, might as well go ahead and use it, now! Ok. And Einar returned to work, more certain than ever that the motivations and intentions of other human critters were bound to remain a lifelong mystery to him. No matter. Hed got along just fine so far as a stranger in a strange land when it came to interactions with others, and would continue to do so. Just hoped Liz would be able to find some way to let him know what the real trouble was, if there was indeed trouble beyond the fact that hed used her teapot for pitch-meltingat which time he would make every effort to remedy said trouble. Though the storm twice showed signs of clearing that afternoon, a ragged splotch of blue once appearing between cloud layers and its corresponding beam of sunlight briefly illuminating the rain soaked spruces along the far basin wall, such breaks were a rare and fleeting sight, fresh rounds of storm always rolling in close on their heels to continue dampening Liz and Einars plans to hang the food baskets and be on their way to the valley. With the afternoon already well along in its slide towards evening and the weather showing no serious inclination to clear up, it was appearing to both of them that the day of their departure was to be delayed, a bit of a disappointment to Liz, but a relief at the same time, as she had been somewhat worried that Einar, having accepted the necessity of the trip, might insist on their taking off into the rainy evening and spending a damp, chilly night huddled out under a tree somewhere in their wet clothes. Not that she hadnt done such in the past, but if it could at all be avoidedwell, that seemed the wisest course of action! Einar, though entertaining the thought that it might be wisest to travel during the storm if they were going to travel at all, let the weather cover their movements and reduce the likelihood that they would have to deal with passing aircraft, was really in no hurry to depart, still perhaps holding out a bit of hope that Liz would forget about the entire mission, thus sparing them from what he saw as a risky venture down to a place where they would be somewhat more likely to encounter other people. As a premature, rain soaked darkness crept over the little plateau, Einar, wanting to take advantage of every moment of the storm and the cover it offered them, worked to apply the final bits of pitch to the inside of the water barrel, carefully dripping them into place and rubbing them smooth with fingers a bit red and tender from hours of contact with hot

spruce sap, stepping back and inspecting his finished work by the flickering light of the fire, the barrels interior burnished, shining and definitely looking like it ought to hold water. He was pleased. Liz looked up from the pot of stew she was stirring--the other pot, the one that didnt contain the remnants of melted pitch--and, seeing that he had stopped work, joined him beside the completed barrel. That ought to last for years, it looks like! Yes. If were here that long. If we live that long Yes, it should. Want to be the first to try it out? Taking the water jar he was holding out to her, Liz slowly poured its contents into the finished barrel, amazed at how small a puddle it appeared to make in the tapered bottom, a quart swallowed up as if it had been a few drops. The barrel was definitely going to take a number of trips to fill, but it would hold a significant amount of water, would reduce trips to the spring to a chore that needed to be carried out once every several days, perhaps no more than once each week if they were not using the water for purposes other than drinking and cooking, rather than a task that needed to be carried out at least twice daily, when it wasnt raining. A tremendous improvement to conditions there in the cabin and she thanked Einar, let him know that she was well aware of how much effort it had cost him, from choosing and retrieving the barrel-tree to the exhausting days of burning and hollowing the barrel, forgave him, even, for coating her tea pot with pitch. Meant to take him up on his offer to restore it to its final condition, of course, as her daily preparation and consumption of raspberry leaf and nettle tea had come to be an important way for her to help prepare and strengthen herself for the coming of the child, and the task would be a good bit more difficult without the use of that second pot, but she certainly didnt intend to push the matter just then, when they were celebrating the completion of the barrel. Lighting their last remaining stub of a candle she lowered it into the barrel, admiring the smooth, seamless coating of pitch that rendered it a clean, waterproof storage vessel, her mind working on the best way to construct a lid for it. Einar had other things on his mind. Candles about gone. Soon as I get up there and liberate a few honeycombs, we can have a try at making our own. Good to have them for when we need a little light but dont want a fire for whatever reason. That beeswaxll burn real clean, produce a lot less smoke and smell than the bear fat does, in something like a small lamp or a qulliq. Ill make us a qulliq too, before winter, but the candles are gonna be a great option to have. What about wicks? The first thing that come to mind is cotton, but of course we dont have any of that Yep, cotton, flax, hemp have all been used as wicks, so Im wondering like something like nettle cordage, or even dogbane? Dogbane, if we can find some when were down a little lower, is really pretty similar to flax, and I think it might hold up a little better than nettle. Well just have to do some experimenting.

Yes. Well get it figured out. But for now, lets just experiment with dinner, because its ready! Together they shared a quiet supper, arranging further details of their planned trip to the valley and discussing means for raiding the bee hive, Einar, having gobbled his food, working all the while to chip and scrape the bulk of the crusted-on pitch from Lizs pot. The two of them fading fast after a day of hard work they put out the fire and retreated to the bed, Einar, in his characteristic stubbornness, wanting to come up with some reason to resist, to stay up, but eventually, realizing he was too weary to expect much more productive work out of himself anyway, yielding to Lizs gentle demands and crawling in under the bear hide. It was the first time Einar had really been warm all day, and finding himself beset with an immense weariness at the change, he was asleep within minutes, Liz tucking the bear hide in under his chin and blowing out the stub of a candle that had been providing them a bit of light. High winds in the night finally rousting the well-established storm out of the area, the following morning dawned clear and cloudless, Einar creeping out of bed well before the sun showed itself to crouch chilled but very wide awake against the woodshed wall, watching morning roll in. Already he had been awake for hours, the night having proven a restless one for him despite his weariness and the wonderful warmth of the bear hide, vivid and at times terrifying dreams infringing on his sleep and leaving him desperately wanting to leave the bed, the cabin, flee into the timber and pass the remainder of the night in sleepless vigil. Not wanting to disturb Liz he had, against every instinct, remained in place, bracing himself against the urge to fling off the suddenly-smothering weight of the fur but at the same time fighting the return of sleep, not wanting to face the things that awaited him there, not, at least, while in close proximity to Liz and the baby. Dawn, then, had come as a welcome reprieve, and it was with glad relief that he crouched against the still-damp logs of the woodshed and watched the first glimmer of sunlight brush the straight-combed rows of spruce on the basins far side. Time to get going. Liz still sleeping and he anxious to allow her all the rest she needed, particularly in consideration of their upcoming trek to the valley, Einar moved quietly about the cabin, collecting waterproofed jerky baskets, coils of cordage, the special willow frame Liz had put together to hold and protect a quart jar full of bear fat against the possibility that the cabin might be raided in their absence, quietly retreating with everything to the spot Liz had chosen for hanging their food. Tying rocks to the ends of each cordage coil he threw them up over the chosen branches, hanging the baskets, sometimes two or three per branch. Not until he was nearly finished did Liz make her appearance, greeting him happily as she realized that not only had the weather cleared, but he, having taken the initiative to get them prepared, was apparently ready and willing to go. Securing the cabin as well as they could and shouldering the packs Liz had prepared for them the day before they made good time up to the red ridges summit and across it, pausing for a moment in the sparse trees just below its opposite crest to have a look at the morning. Einar, badly winded by the climb but pleased at the speed with which he had nonetheless accomplished it, stood watching Liz as she, too, struggled to catch her breath, her somewhat reduced lung capacity as the baby grew taking an obvious toll, but hardly

slowing her down. Below them stretched the long, timbered slopes that led to the valley of their choice, or, to be more precise, to the spot where Einar anticipated that they ought to find such a valley, for he had never yet been there, himself. A vast expanse of spruce and fir those slopes were, a good place, he could not help but thinking, for them to lose themselves for a few days, make sure that oddly-behaving plane did not pay a return visit to the area of the basin. Stands of aspens slashed through the sea of spruces here and there, leaves the dull, tired green of almost-fall, their sound in the passing wind sharper, more brittle than the rustling-water song of spring and early summer, and looking out at them, Einar could have almost convinced himself that he was seeing the first hints of yellow here and there amongst their ranks. Soon would be, and the thought lent a certain quickness to his step, an undeniable urgency to the mission at hand and to those that would come in the future as they returned to the lowlands--relatively speaking, for the valley floor to which they were headed still stood as close to ninety-five hundred feet in elevation--to collect acorns and take advantage of other lower-elevation resources. Another thousand feet lower or so, Einar could not help but think, and they might be able to find some pinyon pines. If the year was a good one--the trees went in six year cycles as far as nut production, each sixth or seventh year tending to produce a bumper crop but most years one could find at least some quantity--then a basket or two of the rich, fatty nuts might well be theirs, for a days worth of work. He shook his head, getting ahead of yourself, here, and entering some dangerous territory, if only in your mind, in allowing yourself to contemplate ranging down that low. Those nuts would be a tremendous source of additional food for the winter, fat, proteinand would taste awfully good, too, but where would the two of you be if you end up with a basket full of pinyon nuts, only to have to take off and start running again because you got spotted down there on one of those valley slopes, spotted and followed and reported He shook his head at the thought of it, quickly dismissed consideration of such a thought from his mind. Dead, likely. Thats where. Starved and frozen and dead in pretty short order, at least one of you, one or twoLiz sure doesnt need any running right now with that little one coming, and though you can finally walk again without always being on the verge of passing out from the pain of it, which is an incredible blessing, youve certainly been in better shape, yourself. Not too far from starvation even now, and you know it. Can feel it. Youd probably be the first to go, and where would that leave them? Her alone and on the run without the cabin or any of our stored supplies as winter sets in and her time nears Either that, or youd manage to keep on going like you always do, somehow hanging onto life as you watch them fade away before your eyes--sometimes Im convinced that your very resilience is a curse, part of your punishment, to always be the one whos left, who outlivesought to be able to look at that as the blessing it is, but sometimes Im just not at all sure--and that would be the worst of all. To spend the rest of your life wandering this earth as the exile you are, have always been, knowing youd caused that Hey. Enough. Enough! Raised his head and strove to shake off some of the almost visible blackness that had come over him at the prospect of watching Liz and the child die before his eyes, because of his failure to observe reasonable precautions. Not gonna happen. Not for that reason, anyway, not on my watch, because theres no

way were going down low enough to search out any pinyon nuts, tempting as it does sound. Not happening. Stopping at the first valley, here, doing our nettle and hounds tongue collecting, some acorn scouting, and heading right back up where we came from before anyone has the time or opportunity to spot us, get on our trail and ruin that little slice of paradise weve got going up there. Ha! Frozen, deserted wasteland of a paradise pretty soon here, locked away deep under twenty, thirty feet of snow, but well do just fine through that, as long as weve been able to keep setting things aside, meat, firewood, itll be a great winter up there! I need skis, though, and we could both really use some snowshoes. Another project to get started on, just as soon as I finish the woodshed, fill it, and get us another sheep or elk or two hanging out in the trees there in front of the cabin, maybe another bear for warm sleeping robes and for the fat, take him late enough in the season and we wont have to worry about drying the meat, can just hang it out in a tree and hack off frozen chunks to fry up fresh whenever we take the notionmmmfresh bear steaks crackling and oozing fat as they roast over a roaring fire when its forty below and howling up a blizzard outside, Lizs chokecherry pudding for dessert and little Snorri sleeping cozy in his nest of rabbit skins and bear blankets as the two of us sit down for the mealnow thats my idea of paradise, right there! And we can Whoa, Einar, you big goof. Heading too far in the other direction here. Back to reality again, hey? Reality. It consisted, at the moment, of a vast and timbered slope stretching away below them, dark timber broken, so far, by only the occasional tiny meadow, narrow, treesurrounded expanses of rock and grass each of which had so far shown evidence of the recent activity by deer and elk, grasses nibbled short in places and droppings left behind along the trails that meandered across the open areas and zigzagged along beneath the timber, an entire slope networked with many paths, each of them narrow and more or less straight, but taking off in wildly diverging directions, a path for anyplace an elk--or a man--wanted to go. Einar kept them to those paths as they descended, working on the theory that not only did the elk know and use the best routes after years of travel over that territory--many was the time that he had worked his way up or down what had initially appeared to be a dead-end draw by following the wanderings of various hoofed creatures--but that in keeping to previously used trails and avoiding making new and, to the trained eye, obviously human ones of their own, they would be reducing their chances of detection, of arousing the suspicion of any who might be watching, or should have a look in the future. There were still, he expected, well-paid men sitting in a room somewhere examining periodic satellite images and aerial photographs of the entire area, comparing the new against the old, looking for changes, anomalies, anything that might give them pause and warrant further investigation, knew that their future life in the area around the basin might well depend on preventing anything too interesting from showing up. Speaking of interesting, the terrain was changing, slope-angle becoming less steep and the land below them opening up just a bit, black timber giving way to a space of mixed vegetation, scattered spruces and aspens with a heavy undergrowth of wild roses, currants and some serviceberry scrub, definitely an area to be detoured around rather than plowed through lest they find themselves hung up on the brambles and quite literally stuck out in

the open for longer than they might wish, and he put all other thoughts aside for the moment, devoting his entire attention once again to their route. Lizs attention, it appeared, had been caught by something else entirely, and upon investigation he saw that she had discovered a vibrant and berry-rich patch of red currants just at the edge of the timber, had picked a small handful and was trying them out. The look on her face telling him all he needed to know about the currants state of ripeness he joined her, laughing softly. Not so sweet yet, are they? Oh my goodness, no! What an awful, insipid flavor, though I suppose I could make myself eat them, if I hadnt eaten anything in a few days Sure you could. But, he shuddered, might be real sorry afterwards. Made myself so sick doing that one timehad been on the move and hadnt eaten anything more than a couple big fat white grubs, some ants and a handful of sorrel and spring beauty greens in days, dont even know how may days, when I ran across a patch of big beautiful red berries like these on a tree island way up high in the rocksknew they werent ripe but I didnt care, was just so desperate for a few calories, something with a little sugar in it, if not much, and I filled my hat with the things, sat with my back to a scrawny little windtwisted fir and ate every single one of those berries within the space of five or six minutes, despite the tastebig mistake, let me tell you! Few minutes later the rumbling started, nausea set in, and before I really even had time to regret my hasty little snack, I was losing those berries from both ends. Ended up so badly dehydrated after a while it was all I could do just to crawl over to the edge of that tree island where an icy little shred of dirty, dusty snow was still hanging on in the shade, scrape that stuff loose with a rock and stuff it down in the hopes of reviving myself, some. Oh! Not making that mistake again. Once theyre ripe thoughanother story entirely! Wonderful things, good fresh, dried, great to add to your winter stews and puddings and such, too. Under ripe, they can be used in place of pectin if youre making jam of any sort. Did that a time or two up at my cabin, would go and get peaches from one of the orchards down around Clear Springs every summer, make big batches of peach jam using a handful of half-ripe currants to get the stuff to jelloh, that was so good to smear on pancakes and biscuits through the winter! Well youve certainly dissuaded me from trying anymore in this state, even if the taste had allowed me to be tempted. I wont even ask how you got out of that predicament where you were sick and dehydrated way up there above treeline, because obviously you did get out of it, and learned your lesson about unripe currants, too! Wed better remember this spot for later, though, come back here and fill a few baskets with these things to add to our dried berry stash. Looks like there will be a lot of rosehips out in that clearing, too, so the trip will definitely be worthwhile! Einar nodded, took one of the by-then quite unwanted currants from Lizs hand and ate it for old times sake, chewing slowly, thoughtfully, suppressing another shudder at the taste of it, rising and continuing on his detour around the clearing.

 Below the little scrub-filled clearing in which Liz had found the currants, their journey continued through unbroken ranks of timber, air growing warmer and the more still as they lost elevation, treetops ceasing their restless, wind-stirred lashing and the day beginning to take on the slow, lazy feel of early September. Unused to such warmth, Einar kept stopping to shed clothing layers, Liz having already loaded everything but her wool plaid shirt and jeans into her pack, rolling up her sleeves and finding herself somewhat grateful, at least at the moment, that their dwelling was at a higher elevation. Not that they were so low, still, she estimated, at or above ten thousand feet, though rapidly descending, but the difference in temperature was marked. Which probably means that we would have been smart to look to spend the winter down here a little lower, more critters moving around, Im sure, less snow, less of the extreme cold were sure to see up there, but, pausing to watch Einar as he led the way, slow, watchful, wary, and growing more so as they descended, hed never go for it. Can hardly stand being down here right now, I can tell by the way hes moving, that still, deadly look in his eyes like hes sure somebodys about to jump out of the bushes at us and doesnt mean to let them get very far, which Im sure he wouldntnope, hed never agree to migrating lower for the winter, I dont believe. And maybe shouldnt, I dont know. He is right that were probably more likely to encounter people down here, and thats just what we dont need! Even if we never met anyone else, I wouldnt want to ask him to live like that, always expecting it, always on edge. Its bad enough up at the cabin, even as remote as we are up there The great north-facing forest of timber through which they were passing boasted spruces draped and flowing with more soft grey-green usnea lichen than Liz had seen in a good while, the basin and slopes down to the opposite valley being a bit sparse in it, and as she walked she collected, rolling handsfull of the stuff into her pockets, pausing now and then to transfer the loads to her pack and seeing that Einar was doing the same. There had been times, including several of the long stretches when they had been dealing with his injured and finally lost toes and their aftermath, during which access to large quantities of the soft, antiseptic-bearing lichen had likely meant the difference between life and death, seeing as it offered their only god source of appropriate material for dressing changes, and in addition to having a good bit of it on hand for such situations, Liz could not help but think that the lichens absorbent fluff would make good diaper material for the little one. Almost seemed a shame to use it that way, with the intention of seeing it soiled and then disposed of after a single use, but thinking she might feel differently after having washed out a rabbit fur diaper one too many times or dealt with soiled clothing and blankets because it wasnt doing an adequate job of absorbing everything, she was especially diligent about her usnea collecting. Einar, who was well aware--if somewhat less experienced than Liz in such matters--of the coming requirement for large quantities of absorbent material and who knew that usnea and other similar lichens had served the purpose quite well for some of the local tribes, managed to stash away a good bundle of usnea also, their combined total more than quadrupling the amount they already had squirreled away up at the cabin. Reaching the edge of another small clearing Einar stopped, head raised, listening. All

morning he had been straining his ears for any sign of nearing aircraft, a possible return of the small plane whose continued presence had so concerned him the day before the storm, had several times been sure he heard it off in the distance, only to discover upon stopping that he was listening to nothing more than the wind in the trees or the drone of nearby insects. Air activity for the morning consisted, near as he could tell, of nothing more than three or four high-flying jets that crackled overhead, leaving behind their fastdissipating trails of white as they traced across the arc of the sky, no threat, at the moment, to the journeying pair, yet still he listened expectantly to the skies, several times convincing himself he heard something, only to find it gone when he stopped moving to get a better fix on its location. Wiping away a bit of sweat that had started to trickle down and interfere with his vision, Einar was about to resume the descent when Liz put a hand on his arm, and when he looked back, she was offering him a small glob of her bythen famed bearfat, serviceberry and jerky pudding, honey-sweetened. Mind on other things as they neared the valley he didnt feel particularly hungry, but took the offered food anyway, consuming a grateful bite or two and washing it down with a gulp from his new canteen before stashing the remainder in his pack. The climb up and over that red ridge, though accomplished in good time, had taken a good bit more out of him than he was willing to admit, either to himself or to Liz, and the small snack provided him a bit of welcome and desperately-needed replenishment. Good traveling food youve made us. It seemed the best way to pack a good bit of nutrition into a small space, something like pemmican, only softer and not as long-lasting since I used the fresh berries. Einar nodded, not really hearing her, head tilted to one side, listening again. Kept thinking he heard something, a sound similar to that made by a banking plane, but it was just on the edge of hearing, and he hadnt so far been able to clearly identify the direction from which it seemed to be coming, let alone its exact nature. Well. Wasnt near enough to pose them an immediate threat, whatever it was, and so long as they didnt wander too far out into the open, the surrounding timber ought to give them plenty of opportunity to conceal themselves should it draw near. The clearing ahead of them was larger than the currant-patch at whose outskirts they had most recently stopped, and Einar, who had already scanned it for anything out of place, led the way quickly out to an outcropping of granite, low, time-rounded and dappled with orange and green lichen patches, pointing out a cluster of hounds tongue that sprouted from its base, thus somewhat shielded from the winds that occasionally swept chill and strong through the meadow. The plants were compact, leaves somewhat narrower than their lower-elevation cousins and purple flowers clustered together protectively in contrast to the far more strung out blossoms whose later seeds dried to become the burs that had got the species labeled locally as a noxious weed. Despite the altitude-induced differences the plants heavily-veined comfrey-like leaves were unmistakable, and the two of them worked together to collect a good pile of the larger leaves, whose healing properties had helped them numerous times in the past, and would doubtlessly be needed again in the future, perhaps even to help Liz mend after the birth. Though beginning to see some of the plants they had come after, Einar knew they were still a good thousand feet too high to start expecting the scrub oaks

from which they hoped to be able to harvest many pounds of filling, fat-rich acorns sometime within the next two months, had to descend further if they wanted to do the scouting they had come for, and had better get started on it, too. Their climb up to the summit of the red ridge having taken a good bit of time despite the speed with which they had striven to accomplish it and the remainder of the morning and early afternoon having been eaten up in their subsequent wanderings, the sun was already nearing the high, spruce-prickling horizon by the time they finished stacking and storing their stash of hounds tongue leaves, and Liz was starting to think about a place to spend the night. A thought, she realized in mentioning the matter to Einar, that had not even crossed his mind. What do you say to starting to think about a place to hole up for the night? Hole up for the night? What do you mean hole up for the night? I figured wed keep going, see if we couldnt make the valley floor sometime before dark, find us a vantage point and maybe lay low for an hour or two watching it, making sure its a place we want to go and that were alone, then scout for oaks and such by moonlight tonight. Thatd have us heading back up the hill before midnight, by my reckoning, cresting out on the ridge just before dawn and home in time for breakfast, or shortly thereafter, if all goes well Einar! With that being the way you travel, its no wonder you come back from some of your wanderings so worn out and befuddled, no wonder at allbut Hildegard says no! She says Im not doing it like that, not as long as theres a choice and we dont have the feds on our trail. She wants some supper. And some time with me off my feet, and hopefully a chance to sleep, if theres any way we can manage it Einar had been looking away, watching the changing light of the sinking sun on the spruce-slope that swept away below them, but when he turned to her he was grinning, and Liz saw that she must have made some mistake. Aw, I was just joking about the all night trek. This time. You can tell little Hildegard that I know she needs some rest, can see that her mamas getting a little weary on her feet, and Ive already got the spot picked out, besides. See those rocks down there? Yep, those, that little outcropping over where the ridge seems to break off and the slope gets steeperwell, that looks to me like a good spot to spend the night. Heavy timber, good cover from aircraft in the rocks if that should become a concern, maybe a little creek in that draw just to the right of it, if were lucky What do you think? I think I have a very hard time telling when youre joking, sometimes, you big scoundrel! You had me thoroughly convinced that you intended to walk all night and not stop walking until we were back at the cabin, thats what I think! But besides that, yes, those rocks sound like a great place to stop for the night. We can get down there while theres still some light, leave ourselves time to find the best spot and set up camp. Hopefully the rocks will give some good shelter from the wind, too, because it seems to be picking up and since we didnt bring the bear hide

Well, would you have wanted to carry it? All fifty pounds or so? No! Im not saying we should have lugged it along, just that since we didnt, were going to need some shelter from the wind, tonight. Or at least I am. Youre welcome to sleep soaking wet on a bare slab of granite out in the open if thats what suits you, but as for me and the little one, we plan to be all cozy and huddled down in a bed of spruce needles by the time it starts getting really cool for the night. Einar grinned, nodded--yeah, Ill join you. Though the bit with the granite does sound awful tempting, now that you mention it--started down towards their evening destination. As they neared the rock outcropping--had lost sight of it some time prior, due to the changing contours of the terrain--they began hearing the sound of what seemed to be a great deal of running water, more, they were both certain, than could have been expected from the small creek that they had hoped to find in the draw that ran just to the side of their chosen camp spot. Reaching the little rise on which stood the rock-sheltered spot that Einar had chosen as the nights camp, Einar and Liz discovered that the small draw off to its right did indeed contain running water, a small, lively creek tumbling and bounding down over mosscovered boulders amongst a vibrant green thicket of moisture-loving red osier dogwood and willow, but discovered also that the creek was far from being the source of the watersounds they had been hearing off and on for the last half hour of their descent. Those, they found, were rising from a good two hundred feet lower, from the valley floor itself where a creek large enough that it might have almost passed for a river flashed silver in the evening light, visible here and there through gaps in the intervening trees. Excited at the discovery--a chance to catch some fish, maybe?--Liz very much wanted to finish the descent right then, take a look at the river and find a place nearer its banks to camp so they would be close to it in the morning, but didnt bring the matter up, as she really didnt want to do anything that might result in Einars deciding to reconsider his earlier plan, joke though he had claimed it to be, to go on walking all night. He had picked out the rocks that now rose above them as a camp-spot for the night, and she was more than happy to leave it at that. The river could wait. Nighttime temperatures would be warmer up there a few hundred feet above the valley and watercourse, anyway, which she expected they would both find a welcome thing that night, seeing as the bear hide had been left back in the cabin. Already, the sun having disappeared behind the spruces and a thin breeze beginning to blow, she could tell that they were likely to miss it, especially considering the very strong likelihood that Einar would see fit to deny them the use of a fire. Too close to the valley, too likely wed get spotted, she could already hear him saying, and she shook her head, opened her mouth to say something to him only to realize she didnt have any idea where hed got off to. Had taken the binoculars and disappeared, sneaky fella, and she went after him, searching through the tumbled granite boulders amongst which she supposed they would find their shelter for the night, finally locating him lying flat on his stomach atop one of the higher specimens, looking very much at home amongst the scattering of fallen aspen leaves, sticks and moss clusters that littered the

rocks almost-flat top. Struggling slightly at the effort of moving her slightly unwieldy body up the series of eroded chinks and crevices that had served as Einars ladder-climbing just doesnt work the same, when youve got a small watermelon in your belly. This is one aspect of the pregnancy that I wont miss at all!--she made it to the top, stretching out on her side and following his gaze down to the valley below. What do you see? For the space of three breaths he was silent, contemplating, finally handing her the binoculars. Your oaks, for one thing. Good many of them down there on the far side of that water. Theyre pretty nearly covering the lower slopes over there on the south side. Will be a fine place to come for those acorns, Id expect. Seen some elk, too. Look right over there where that big firs sticking out just past the open area on the far side of the water, right through a little gap in the scrub oak, and youll see them. Three cows and a couple of half-grown young ones. It took her a minute but Liz found the place, two of the creatures still in sight, their great size and the red-brown ruff of hair around their necks telling her without doubt that they were elk, and not deer, even at that distance. Late in the evening as it was, Liz knew that the creatures were likely near the spot where they would bed down for the night, that little oak-enclosed meadow appearing perhaps the perfect spot. She laid down the binoculars, looked over at Einar, a glimmer in her eyes. He had brought his atlatl and darts and she the bow, and the prospect of working their way down there in the night and taking one of the elk in their sleep the next morning before dawn was a tempting one, indeed, but when she suggested it, Einar just shook his head. Not the time or place for it, unfortunately. Can you see us trying to carry three, four hundred pounds of meat and hide and such back up this slope right now, cross the red ridge with it and make it back down to the cabin? There are times when I could have done it, but not so sure this is one of them. Which would leave us to camp down here long enough to take care of the meat, supposing we were able to take one of the critters, set up a meat camp and get to work turning everything into jerky, de-hair and tan the hide here in place and get our load down to a real manageable weight for the return climb. Which sounds great--Id like to add a big old elk hide and forty pounds of jerky to our winter stash every bit as much as you would, believe me!--except that it would mean staying down here for a week or more at the meat camp, fires every night to keep the jerky drying and in the daytime, too, if we had cloudy weather, and Im just not willing to do that down here, not with bow season starting up in a few weeks and a real strong possibility that hunters other than ourselves might be in the area--or above it, in planes-scouting for their prize elk. Not worth the risk. Im sorry. Liz nodded, swallowed a brief welling of frustration at what she took to be an almost certainly unrealistically high level of caution on his part. Knew he was right about the risk, and did not need to be reminded what it would mean to them if they were force to flee just then, to abandon plans to return to the cabin and take off again into the unknown, fall coming and the baby not far behind. Taking one last longing look at the elk she

retuned the binoculars to Einar, feeling chilly and tired and a bit cross, ready to be done moving for the day, out of the wind, badly wanting dinner and some sleep. Wed better be making camp then, hadnt we? Yep. Found us a place already, if it meets with your approval Which it did, Liz quite delighted, actually, at the leaning slab of granite that formed an almost-cave against the back side of Einars lookout rock, almost entirely blocking the strong and rising wind that had come with dusk. Searching beneath the surrounding clusters of spruce and fir she had soon scraped up enough needles and soft, springy cone fragments to form them a mattress a good eight inches thick, Einar adding an armload of his own to the effort before stopping to prepare a small fire up against one end of the leaning slab. Sorting the contents of her pack by the clear, flickering light of Einars little pyramid of grey-dry aspen sticks, Liz took out the ewe and deer hides, spreading that of the deer as a ground cloth over the piles of good dry duff and draping the ewe hide around Einars shoulders-hed begun shivering slightly but unmistakably during his time lying up there on the lookout rock, hadnt, she saw, been able to quit so far even with the help of the small fire, and despite his cheerful demeanor and attempts to keep from her the extent of his distress, she knew the climb had taken a lot out of him, pushed him very nearly to the limits of the endurance that he was fighting so hard to regain--surprising him so that he rose quickly to his feet, nearly slamming his head into the rocky roof. Hey, I didnt know youd brought these! Looks like were in for a pretty decent night. Well, I didnt expect you to remember them, but unlike yourself, little Hildegard and I need some sleep every now and then, and as chilly as its been getting in the nights, having the hides along seemed like the best way to ensure that we had some chance of getting it. Were not ready to sleep yet, though, so you might as well use them while I cook us up some supper, if youd like. So you can sit down for a few minutes of rest, yourself, without starting to get so cold Aw, I dont care about the Yes, yes, I know you dont care about the cold, you enjoy freezing yourself half to death and are happiest when encased in a good six or seven inches of ice, but how about just letting it go for once and resting for a while, Ok? Ill have some soup ready in a few minutes. Einar grinned, shook his head, might have argued but was too tired for it, knew at the same time that hed better not lie down, not just yet, as his chores were not done for the evening, and he could feel that once he got off his feet, hed likely be staying that way for a good while, if at all possible. Rising, he folded the hide and set it beside Liz where she had spread out the contents of her pack and was adding lumps of pudding to a bit of water in the cookpot, the apparent precursor to their supper stew. Yep, Ill use that hide alright, but not until I haul some more wood in here for the evening, and take a real quick trip down to that little trickle of water I hear in the ravine

just here beside us. Need to refill the canteens so well have plenty for the night--dont believe either of us managed to drink enough on that climb, today--and really ought to do it before dark sets in for good. Which its about to do. Taking his leave, Einar wandered about the camp area for a few minutes breaking dead branches from fallen firs and spruces, finding and hauling back to the shelter an entire dead aspen, no more than three inches in diameter at its widest and just short of twenty feet tall. Satisfied at last with the pile of firewood amassed beside the leaning rock, he began picking his way carefully down the steep, moss-slick rocks of the ravine-side to the waiting water below. Though the moss-slick rocks made for rather uncertain footing as he descended in the half light, Einar made his way down to the small creek without incident, searching for some leverage amongst the water-smoothed granite rocks and eagerly-growing willows that lined it, finally finding something he hoped would work and precariously straddling the water as one by one he dipped the canteens full. Turning, through a series of halfjumping steps, so that he faced downhill, Einar stood there quite still for a minute, following with his eye the tumbling course of the creek as it carved out a reasonably straight path for the valley, lost from his view before it reached more level ground to the tangle of trees and the steepness of the slope, and, unable to follow it any further, raising his eyes to watch the last of the light fade from the close-sided concavity of the valleyobscured western horizon. Loud was the rush of the water in his ears, so loud that Einar, becoming concerned as he stood there that he might miss the rumble or whine of an approaching aircraft, could not bring himself to linger as long as he might have liked in watching the day fade, taking a quick step to the side and grabbing two hands full of willow wands when his feet slipped on a bit of unseen moss and nearly gave him an ugly fall into the rock-littered steepness of the little creek. Grinning a bit at the nearness of the thing and at the sudden sharp willow-tang that filled the air at his grasping and bruising so many of the thin little stalks, he hurried back up the ravine-side away from the water, from the rush and clatter that had so filled his ears. Reaching the ravine-lip he crouched behind a rock to block out the remainder of the water sounds, listening, barely daring to breathe--though in great need of doing so, after that fast scramble--until hed assured himself that nothing was amiss in the skies. Nothing that his ears could detect, at least. As he glanced over into the direction of the shelter a faint glow reached him, the slightest reflection of orange on the rock slab that was to be their roof for the night, the odor of Lizs stew almost at the same time reaching his nose, carried on a sharpening evening breeze and causing his stomach, its needs shoved rather firmly to the back of his mind on the descent and during his scouting of the campsite and what they could see of the valley, to cramp up with hunger. Time to eat. And past time to get back to camp with the filled canteens, lest Liz begin to wonder just what could possibly be taking him so long, start to fear the worst and feel some obligation to come looking for him. Which, by the time he covered the distance to the shelter and set the canteens beside her fire by way of greeting she had begun to do, restraining herself with difficulty from stepping out there and calling for him, taking a torch from the fire, perhaps, and peering down into the darkness of the ravine to see if he

might have fallen. Had certainly appeared badly enough worn out for such to be a concern--of hers, if not of his. Watching him sink wearily to the bed of thickly-piled spruce needles, Liz was glad she had done no such thing, had given him the time he needed to finish his task, and return. From the looks of him it appeared he was likely to be sticking around for a while, head bowed and eyes only half open as he watched her complete supper preparations. Good. Perhaps this means a nice quiet night for both of us ,before we finish the descent in the morning and see about those oaks. And elk! Still wish we might be able to take one Supper was a silent affair that night, Einar very nearly too weary to speak, especially once he had a few bites of that soup in him and started to warm up some, the bed appearing more and more appealing until finally he could keep himself upright no longer, mumbled a half-intelligible good night to Liz and collapsed face-down on the improvised mattress, beyond exhausted, asleep almost instantly. Liz just laughed, shook her head and, pushing a rock over the shallow firepit in which they had cooked their supper, joined him, covering the two of them as well as she could with the ewe hide and easing Einars hat down onto his head. Youll need this, later With the night clear and chilly but not nearly as cold as they had become accustomed to expecting up in the basin, Einar and Liz rested quietly through the first few hours of it, tired from their climb, full of good warm soup and knowing that they did not have fart to go in the morning to reach their destination. While Liz remained fast asleep Einar became restless as the night wore on, awakened several times by chilled, cramping legs and a cold-tremor that he could not quite seem to control, no matter how he huddled, curled up or tucked his head beneath the ewe hide in the hopes of re-using his own warm breath. Felt like he was freezing, though in reality he could tell that temperatures were a good ten to fifteen degrees higher than on the average summer night in the basin, and he figured he was just worn out from the climb, must have dipped more deeply into his meager reserves than he had realized, and was now paying for it. Well. Hed live. Doubted he was in too much real danger, between the dry, insulated bed tucked well out of the wind behind the rock slab, the supper hed enjoyed and Lizs presence to add a bit of warmth to the bed, though his body was definitely trying to tell him otherwise. Not wanting to wake Liz but being at the same time too weary to get up and go somewhere else if there was any possible alternative he simply eased a bit further away from her, curling up on his side with knees drawn up nearly to his chest, forehead pressed against them and hands tucked under his chin, shivering himself back to sleep. Despite the discomfort, it didnt take long, the ease with which he could pass from wakefulness to sleep--normally a rather difficult and drawn-out thing for him, results uncertain--being one of the few advantages to the pervasive weakness that still held his undernourished body firmly in its grasp, much of the time. Morning came with a well-rested Liz waking a bit chilled herself but quite refreshed to find Einar, much to her consternation, free of the ewe hide, huddled in a little ball on the edge of the mattress, shaking badly and appearing half frozen. Which he must not have been, not quite, for when she put out a hand to wake him--mistake, and she should have known so, by then--he somehow got himself flipped over and facing her, knife in hand and poised for action, all in the space of less than a second.

Einar, hey, good morning to you, too At which his eyes softened a bit, that deadly glint replaced by the beginnings of recognition as he grinned, shivered, put the knife away and allowed his head to sink back to the deer hide. Good morning Did you get any sleep? Im afraid little Hildegard must have been pretty tired after that hike, and I didnt stir all night. Got too much sleep. Any more and Id have Would have finished his sentence, but he was shaking too hard, struggling at the same time to calm a leg cramp that had got hold of him at his sudden movements in response to being wakened, so Liz finished it for him, pulling him close and getting the ewe hide back over him as she spoke. Youd have turned to ice, thats what. Please wake me next time something like this happens, and Ill get the fire going again or at least share the blanket with you But she highly doubted that he would do any such thing, saw that he did not, in fact, seem too pleased at the idea of their having a fire at all that morning. Which indeed he was not, uninterested in risking smoke by daylight in an unknown area. Wanted to do a good bit more scouting first, crawled out from beneath the shelter-slab and hauled himself stiffly to his feet. Dawn had not yet reached the valley floor, what he could see of it still deep in shadow despite the almost-light that was beginning to steal across the face of the oak-slopes opposite their position, sunlight gilding the top hundred feet of nearly snowless rock on the only peak that was visible above. Bleary-eyed, shaking his head in the hopes of clearing his vision some, Einar laboriously climbed the lookout rock that made up the side of their shelter, resting on his elbows as he peered down at the little oakmeadows. About time for the elk to be getting up, stirring around and finding some forage for the morning. Do wish it made sense for us to try and take one, because the situation being what it is down there, Im almost certain we could do it. Too much at stake, though. Too easy for us to get just a bit lax if we end up camped out for a week or two the edge of one of those little meadows, feasting on elk and processing the meatyep, we very well might end up having some outfitter walk up on us while hes out scouting for a spot to take elk of his own in a month or so, and thatd leave us with way too much explaining to do! Leaves us as poachers at best--outfitters sure dont tend to take kindly to poaching--and at worst, hed recognize us. Nope. He pressed his empty stomach, which had begun rumbling painfully at the thought of fresh elk steaks, liver, not here, and not now. Weve got elk up around the basin, deer and sheep, too, and youll be taking them this fall, alright, had better be, but for today had better just focus on scouting the area for that future acorn expedition, maybe looking at that little river down there with a trout or two in mind, and leave it at that. Trout sounded awfully good too, come to think of it-everything sounded good after that climb; even the soft cushions of usnea lichen that bulged their packs after the past days collecting were starting to sound good, and he shook his head, tried to direct his mind elsewhere--and he scrambled down from the rock,

returned to Liz. Seemed she must have been hungry too, for she met him at the shelters entrance with handful of the pudding she had brought as traveling food, regretting the lack of a fire to heat and turn it into stew, but not about to let that stop her from having some breakfast, and seeing that he got some fuel to start out the day, also. Einar did not take much convincing, wolfing down the portion she had handed him and glancing hungrily about for more, only to find that she had already packed up the remainder, appeared to be preparing to leave. Good. Thats good, make it last Liz, halfway through rolling up the deer hide, had paused in her work, looking up at him. You about ready to head down and have a look at the valley? Yes. Trout waiting for us down there! Willow-lined and in places white and leaping where it became narrow and boulderchoked, the creeks rushing grew progressively louder in their ears as they descended, appearing more river than creek, the lesser grew their distance from it, a possible impediment to reaching the oak-slopes on its far side, but at the same time promising them the possibility of finding fish, a prospect, even Liz had to admit, which more than made up for the likelihood that they would have to get their feet wet in crossing. As the water-sounds increased, drowning out, when their line of sight to the nearing valley floor was clear and unobstructed by rock outcroppings or rises in the ground, even the soughing of the wind in the trees, Einar found himself stopping more frequently, listening, struggling to hear over the din and when that failed, reaching out with his other senses for any sign that approaching the water more nearly might mean danger. Could find nothing beyond the rather unempirical fact of his own ever-present jumpiness to justify the sense of pressing concern that was clenching his stomach and tightening his grip on weapons as they neared the water, yet he knew better than to ignore it altogether, wanted to turn around and head right back up the slope--taking a route different to that by which he had descended--and indeed would have done so without delay, had he been alone. Wasnt alone, though, and when he paused in his quick thinking long enough to consider how Liz might respond to his suggestion that they abandon the mission and avoid all contact with the valley--on the basis of some shadow in your mind? Some ghost? After coming all this way?--he could see that his sudden reluctance would not appear at all logical, from her perspective. Despite thus arguing with himself--and accepting his own arguments as sounding quite reasonable, really--Einar was reluctant, all but dragging his feet as they traversed that last hundred feet of descent, knew that there had been many times when hed been saved from disaster by acting without question on compilations of tiny clues that had been, at least at the time, beyond the ken of the rational mind, allowing something that appeared at the surface far more closely related to instinct than to reason to guide his steps. Liz, though herself excited and quite eager to reach and explore the area around the creek, could not help but notice Einars growing reticence, stopped beside a lichen-splattered upthrust of granite and waited for him to notice that she was no longer behind him. Which did not take long at all, as he whirled around almost instantly upon her halting, having felt with the sharp senses of one who is at every moment expecting trouble the

distance begin to grow between them. Returning quickly to her side, he crouched against the granite, scanning the surrounding timber, speaking in a near-whisper. What? You hear something? No, but it looks like you must have Whats going on? Einar shrugged, shifted instinctively in his crouch so as to have better use of his atlatl hand if need be. Maybe Ive just turned spooky after being a hunted critter for so long, I dont know, but theres something about this valley You think someones down there? I think it would be near impossible for us to hear them approach if they were, the way that waters moving. Well, lets look for a quiet stretch, then. It would be easier to cross at a quiet stretch, anyway, than here in the whitewater Which sounded good to Einar, sounded like the only reasonable way to approach the situation, if indeed they were to approach it, and he glanced gratefully at Liz, real sensible girl, nodded and took off across the slope, heading downstream where it appeared the strip of green valley floor meadowland grew a bit less narrow in the hopes of locating a spot where the waterway followed suit, going wide and quiet. Found it some three hundred yards down valley, meadow soaring open so that when they reached the edge of the timber they found themselves looking out across many acres of short, dew-sparkling alpine grass to a stand of aspens on the meadows far side, their straight white trunks appearing as mysterious as they did majestic still enfolded in shadow though their tops had been lit a brilliant, living green by the first rays of the morning sun. The creek, to Einars relief, did not wind its way through the center of that vast open area, hugging instead the timber in which the two of them still stood concealed, offering them access without unduly exposing themselves. Which they would have to do in the end, anyway, if it was their intent to cross the water and investigate the oak-slopes that rose shadowy and indistinct beyond that row of sentry-aspens, but the protected access to the creek offered them a chance to try some fishing while still relatively protected from view, which was of great interest to Einar. When it came to crossing the meadow, he was seeing, they could reduce their time out in the open by heading yet further downstream, where some five hundred yards further down, the black timber swept in close to the aspens on the far side, nearly closing, for a space, the gap and giving them the opportunity to cross the creek in concealment. The creek was, of course, at its widest and most calm out there in the meadow, but he supposed the extra protection afforded by the timber-cover would be well worth the extra effort of crossing at a less ideal spot. In addition to the valley containing the first oaks he had seen in a good long while, Einar saw that it hosted a number of small, under-developed cottonwoods trees, their narrow, light green leaves appearing nearly translucent in the strong early morning sunlight.

They, perhaps even more so than willows, were a water-loving folk, found only in places where the water table was high and the supply near-constant, and were, in fact, often a telltale sign of nearby surface water, be it in the form of spring, seep or creek. The trees were also a source of the resinous buds that he had used to create the healing, antiseptic Balm of Gilead salve that was such a benefit to frost-nipped fingers and toes, and though the season was wrong to find buds just then--they were best collected in the early spring-he marked their location for future reference. Sticking to the timber as they followed the creeks course a bit further downstream, Einar searched for a spot where they might stop and look for any sign that there were fish in the water, a likely thing, he figured, assuming there a lake or two upstream large enough for wildlife officials to stock as they did so many of the rivers and alpine lakes in the area. Just a short distance the spot where they had first peered out of the timber he found the place hed been looking for in a gentle bend in the creek, its course sweeping a portion of it up under the timber for a short distance, the shaded section consisting of a slow, deep eddy pool, boulder-lined and looking the ideal daytime resting spot for trout. Approaching slowly, Einar searched until he found a spot where a few feet of eroded gravel bank overhung into the water, just what he had been looking for, and he rolled up his sleeves, lying belly-down on the mixture of moss and spruce needles immediately before the bank, trailing his arms in the water nearly up to the shoulders, perfectly still, remaining so for a good five minutes as Liz watched in puzzlement. As she thought he was simply trying to freeze himself as he seemed so often inclined to do--strange way to go about it, thoughwhy doesnt he just go ahead and jump in, if thats his intention?-Liz was about to try and urge him out of the water, touch his shoulder or in some way get his attention, but he saw what she had in mind, shook his head, the look in his eye warning her away. She stepped back, continuing to watch from a distance as he moved hands whose skin temperature had finally reached that of the water, feeling slowly along the underside of that bank. Much to Lizs surprise and delight he came up the next minute with his fingers clasped firmly in the gills of a medium-sized brown trout, which he dispatched with a quick blow on a nearby rock, nestling the ten inch fish amongst the nearby pillows of damp, cool moss in the spruce-shade to keep it fresh for later. Dropping back to his belly Einar tried again, searching the remainder of the undercut bank but finding no more fish; they would have to try a different method--or a different spot--if they wanted more, which, the prospect of a change in diet sounding tremendously good to them both, they definitely did. Already half-soaked from his fishing expedition, Einar stripped down to the string of wolverine claws around his neck--never parted with that, at least not that Liz had ever seen--and waded into the waist-deep, almost-still pool whose waters swirled lazily beside the spot where hed found the fish, submerging all but head and shoulders and scrubbing himself with handsfull of coarse granite sand scraped up from the bank. Liz, despite her usual lack of enthusiasm for water as cold as that of the river appeared, reluctantly prepared to join him in the pool, supposing that as the day was sunny and warmer than any they were likely to encounter up in the basin, she really might as well take advantage of the opportunity to bathe.

Einar lay back in the water watching her, eyes half closed and arms outstretched, floating, or trying to, every bit as casual and comfortable-looking as if hed been enjoying some time at the beach on one tropical island or another. Liz--gasping for breath and fighting feelings of panic as the icy water rose to her knees, hips, and, crouching, closed over her shoulders--just stared at him and shook her head; it was all she could do to keep from scrambling out again just as soon as shed gone in, and she washed quickly, leaning back to allow her hair a quick if painfully cold rinse before heading for the bank. Seeing that Einar--though his lips and nose had gone a distinct shade of purple--appeared to have no immediate plans to leave the water, she grabbed his hand and attempted to pull him along with her. Instead of following, Einar quickly disappeared beneath the surface, Liz losing her grip on him and, in a moment of frantic concern at his failure to resurface promptly, took a breath and ducked her own head under, the bitterly cold water closing over her scalp with an audible snap. Einar was there, paddling to keep himself submerged and grinning from ear to ear, hair and beard floating out around his face like the mane of some absurd aquatic lion and she grabbed his hands, pulled, breaking the surface just in time to relieve her own burning lungs. He was still under and she, having had more than enough of the icy water by that point, left him to his own devices, scrambling ashore and shaking herself free of as much water as she could, crouching on a sun-warmed rock to finish drying. Einar had put in an appearance by that time, standing and, much to Lizs relief, taking a breath, his entire body varying from bright red to a dusky purple that told her he had better be getting out of that water, and soon. Which he did, stiff, moving slowly, but still taking the time for a final soak, lying back in the water and watching the overhanging timber sway in the wind for a minute, before scrambling out onto the rocks. Despite his calm, unhurried demeanor while in the water there was no getting around the fact that Einar, still fairly well worn out from the previous days climb and with virtually no fat to insulate his body, couldnt come lose to producing enough heat to prevent a steady drop in core temperature after a time, and he began shaking furiously upon leaving the river so that Liz would have worried greatly for him had the day been colder. As it was quite warm and she knew hed be alright after a time, she laughed instead, for he truly did make a quite a spectacle struggling unsuccessfully to get back into his clothes, and finally, joining her in laughter, throwing up his hands and tossing his clothes in her direction, he gave up and allowed himself to tumble backwards into the water again--hey, at least its not windy in here--where he stayed until she finally resorted to shaking the rabbit stick at him, half-jokingly threatening him with a whack in the head if he didnt promptly join her on the sunny rocks to begin drying. Hauling himself once more with difficulty from the water Einar complied, leaning back against the comparatively warm surface of the sunny granite in avoidance of the wind, pressing himself into it as he waited to begin warming. Liz, herself wrapped in the ewe hide, draped that of the deer around his shoulders, and he did not refuse it. Morning moved on towards afternoon as they sat warming on those rocks, Liz working the tangles out of her hair and Einar keeping a close watch on the meadow whose wind-waving carpet of green spread brilliant and boulder-dotted before them, the slopes on its far side, aspen and oak meeting, reminding him that they had better be up and going, do the scouting they had come to do--though it was far too early in the season for harvesting acorns, they would be able to get some idea of the size and quality of the coming crop by inspecting the trees,

seeing just how plentiful the small green half-formed acorns might be--and think about beginning the return trip to the cabin. First, though, a bit of a snack seemed very much in order, both of them having worked up quite an appetite in that cold water and greatly looking forward to the change in diet, however temporary it might be. Einar, come to think of it, was quite hungry enough to eat that trout just as it was--raw and covered with moss--and greatly enjoy it, but when he suggested the idea to Liz she just smiled, shook her head, told him to wait right where he was, and shed be right back. Which he did, half dozing in the suns warmth for a few minutes before beginning to wonder what Liz was up to, dressing and going to check. Preparing a small fire of very dry willow twigs at the base of a particularly heavilyboughed spruce, Liz struck sparks into a bit of very dry milkweed down tinder from the little pouch around her neck, blowing the flames to life and receiving an approving nod from Einar, who, having just discovered what she was about, might not have chosen to build a fire, himself, under the circumstances, but recognized and appreciated the care she had gone to in order to prevent its making smoke to give them away. If there was anyone out there to worry about; he had, in spending some time at the creek and watching morning steal across the valley, grown a good bit more relaxed, comfortable with the place, coming to feel quite distinctly that they were alone there, at least as far as human presence was concerned. Could change at any moment, though, and he was operating under no illusions as to the wisdom of their remaining in the valley any longer than was necessary. The spruce-timbered grove in which they sat tending their little fire looked to him like the ideal spot for some outfitter or group of hunters to set up their camp; he could, staring at the long tree-shadows that striped and punctuated the sunlight streaming its way inwards from the brightness of the meadow, almost picture the white wall tent there in as slight clearing between trees, big fire ring opposite it and an elk or two hanging from a cross-timber suspended far up in the trees. Yep, perfect spot, and complete with its own elk, too. Saw them last night, and Im sure well find loads of sign over there in the oak scrub, too. Ha! I ought start an outfitting business, looks like. For bow season. Einars Primitive Hunts, or some such. Genuine mountain man experience right here in the heart of the Rockies. Guide business, I guess Id have to call it, cause Im hardly equipped to outfit myself, let alone a bunch of clients, but that would change pretty quick, cause Id have them pay me in gear and food and clothing, things like that, and even if I cant outfit, I can certainly guide. And theyd have no idea just how primitive the experience was really gonna be, until they showed up. Sleeping out under the trees, forget the cots and bags and tent heaters--tent heaters, for goodness sakehow spoiled can a fella get?--and instead of coolers full of beer and steaks on the grill every night, theyd be eating whatever we could scrounge, which I guess would be my job, so they might very well just have their first-ever taste of ermine or frog or coyote, on one of these hunts! Till we got the elk, at least, and then wed be feasting! I could even offer atlatl training and hunts for those who had an interest, provided local game officials were agreeableHa! Not that it matters what local game officials think. Guess those guysd have my hide on a wall quick as they could skin me out, and be calling the feds for their reward money, if ever I was to come into contact with them. As would most of my potential clients. Sorry, the

business plan is looking like a definite no-go, Einar Though maybehe grinned fiercely, shook his headmaybe Im looking at it all wrong! Could give my clients the hunt of lifetime, going after something a little more challenging than any old bull elk could be. Though decidedly less edible. Theres nothing like hunting something that shoots back, after all, thats hunting you, the most dangerous game, and once youve done that, well, certainly does takes a good bit of the excitement out of hunting other critters. Which means that the other outfitters in the area would probably end up getting together and coming after me, themselves, for ruining their business, after me offering my guided manhunts for a season or two! Yep, Einar hunts. For a months worth of beans, grains and lard, some medical supplies, a good pair of boots and a jar of Nutella, pre-paid, of course, Ill leave some sign down near their camp and let them hunt me for a week. Ha! Im sure there are folks who would go for it, only trouble is that Id never have any repeat customers! And thats really not good for business, any way you look at it. Well. Another plan down the drain. Guess this is why Ive never been a rich man, at least not money-wise. Just got no business sense. Liz--having glanced up from her fish frying and discovered Einar staring out through the timber, apparently deep in thought and somewhat amused with whatever was going on in that goofy head of his, not always a good sign--was giving him a strange look, and he rose, joined her near the fire. What? Whats on your mind? I saw you thinking Ah, nothing much. Just thinking that we need to be on the lookout for company around here, as favorable a place as it is for elk, and for hunting them. Which led to my developing a plant guide hunts up in here, in return for trade goods of whatever sort were needing at the time, wheels of cheese, barrels of Nutella, things like thatand if my services as a guide arent sufficient to convince them to pay like that, I can always up the ante by letting them hunt me. Its already happening, you know, so why not get paid for it? All of which was said with a perfectly straight face, leaving Liz momentarily concerned that Einar had either entirely lost his grip on reality--wouldnt be the first time, though she supposed he would dispute that--or was perhaps a good deal more hypothermic than he appeared, but he eased her worries--some of them, at least--the next moment by bursting into a fit of silent laughter and sitting down beside her. Oh, youre impossible! I thought there for a second that you were serious! Sit down and have some of this trout, why dont you? Before little Hildegard decides to eat it all, herself.

That trout, different as it was from their usual fare and coming at a time when both were quite hungry, was one of the most welcome meals Einar and Liz could remember

consuming of late, and they savored every bite, its flavor enhanced by the pure, piercing sweetness of the little willow fire over which they had cooked, its coals extinguished with carefully-placed double handsful of dirt as soon as the cooking was finished, but the odor still lingering. Finished with their meal and having scoured every bit of flavor and juice from the willow spit on which they cooked the trout, the pair prepared to go, Einars earlier uneasiness largely replaced by a tremendous sense of wellbeing, his body getting along very well with the light, protein-rich meat of the fish, mind somewhat more at ease after having spent several hours down near the valley floor without seeing any sign of other human presence. Only somewhat, though, and even as he reveled in the suns warmth on his back and shoulders as they sat on the sunny creek side granite slabs contemplating their plans for the rest of the day, he knew that they had better be finishing their business there in the valley in pretty good time, leaving it, starting back up the slope to their high mountain refuge. Valley was no place for them, for a pair of hunted critters to whom a chance meeting with another human--hunter, hiker, wilderness ranger, the title probably didnt matter too much--would mean the initiation of a series of events that would likely end in their death, if not in the immediate future due to chase and capture, then sometime later in the winter from the long, drawn-out consequences of being forced once again to go on the run, cut off from their supplies, kept on the move and starved in the snow. Einar shivered, rose, tried to shake off the shadow that had come over him at the thought, but couldnt, not quite, as it was his responsibility to see that nothing of the sort happened to them. On with it, then. Got to head over and take a look at those oaks, at the elk beds and the acorn prospects, then back up the hill before we end up too comfortable here and run into trouble. Liz, sensing Einars growing unease, followed without question when he returned to the timber and began paralleling the creek up through the timber, heading, presumably, for the spot where their swath of evergreens swooped inwards to very nearly meet the phalanx of aspens that stood all white-trunked and sentry-like on the far side of the meadow, offering them an opportunity to cross without spending more than seconds out in the open, a prospect that Einar would have found most appealing as a matter of personal taste, discipline habit, even had he not presently had a price on his head. In addition to crossing the little strip of meadow that even at the meeting-place ran thin and green between timber and aspens, they still had to make their way across the creek itself, which, fortunately, ran almost entirely beneath the dark, shady protection of the timber there at the high point that Einar had chosen for the crossing. As they had anticipated, the waterway was not quite as wide and lazy up there as it had been down at their fishing and swimming spot, but at least it was concealed, a hedge of spruces growing thin and somewhat scraggly even on its far banks in that spot, providing a good bit of concealment from anyone who might conceivably be attempting to watch it from the meadow or the slopes on its far side. Which Einar doubted they were, really, but the shielding trees allowed him to be a bit more comfortable with their making a slow and deliberate crossing of the water, rather than rushing to get back out of sight as he would have wanted them to do if out in the open, possibly with rather unfortunate results for their clothing and the contents of their packs. As it happened, they neednt have worried too much about how the crossing was to be accomplished, at all, for they found, much to

Lizs delight, a wind-felled spruce quite easily spanning the narrow rushing of the water there near the crossing-point, offering them the closest thing to a bridge that one can generally expect to find in the wilderness. The spruce was a large one, unearthed roots jutting up like Medusas hair on their side of the water, straight, heavily-boughed trunk stretching across the water, having snapped off on the far side where its fall had brought it into sharp contact with an outcropping of schist, but its remnants, so far as they could tell, lodged quite firmly enough amongst said rocks for the tree to offer them secure passage over the water. Even so, Einar wanted to go first, intending to check the bridge for stability--if anyone was to take a fall into the rocky whitewater below, better he than Liz and the little one--and perhaps break off a few of the branches whose jutting presence, he knew from experience, would add challenge to the trees navigation. Liz, having seen Einars ongoing struggle with occasional bouts of dizziness since the climb over the red ridge and really wishing to prevent him from toppling head-first into that fast-moving, rock-mined water, believed firmly that she ought to be the first to cross, but could see that he was determined, and did not press the matter. Nor did she object when he insisted on carrying her pack as well as his. Well. At least he had plenty of branches to use as hand-holds as he made his way across; perhaps the passage would go without incident. Einar, starting out across the log, did not share Lizs concern over his safety, figuring rather matter-of-factly that should he fall in, hed simply end up spit out into the very calm stretch of creek that wound its way along the edge of the meadow, at which point hed swim--or crawl; the water was pretty shallow along in there--to shore. Unless he happened to knock himself too badly in the head on one of the rocks that rose wet and moss-slick from the roiling narrowness of the whitewater channel, after which he probably wouldnt be doing too much swimming, but might very well still wash up on a gravel bar in time to avoid drowning. With these cheerful thoughts in mind, Einar, whistling a soft but lively tune to himself, set out across the log balancing precariously and having a bit of trouble in one spot where a confluence of tangled, upwards-raised boughs and spray-slick patch of barely-attached bark along the side of the trunk conspired to very nearly send him slipping from his tenuous hold on the bridge, but he made it, stepping weary but grinning off onto the solid rock of the far side. Motioning to Liz he waited for her to start across, watching tensely as she began picking her way from branch to branch, knowing that she was not especially sure on her feet lately, the way her balance was continually changing with the advancing pregnancy. Soon, though, he saw that his concerns had been largely unfounded, as Liz moved across the log a good bit more gracefully and with greater speed than he had, reaching its rocky terminus less than a minute later and accepting the hand he offered to her. A successful crossing. Next came a time of waiting as Einar crept up to a fallen spruce where timber met the narrow strip of grass that lay between them and the aspens, scanning the meadow for movement, for the slightest hint of anything out of place, not finding it but still remaining hesitant about exposing themselves out in the open. Bracing his elbows on the trunk of the spruce, he further inspected the meadow, running his eyes over what he could see of the oak slopes above, losing himself for a time amongst the aspens with their

undergrowth of bracken ferns, wild geranium and fireweed, but finding nothing of concern. Only then did he decide it a reasonable risk to dart across the grassy strip and into the aspens, but in turning back to tell Liz of his decision, he realized she was nowhere in sight. Searched for her--slowing down and forcing himself to think for few heart-pounding seconds of near-panic in which he had almost convinced himself shed been discovered, taken--by seeking out and following the faint scrapings of her tracks there in the spruce duff, finally finding her lying quite contentedly beneath a stand of small, young spruces, a filtered sunlight falling through the sparse cover of their scrawny boughs to leave her looking immensely lovely as she added a small handful of whiteflowered violets and their greens to a pile that she had apparently been amassing for much of the time he had spent in surveying the meadow. Seeing him she smiled, got to her knees, gathering the greens and blossoms in both hands and holding them out to him. I thought we could use some salad with dinner, and these things seem to be very plentiful here. And I found some orchids, too! Look. Heres one, and she pointed out to him a diminutive purplish-pink flower, rising alone on a narrow, straight stem of the same color from the moss-covered forest floor. It was unmistakably orchid-like in shape, the slipper portion of the flower lined with vertical yellow and white stripes on the inside. Einar knelt briefly to inspect it. Well, dont go adding those orchids to our salad, even though they do smell awful good. Fairy slippers, theyre called. Dont know that theyre edible, and are uncommon enough that its a shame to disturb them, really. Usually bloom a lot earlier than this. Must be something special about the conditions here that delayed the blooming. I had no intention of adding them to the salad, but this is the first time Ive seen anything like that, so had to stop and take a look! Ive seen the candy cane sort that have the subdued stripes of white and red on their stems, but nothing like this! Yep, theres a lot in these woods that a person might never discover, unless they really slow down and take it all in. Which tends to happen, when youre living a foraging sort of life like we are! Speaking of which, good job on the violets. Theyll be awfully tasty with whatever dinner we end up having. And I see that youve got a good little pile of yarrow going there, too. Its leaves get so much bigger down here than up in our basin, so it seemed a good idea to take advantage of that and gather as much as I could while we were here. Thats only half of it, the rest is already in my pack. So. What about the meadow? Can we go ahead and cross, and take a look at our future acorn grove? To which Einar nodded his assent, grinning, helping her up and wrapping her newlygathered supply of salad greens in a skunk cabbage leaf for later use, neither of them having any idea of what awaited them just on the other side of that little strip of meadow.

Pausing for a last glance down the meadow before stepping out of the timber, Einar, atlatl in hand and dart poised for a throw, led them quickly across the fifteen yards of grassy openness that lay between them and the enfolding shelter of the aspens, diving, once on the other side, behind the fallen trunk of one of the massive trees, its offer of concealment having caught his eye from the other side. Nothing. No rush of movement through the bracken above them on the slope, no distant but approaching rumble, and though not yet entirely convinced of the meadows safety, Einar supposed hed taken all reasonable measures to ensure their security while exploring the slopes above the place. He nodded to Liz and together they rose, starting up through the aspens. The situation was a bit unusual, with a screen of well-developed aspens shielding the drier, more open oakslopes, then more aspens up above, where the oaks ran out, but Einar was grateful for the nearly unbroken wall of mature aspens that would keep their acorn scouting--and later gathering--largely from view of anyone who might happen to make their way through the meadow. The only place where things opened up a bit more was at the gap through which they had the previous evening observed the elk preparing to bed down, and it was, working his way up through the aspens, this gap towards which Einar was headed, wanting to take a look at the elk sign. Which proved to be quite plentiful, the little clearing with its abundance of tall, already mostly-yellowed grass and easy oak forage apparently being a rather popular place for the elk to spend time, ground littered with droppings and crisscrossed with the large, distinctive tracks of what Einar estimated to be a herd of fifteen or twenty of the animals. The elk themselves were gone--though the distinctive scent, almost fennel-like, Einar had always thought, of their urine lingered heavily in the air--having wandered up to higher, greener pastures for the day, no doubt, up into the massive aspen forests that covered the slopes with a lively green mantle up were oaks ran out, munching on serviceberry scrub and grasses as they went, but largely ignoring the oaks. Their dry leaves and bark would, he knew, prove a food of last resort when winter came, being looked on by the creatures as far less tasty than that of the aspens. Acorns were another story, and he was well aware that they would be competing in their quest to harvest a good many with not only bears and rodents, but the elk as well, who would feast happily on the ripening nuts as they fell. Well. Good thing was, there appeared to be plenty for everyone, the nuts small and still quite green but as plentiful as he remembered seeing them in recent years, clustered heavily on oak scrub that appeared vibrant, healthy and without the foliage diseases that tended to be more prevalent in areas where the hardy plants scraped out a successful but meager existence on insufficient water. Liz had noticed the abundance of little acorns, too, was joyfully hurrying from cluster to cluster of the oaks, already picturing the large willow baskets she needed to construct for their return trip that coming fall, their acorn harvesting trip. The nuts would, she knew, be a tremendous addition to their winter stores, providing a good bit of both fat and protein and offering her a means by which to make for them not only a rich and filling cooked cereal-like meal, but, if she was to go to the work of grinding them into flour, bread of sorts, as well, biscuits, ashcakes, flat, dry cracker-like creations that could be eaten with their soups and stews, loaded up with jam made from re-constituted and honey-sweetened dried serviceberries, chokecherries...

Which, her mouth watering, seemed to her quite an exciting prospect, the variety in their diet a very good thing indeed. It was with her mind thus occupied by the pleasant matters of their future acorn harvest and its uses that Liz stumbled across the tracks. She had, up to that point, observed the deep hoof-troughs left by the elk, deer-like but much larger, mingled with them those of deer, coyotes and a few stout, squared racks that she was fairly certain belonged to bighorn sheep, but when she spotted the large, roughly corrugated arc pressed into the soft soil beside a stand of scrub oaks whose acorns she had been inspecting, she knew immediately that it was not the track of any four-legged mammal. Keeping to the cluster of low, ground-sunk rocks on which she had been standing, wanting to avoid scuffing out any sign, she turned to Einar, wanted to call out to him but restrained herself, kept silent. He heard anyway, glancing up from the spot where he had been intently studying a pile of coyote scat, trying to determine what the creature had been dining on. Liz did not even have to say anything. As soon as Einar saw her eyes he knew something was gravely wrong, paused for a second to listen, glancing up at the sky, at the meadow down below before hurrying to her. She pointed to the impression in the dirt, felt him stiffen at her side, crouching, hand going to his knife. When he spoke it was below a whisper, just a breath that she had to crouch beside him to have any hope of hearing. Pretty fresh, looks like. Sunny day today, warm, and theres still a lot of moisture in here in these tread marks. Hours old, at most. He was probably through here while we were soaking in the river this morning. Wonder where he straightened up, stood, scanning the slopes immediately above them, oak giving way to aspen and, above it, the dark line of what appeared to be a massive spruce forest, its blackness unbroken except by random outcroppings of rock until the slopes angle made further viewing impossible. Wonder where you went, fella? And what was your purpose here? Moving awful casuallike for a man who knows hes hunting deadly game, or being hunted by it, just walking around out in the open, stopping to enjoy the view, and hereyep, right here, setting down your pack, taking something outbinoculars, probably, cause Im guessing youre here for the elk, scouting for elk, planning to come back up here in a few weeks during elk season, either bow or riflebow season ought to be starting pretty soon here, so maybe thats itmaybe by yourself, maybe guiding a couple clients, but either way, it looks like these elk caught your attention same as they did ours, and looks too like we came pretty doggone close to crossing paths, doesnt it? Too close for comfort, as far as Im concerned, and would be for you, too, if you had any idea of the situation you just about walked into the middle of this morning. Huh. No wonder I was so jumpy back there, not wanting to go out in the open and all. Could probably smell you, just not strongly enough for me to have a real clear idea what the trouble was. Hope you didnt smell us. Our fire He shook his head, regretting very strongly their use of the fire but knowing that the way the wind was blowing--same as it had been all morning, which was across the meadow and towards the spot where they had done their cooking--there was slim chance of the man having detected anything. Unless he came down from the other slope, himself, in which casedarn it, Einar, not a good situation, here. But near as I can tell, it sure looks like this guy was probably just here to scout and not to hunt, not hunting us, not suspecting that we might be in the area, even, so bad as this is, we can

probably make our way out of here without having to worry about tracking him down and watching to see if he suspects anything, making some real hard decisions at that point just let him go, go our own way real careful and quick, here, take a roundabout way back to the basin--delay it by a couple days just to make real sure were not being followed, and call it good. Which Einar, human contact of any kind being very nearly the last thing he wanted to face at the moment, might well have done, had it not been for the change he read in the tracks as he followed them up along the edge of the oaks, himself keeping well beneath their concealment and Liz, following him, doing the same. The mans pace had increased, demeanor changed, attitude of casual inspection and sight-seeing replaced by a long, purposeful stride which had carried him up by a good twenty yards in what appeared to have been quite a hurry, steps certain; hed really been going somewhere. He had stopped, then, beside a scraggly little cluster of firs that maintained a tenuous, clinging hold in the thin soil of the long, narrow tall-grass scrub clearing that made its way up the slope from the elk bedding area below, dropping his pack and settling, it appeared, to his knees beside the small island of timber. Crouching there beside the slight impressions left by the intruders knees, Einars blood ran cold when he saw in precisely what direction the man appeared to have been looking, and what would have been visible to him there, if the timing had been just right. Which, judging by the condition of the sign, it might well have been.

Not certain where Bud Kilgore was headed with his question when he asked her if she might be a friend of Mrs. Asmundsons, Susan feigned confusion, shaking her head and preparing to deny knowledge of any such person, but Bud didnt give her the chance. He just grinned, finished his cup of tea in one big gulp, Susans antique teacup--delicate, thin-walled porcelain decorated with sprays and swirls of tiny violets--looking out of place and perhaps in some amount of danger in his big, blunt-fingered hand, pushed it back towards the center of the table, helping himself to one of the recently-baked ginger cookies that sat neatly arranged and until then untouched on a plate whose design matched the cups. Silent until he had finished the cookie--gosh, does this woman know how to cook, he pushed the plate towards Roger, who sat unmoving, observing, urging him to try one--Kilgore leaned forward, elbows on the table, meeting Susans eye. Riddle, then. Liz Riddle, if thats more to your liking, though Im more than certain she regards herself as Mrs. Asmundson at this point, myself. You know, the girl who lived up here with you for a few months before going all feral and joining that crazy old wolverine out there on the run. That Mrs. Asmundson. Susans face impassive, still, but appearing very earnest framed as it was in its frosttinged halo of black curls, she stared Bud down, not at all an easy task. Clearly then, yes, I am a friend of hers. What is your purpose in asking me this? Got a proposal for you, thats what. Couple of them, actually, but the others are gonna have to wait a while. Till the next time the highway gets closed by a mammoth of a

mudslide, maybe. For tonight, only got one thing to discuss, and were gonna have to make it pretty quick, so us two can get out of here before them federal boys take a notion to wonder where weve gone off to. Oh, the mud-clearing was turning into a major project, last I heard. My sons gone down to help out, and hell let me know when hes headed back up this way. The two of you might as well stay for supper if youd be agreeable, and we can discuss this proposal of yours over chicken casserole and cornbread. How does that sound? Awfully good, thats how it sounded to Bud, especially considering the odors that were beginning to waft their way out of the oven to fill the room, but he just shook his head. Ah, no, better be heading out in just a minute or two here, since weve got no way to know for sure when theyll get that mud cleared, and we could use a good head start on the reopening of the road. And besides, I aint hardly fit company for a den full of mangy coyotes, let alone a lady such as yourself. Mangy coyotes? What does that make him then, I wonder? She asked, indicating Roger Kiesl, who, having stood sometime during the exchange as if uncomfortable being so far from the door, now leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed and a look of mild amusement on his face but eyes flashing with well-contained hilarity as he watched Bud trip over himself. Roger? Oh, this here is Roger the Ferret, Maam, and he dont count. Not when it comes to things of that sort, at least. Ferrets, wolverines, coyotesI guess one is as welcome as another to have a meal or two here at the place. You might be surprised what sorts of critters have eaten here, from time to time. Kilgore narrowed his eyes, reading perhaps more meaning into the statement than she had intended, perhaps not, thought he saw her nod ever so slightly in response to his silent query, but knew he could have been imagining things, must proceed very cautiously. Is that so? Well then, that cooking of yours sure does smell mighty good, and I guess that muds gonna keep the highway jammed up for a good while, by the sound of things Three of us have got some serious negotiating to do, and it might as well be over supper, if youre agreeable Maam. Which, though still somewhat questioning the motivation of Kilgore and his largely silent companion, she certainly was.

That the unidentified interloper had been in a position to look down and see the spot where they had spent a good hour fishing and bathing that morning was beyond question, as Einar, kneeling very nearly in the impressions left by the mans knees, could himself plainly make out the large, water-worn granite boulders on which they had sat to begin

drying after their swim, and, heart pounding in his throat, he quickly pieced together the story. Though the intruders original intent in coming to the area had fairly clearly been to scout for elk--his initial tracks had lacked the caution and purpose of one, either amateur or professional, who is hunting another man--he had clearly seen something back there a short distance down the slope that had grabbed his attention, leading him to hurry up the hill as if to get a better look at whatever it was. Our smoke. He must have seen our smoke, smelled it maybe, but more likely seen it, because of the way the wind seemed to be blowing all morning, got a glimpse of it and all of a sudden wanted real bad to see where it was coming from. Not a real normal human reaction to smoke, unless he had some reason, himself, to be leery of the presence of other humans--what? Hes a fugitive, himself? Poacher? Maybe just an outfitter who would hate to think someone else has discovered his secret elk-meadow?--that, or maybe he was worried that he was seeing the start of a wildfireit is that season. But in any event, if it was our smoke that first got his attention, at least that means he didnt sit here watching us swim and sun ourselves on the rocks afterwards, and theres a good chance he didnt get a look at us at all, seeing as his tracks seem to head downslope from here and we were real careful and quick about the time spent out in the open. There was another possibility, though, one that left Einar shaking his head and swallowing a sudden compulsion to dive beneath the nearest evergreen for a bit of too-late concealment as it occurred to him. Perhaps the smoke had been irrelevant, a mere afterthought, the man having discovered their presence after having heard their voices down there at the swimming hole, hurried up the hill until they had become visible and watched them through his glasses. If such was the case, and Einar knew that it was at least in theory possible, as voices could carry remarkably well in country like that, especially during the odd lull in the wind, then not only was the man aware that other humans were in the area, but hed got a good look at them, and was probably even then either on his way back to civilization to put in a phone call, or circling around behind them in the hopes of making the capture himself, eliminating the chance that his quarry might make themselves scarce in his absence, ensuring that the reward would be his. Getting to his feet in a hurry Einar grabbed Liz by the arm, gesturing to the low, scraggly line of sub-alpine firs that ascended alongside the open strip of steep grass in which they currently stood, leading her hastily into them and there crouching low on the ground, panting for breath and fighting to steady himself. Got to follow him, Lizzie. Real good chance hes seen us, and if not us, he mustve had a whiff of smoke from our fire, seen a little wisp of it coming up out of those trees, because something obviously caught his attention. Ive got to know what it was, and what he intends on doing about it. Dont want to leave you here by yourself--sure dont, know theres some chance of this fella circling back and trying to get his hands on you, but theres also a much greater chance of us being spotted if we track him together right now than if I go by myself, risks both ways, but less in you staying--but its gonna be safer that way, gonna be better for little Hildegard not to be in the middle of things if I catch up to him and have to take some action. Lots of rocks around here, lots of good places to hide, so how about if I get you settled into one of those, go after this guy and come back for you soon as I know whats happening?

Liz nodded, suddenly a bit white-faced and wishing very much to contest the matter--oh, Einar, I need to go with you this time! Help watch our back trail while you track this guy, make sure you dontget the wrong idea and end up putting yourself in unnecessary danger or run yourself to death trying to catch up to him, decide for some reason that you cant come back, something like thatplease, let me come!--but keeping silent, recognizing in Einars tone a note of unshakable certainty as to the correctness of his plan and seeing little purpose in challenging it. Already he was searching the nearby rock outcroppings for a place of concealment, finding one in the dark shadow of a leaning slab of granite somewhat similar to the one that had provided their shelter that past night, crawling in to check its floor for dryness--it was indeed quite dry, wind-free and already supplied with a good covering of spruce and fir needles, some wind-blown piles of scrub oak leaves providing additional cushioning and insulation--and motioning for Liz to follow. Which she did, lowering herself somewhat laboriously to hands and knees and backing into the confined but thoroughly hidden space, liking it, feeling quite secure. But still not wanting to let Einar go. Too many unknowns, too many things that could go wrong, and how long was she to wait for him there? The rest of the day? All night? What if one day passed into another and still he had not returned? Should she set up camp at their previous sleeping spot and await his return indefinitely? Head back up to the basin, after a time, with no knowledge of his whereabouts or condition to carry on, as best as possible, with their winter preparations, with her life, and that of the child, praying every day for his safe return but growing less and less to expect it? All of this she wanted to ask him, but did not, instead quickly sorting through their packs and making sure he took with him a good portion of the traveling pemmican she had prepared, some additional sheep jerky and dried serviceberries to help sustain him until they met again, tucked the deer hide into his pack only to have him, as soon as she looked away, sneak it back into hers. Liz neednt have worried about expressing her fears about the possible delay in Einars return; he knew what she was thinking. Im hoping to be back later this afternoon with some answers for us, and the all-clear to head back up to the basin. If notwell, youll have to come out to get water after a while, but wont need to go all the way down to the big creek to get it. I can hear water over there in that little draw just the other side of these firs, and that water will be cleaner anyway than the big creek, since you wont be boiling it. If Im not back afterwell, lets make it a day and a night. If Im not back by this time tomorrow, you might as well clear out of here, head down and cross the valley real carefully like we did this morning, keep hidden, minimize sign and head up to our camp from last night. Thatll give you better access to water, a place where you might be able to get some snares going and a good view of the valley, ought to be a pretty safe and comfortable spot to do some waiting. Give me a few days, three, four, at most, and if you havent seen me by thenmight as well pick up and head on home. Use different routes than we came by to make it harder on anyone who might end up wanting to track you, dont cross the red ridge until after dark, you know all the precautions, know how toso you do that, and you go home. Cant risk staying away for too long right now if weve got any choice, or some critter will make bold with that bear fat, and youre gonna need that this winter.

We are. Thats what I said. How does all that sound? Will you do it? Of course Ill do it. Id better get going, then. Hes already got a lead on me, and I dont want that to keep growing. Keep your head down, remember that youve got the bow and six arrows if you need them, and Ill see you soon. At which he shrugged into his pack and rose to go, would have done so without as much as another backwards glance but Liz was beside him, caught him by the arm and pressed him to her, embracing him, whispering a prayer for his safety--watch over this man, guard his steps and his thoughts and bring him back to me--before finally letting him go. A gentle touch to her cheek, to the child in her belly--the gesture rather unlike him--one final reminder about the bow, and he was gone, nose to the ground, tracking, stopping at irregular intervals to glance about like a startled deer in search of danger as he disappeared into the oak scrub.

Liz was not in the least surprised when Einar failed to make a prompt return from his tracking mission; his hope of being back later in the afternoon was, she had known all along, wildly optimistic. She really could not imagine seeing him before the following morning, even if all of the unknown factors involved worked together to allow things to go as well as they possibly could, and after lying quietly in the shelter for a good half hour after Einars departure, listening, trying to make as sure as she could that no danger was imminent, she began to prepare accordingly. Her water carrier was nearly full, having been replenished at the creek just after their having crossed it, and, its capacity being somewhat over a quart, she knew that she shouldnt be needing water before morning, as well-hydrated as she had begun the day. Shouldnt be needing too much food, either, after the trout-feast the two of them had shared, having consumed well over a pound of the delicious stuff herself and still feeling quite thoroughly satisfied, but she did have food if the need should arise, her pack containing a good bit still of the traveling pemmican she had concocted for the two of them, jerky, additional bear fat, serviceberries and a bit of honey, even. Shed be just fine. And so would Einar, provided he could remember to eat, to slow down and take a break now and then in his intensive tracking effort, of which she knew there was little to no chance, realistically. Well. At least he has the supplies, and will surely think to dip into them if this should end up taking longer thanhowever long he anticipates it taking. Has food, water, the deer hide, and Opening her pack, thoughts of the deer hide having reminded her that it would be a good idea to get out the ewe hide and prepare her bed while there was still plenty of daylight left, her face fell. There, rolled up and hastily stuffed in on top of everything else, sat the deer hide, Einar having apparently returned it to her before heading out, an act designed to escape her notice, as she certainly would have insisted on

his taking it. Goofy guy, youre going to freeze out there without this! Guess Ill just have to hope you keep moving all night, to help keep yourself warm. I know you can do that, and almost certainly will if you havent caught up to the intruder before dark. Unless you dont know for sure where hed headed, and are afraid of losing his trail. In which caseat least were down lower, its a warm day, and hopefully the night will be somewhat similar. Though last night wasnt, really. Well. Not much I can do about it, is there? And since you left me both hides, I guess I might as well use them. Which she did, preparing a bed on a pile of oak leaves and fir needles, well-cushioned and warm, and she wishing only that Einar was there to share it with her, either that, or she out there with him working through the night to figure out the nature and intent of their unwelcome visitor.

Closely paralleling the timber but keeping to the more open ground of the grassy incline, the man had hurried downhill after observing the smoke, their bathing activities or whatever it was that had alerted him to the presence of other humans, and Einar followed, himself sticking to the timber in the hopes of remaining concealed should the man be watching. Didnt get the sense that he was being watched, but then, neither had he that morning while splashing about in the river and waiting for the fish to cook, had been alert and somewhat on edge, of course, but no more than usual when spending his first day in an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous place, and the fact worried him some, led him to believe that the individual on whose trail he had just started out was at least somewhat competent in the woods, able to blend with his surroundings almost to the point of becoming a part of them, avoid being seen or even sensed, quiet, in more ways than one. Not a good sign. But could as easily describe an experienced hunter as it could a trained professional of one variety or another and, considering the mans casual aspect prior to seeing their sign, that was almost certainly the more likely explanation. Hunter. Outfitter. Outdoorsman of some sort or another, scouting for elk and seeing something that he hadnt bargained for. Down. He was still heading down, the sure, direct steps of a man who knew where he was going, and Einar followed as quickly as caution and good sense would allow, reading the mans motions, trying to get a sense for the person, himself, and praying that he hadnt managed to spot the two of them amongst the oak scrub, hadnt decided to circle back. This was, aside from the rather troubling fact of having apparently been seen or at least detected in the first place, perhaps his primary concern--that the man might double back, discover at some point their sign in the open oak country, follow it and find Liz. At which point Einar, who would of course have been on his trail all that time and would, considering the relatively short distance such a maneuver would involve, come upon the situation shortly after it developed, would find himself facing exactly the sort of hostage rescue situation that had plagued his nightmares while out conducting recon on the group of mountain goat photographers. He shuddered, tightened his grip on the atlatl. Not a likely scenario, really, seeing that the man was alone and, at least for the moment, showing no sign at all of wanting to double back, not stopping to look around behind him, displaying none of the characteristic habits of a man who believes the object of his

attentions may have moved significantly, and may pose him a threat. Instead, he continued with his downward course, unwavering, traveling in an almost-straight line for the creek. Reaching the water, crossing by a series of old, water-worn tree trunks that had been washed down and lodged against the rocks at high water some spring, probably that past spring, and Einar crouched in the brush beside the first segment of the improvised bridge, listening, reaching out with all of his senses for any sign that the man might be waiting in ambush for him to expose himself for the good thirty seconds or more that it would likely take him to puck his way across, but finding nothing. Which didnt mean it was safe, not necessarily, but he had to give it a try, couldnt--assuming he was still moving--allow the man to keep gaining on him, give him the chance perhaps to double back on Liz, not a likely thing; he would have already been there before I left, if hed kept going at this paceand what if he was? There. Watching, waiting for you to leave before he moved in andenough! Go. Cross the creek. Which he did, balancing at times precariously on logs whose stability was far less than the spruce the two of them had earlier used as a bridge, their surfaces bare, barkless, slippery, but he made it, picked up the trail on the creeks far side, realizing as he did so that it appeared the man was headed right for the spot where theyd enjoyed their meal of trout. A suspicion confirmed as he trailed the subject along the creek, seeing where the man had cast back and forth with some uncertainty near the spot where theyd left their sunning rocks and climbed up the slope by a number of yards in search of a good spot for a fire, seeking, apparently, the source of the smoke that he must have by that point smelled, if only a lingering hint of its odor. And had found it. The mans tracks were all around their little lunch spot, impressions dug into the spruce duff where he had knelt and poked at the dead and soil-buried remains of the coals, turning them over, pressing, Einar could see, with his hand as if in an attempt to determine how recently they had been extinguished, feeling for warmth. Not good. Yet the man, for all his attention to the site, was clearly not a terribly experienced tracker, at least when it came to critters of the two-legged variety, as he had twice crossed their own trail from earlier--plainly visible to Einar--without so much as stopping to give it a second look, hadnt so far as Einar could determine, even noticed it. Seemed to have zeroed in on the sight or scent of that smoke to the exclusion of everything else, until he had found its source. After which Einar studied the scene, puzzled at first as to where the mans steps had taken him after his inspection of the fire site, for he had very clearly not struck out along the trail he and Liz had made after rising from their meal, as Einar had expected him to do. Seeming to ignore that sign altogether, the man had taken off down the valley at what appeared to be very nearly run, paralleling the creek but keeping to the timber where the open ground between spruces offered him faster travel than the rocky creek bank would have. Well. Looks like I was worrying needlessly about you circling around on Liz, but whats this? Something spooked you, here? Made you decide to get out of here in one major hurry? Hope you were spooked, and not looking to hurry so youd have a better chance of collecting on that reward moneyunless you saw us down at the river, Im not sure

what about the smoke and this little camp would convince you it was us, and not a couple of hikers or hunters or just about anyone, though. So maybe the problems just that you dont like company any better than I do, who knows? Dont want to share your little valley spot with anyone, so decided to light out soon as you confirmed that it was human critters, and not the remnants of some random lightening strike making that little bit of smokewhich is probably just wishful thinking on my part, because you were clearly scouting for elk over there, doing it like you were on a mission, and what outfitter or hunter is likely to spook at the realization that there might be a couple of hikers in his valley? Nope, far more likely is that you saw us take our baths down at the river--yikes! Mighty scary sight, at least on my account; no wonder youre running so fast--realized or at least suspected who you were looking at, and decided to go down to your truck to put in the call. Well fella, thats not gonna go. Cant let you do that, cant have folks prowling all over this valley looking for us. Too close to home. Guess the only question now is whether youre gonna get down to that truck before I get to you, or not. I may not be as quick as I ought be, at the moment, still a little gimpy from the bad foot and start to wear out sooner than Im used to, but your chances still arent looking so good, unless youve got more of a lead than I think you have. With which silent statement Einar was already moving again, following the trail of scuff marks, broken stems and knocked-apart chunks and ends of punky fallen trees--the man was far from cautious, seemed to have no worry about being followed--as it wound its way down along the creek.

Darkness was coming, and Einar, moving with ever greater speed while keeping himself carefully to the trail, did not know how he was to go on. His vision had been noticeably less keen of late, blurring at times and fading more quickly than he was used to expecting with the coming of dusk--an aggravating situation, and one he hoped might begin to reverse itself just a bit as he regained a bit of the weight hed lost over the past months and made eating a regular habit once again, but he wasnt entirely certain what to expect, never having had such difficulties to the extent he was currently experiencing--and he knew that he absolutely could not afford to lose the trail in the night, go off on the wrong route and have to retrace his steps. But neither could he simply sit down in a quarter of an hour or so and wait for daylight, as the man might very well have made good on his escape by then, returning to civilization to bring the search down on their heads, if that was his intent. Best option, fraught as it was with potential pitfalls, seemed to lie in his continuing to move, following the trail for as long as visual clues were available to him and then maintaining his course on what he took to be the path his quarry would most likely choose. And then hope very much not to pass him on the trail In the darkness on the way down. Ha! And reach his truck before he does One can learn a good deal about a man in an hours tracking, and one of the things Einar had learned was that the subject of his search had a propensity, common in many humans, though not, he thought a bit ruefully, in himself, to stick to the easiest path, avoiding obstacles while keeping well within sight of the creek. Assuming that the creek led out of

the high country, which it inevitably did, and assuming at the same time that the mans intention was to walk out as expediently as possible--an awful lot of assuming here Einar, pretty dangerous, but at least youve got a few facts to back it up this time--then he ought to be reasonably safe in continuing to follow the creek, himself. Which was a good thing, assuming it was true, for with the last of the light finally fading, sky easing from grey towards a definite black and details of the ground there beneath the timber all but entirely obscured to him, Einar realized that he wasnt going to be doing too much more visual tracking that night. Would have to rely on his other senses to keep him moving through the woods, creek-sounds measuring for him his distance from the water and the dangersense that had so often stepped in to spare him from disaster hopefully alerting him if and when he began drawing near to his quarry. With the coming of night a chill settled over the valley, and Einar, walking, moving silently and with a good deal of practiced ease through the darkness of the timber, could feel the pockets of cooler air as he walked through them, clinging in little coves and ground-dips near the creek, pulled along by the flowing of its waters and feeling all the more sharp with its added humidity, and he shivered, stopped to retrieve his hat from the pack. Knew he ought to eat something if he wanted to have the energy to keep up the chase, to do whatever had to be done at the end of it, and he dug out a morsel of Lizs pemmican, gulped it down with a mouthful of water and resumed his movements. Could tell he would be just fine, temperature-wise, as long as he kept moving, and if he had to stop for a timewell, another bite or two of the pemmican would help keep him warm. Or a grouse. Sure would be something if I would stumble on a grouse in his sleep, manage to take him real silently and enjoy a meal of still-warm bird whenever I stopyep, that would be just the thing His mind thus occupied perhaps to an undue extent with thoughts of food--seemed it didnt take much, those days, to put him into a state where he was all but seeing and tasting various elements of the feast his body was so badly needing, and was quite literally smelling them, despite occasional efforts to remind himself that none of it was real--the smoke-odor, when it came, took Einar rather by surprise, brought him up short, every sense suddenly on the alert. Still as the night was, barely a whisper of wind stirring there on the valley floor, he knew the source of the smoke must be fairly close, especially considering that the creek would tend to draw scents down-valley as it flowed, and he stood for a time testing the air, listening, but unable to gather any further information due to the nearby rush and rustle of the water. Breaking from his creek-side course and beginning a careful climb up the nearby steepness of a timber-slope, he slowly left the valley floor behind, searching for the smokes origin and, after almost managing to convince himself that he had imagined the entire thing, had dreamed it up as he had the grouse, strange result, perhaps, of his bodys wanting a bit of warmth and rest for the night, finding it. Not far at all from the creek, the little fire blinked orange through the timber; his quarry had apparently chosen to call it a night, and Einar worked his way in closer, cautious, slow, testing each step before committing to it in an effort to avoid snapping the smallest stick or rustling a bit of vegetation, and giving himself away. Only when he was within yards of the camp did he stop, eyes shielded from the fires glow by a stand of small, shade-stunted firs that were struggling to grow up beneath the overarching timber canopy, so close that he could feel occasional waves of warmth as

they rolled off of the fire and were carried his way by the gentle whisper of a creekbreeze that breathed its way down the valley that night. Supposing the spot as good as any he might expect to find for a bit of hidden observation he sat down with a great silent sigh, legs and arms suddenly feeling leaden, useless, limp as his recent exertion caught up to him just a bit--not good, got to be ready. For all you know hes sneaking up around behind you even as you sit here, having left this bait-fire, and watched as you took the bait--trembling with weariness and a hunger that his little snack of pemmican had not even come close to touching. There was to be no all-night chase, after all, and he had to admit to a bit of relief at the realization. Which relief, blessed as it was at the moment, was to be rather short lived as his eyes adapted to the brightness of the fire-glow and he realized just what he was seeing.

The man was not alone. Clearly and unmistakably, the firelight flickered on two distinct sets of features, seated opposite each other across from the fire, one of the ill-defined forms clearly belonging to a person shorter than the one that he had been tracking. A major complication, as he now had two to deal with instead of the one he had been anticipating, and after observing silently for another minute--the pair wasnt, at the moment, very talkative at all, apparently being somewhat weary from a long day on the trail--he began creeping closer, hoping to learn something about them, their business in the area and, most of all, to discover what the tall one was thinking, what he might have seen, aside from the remains of their dead fire. The pairs presence left him in quite a quandary. Ideally, he would watch them through the night, shadow them in the morning and escort them safely out of the backcountry, hopefully seeing the last of them as they reached the trailhead or parking spot or wherever they had come from, no one the wiser as to how close they had come to disaster. That scenario, while it was the one he hoped for, left the obvious risk that the Tall One might have spotted them at their bathing, might very well be intending to report the sighting at the first opportunity and bring an active search down on them, but the other alternative, the one that involved the intruders donating their bodies to the local wildlife, came with its own perhaps greater set of risks. The pair would almost certainly be missed, no matter they might happen to be, their delayed return likely triggering a search of its own and the bodies, if found, bringing the area a level of scrutiny that the intruders report of a dead campfire had no chance of doing. They wouldnt be found, though, not if he had anything to do with it, which of course he would, if it came to that. The deed would, to his thinking, be a legitimate act of self defense and even more importantly defense of Liz and the child that they would very likely end up losing, either sooner or later, if forced to run again just then. One of the men was speaking, and Einar very carefully inched forward on his belly, head turned sideways to further lower his profile and ear scraping the ground, finally reaching a place where he could begin to make out their words over the rush of the water, the quiet but constant crackling of the pitchy spruce wood that was fuelling their fire. Only to discover that the shorter man, the one who had apparently met his erstwhile quarry there at the campwas not a man at all. And she wasnt happy.

The woman was speaking in low tones, nothing too shrill or too loud, but her displeasure was unmistakable, and Einar raised his head by a cautious few inches, still keeping well below the radiating glow of the campfire, in an attempt to catch her meaning. just some backpacker, but I dont know why theyd be camped out across from the bedding area like that, unless they were here to scope it out. Just not the most likely place for a person to camp, especially with all these little meadows nearby Im telling you, its probably Howard. Remember that one year when he followed us up Hawk Creek and set up his camp no more than a mile above ours? He lets us do the scouting work, then tags along to Shifting position then, the woman turned away so that Einar could no longer make out her words, but by that time he had got the gist of it. They didnt know. Didnt even suspect, from the sound of things, whose fire they had discovered, their major concern being that another hunter or, worst of all, competing outfitter might be reconnoitering their chosen hunting grounds ahead of the start of rifle season. They even had a name for the suspect, which clearly meant that the man had not spotted either he or Liz at their bathing, was acting solely on the discovery of the smoke, and of finding the recently-dead fire. A major relief, but Einar found himself uncertain to what degree he ought to trust it, knew he still needed more information before allowing the pair to go on their way, and must, in any event, watch them for the night and make sure they truly were leaving the high country in the morning, rather than deciding to return to the elk-meadows for a second look. Finishing with their supper--freeze dried meals of some sort in foil pouches, and Einar was pretty sure he smelled chili; the only discussion of food involved their breakfast, which apparently was to consist of a special mix of fresh potatoes, peppers and sausage that the woman had prepared and stashed away in her pack--they suspend their packs in a tree some distance from camp to keep them from bears, in the night, and Einars mouth watered as he thought of that breakfast of sausage, peppers and potatoes, at the ease with which he could wait until they fell asleep, liberate the packs and make off with that food Nodding sleepily as the couple went to bed and the fire began dying down but knowing that he must not give in to his weariness, perhaps allowing them a chance to slip away, work in behind him--still wasnt entirely trusting their motives--or even accidentally stumble over him in some ill-advised midnight wander or another, Einar was grateful for the deepening chill that had descended over the valley on that clear, brilliantly-starred night, for it was the only thing making it possible for him to stay awake. Making it all but impossible to sleep, actually, even had he wanted to, as the spot where he had ended up--close enough to overhear any conversation that might take place in the camp, but out of what he expected to be the area where they might reasonably be expected to wander for nighttime bathroom breaks--was, though well-hidden and protected to a slight degree from the occasional breezes that whispered their way down along the water, nearly devoid of ground littler of any type. The needles that had fallen from the overhead evergreens had, it seemed, been almost entirely scoured away by the winds stronger than the area was seeing that night and

deposited somewhere down below--probably right where those two are campingha! That may be exactly why they chose the place--so that his resting spot that night consisted largely of rocks, bare, cold slabs of granite that hurt his scrawny backside no mater how often he changed position and drew the heat out of him with a speed that would have been quite alarming, had the season been a colder one. As it was, though perhaps not placing him in any great danger, the circumstances did leave him stiff and shivering before the night had halfway spent itself, huddled there with teeth chattering against his knees and arms wrapped rather futilely around his legs, body tense and aching with the cold. Hed finally shrugged out of his sweater, sticking it beneath him for a cushion, and it was helping, but had left his top half rather more chilly than before, and he looking a bit longingly at the living orange glow of the few coals that remained viable in the camp down below, his mind, apparently needing something to keep it occupied as it passed the time and to divert its attention from the not-insignificant amount of bodily discomfort he was currently enduring, devised an elaborate scheme by which he would creep down there without waking the intruders, warm himself over those coals and then--ah, this is the best part, and he reveled in every minute detail of it--silently raid their suspended packs for anything edible, snag the down jacket that hung outside the tent and retreat to the timber, warm, feasting, forget it. Youre not going down there, and you know it. So he contented himself with a tiny taste of pemmican, savoring each morsel and wrapping his arms more tightly around himself against the chill. He had been out of water since sometime early in the evening and--hadnt wanted to stop to re-supply lest he lose moments of precious daylight--was noticeably dehydrated after the long hours of tracking and did not want to ask his body to digest a large quantity of the stuff just then, but the taste served only to whet his appetite, to remind him that he could be warm for awhile, or something close to it, if only hed go ahead and finish that packet of pemmican. Yeah, youd be warm, and then youd sleep. No deal. Come to think of it, youd probably be a good bit warmer if youd wear this sweater instead of sitting on it, but in that case Im afraid your legs might end up too stiff to be of much use if you have to react quickly to anything in the night, and that just wouldnt do. Besides, youre already losing a lot of heat to these rocks, and that would get worse in a hurry without some sort of cushion under you. Youve done nights like this before, and more than once. Quit wanting something different, and do your job, here. Which involved keeping vigil through the night, keeping eyes on that camp and making sure no one tried to slip away undercover of darkness, which he didnt expect, but one can never be too cautious, when it comes to such things. Was--the thought had been dancing around at the edge of his consciousness for some time, and he had so far successfully repelled it as an imposter, but it was as the night wore on appearing somehow more and more plausible--a chance that the entire camp might be a setup, the interactions between the two individuals a ruse to put him at ease while they waited for the final elements of the trap to be moved into placeit would fit, would explain why the man had not gone to any great effort to conceal his tracks up in the elk meadows, had left them there to be discovered, to act as bait, and he, Einar, had fallen for it, had followed him back down to a place which they had for some reason decided was ideal for capture, or pretty close to it, and in that case they probably already had Liz, had moved in and taken her as soon as he was out of sight, to eliminate any chance of her following him, warning him or fighting at his side when the assault team

landed and moved in for the capturedont know what I was thinking back there, Lizzie! How could I not have seen this coming? And the thought occurred to him that if the campers were indeed federal scouts of some type they would almost certainly be armed, in which case there was at least some chance that he might be able to disarm them in a surprise raid on their camp, get to them before they could call for help and thus put himself in a better position to resist the assault when it did come, but he didnt do it, something held him back and kept him there shivering and immobile through hour after hour of the long night, waiting, watching, pleading for guidance, for Lizs safety and for wisdom and strength to meet the foe, and getting it--though not exactly in the form he might have had in mind--in the staying hand that held him back. Morning came, and Einar, weary-eyed and somewhat surprised that the place hadnt been raided in the night when the enemy would have had the advantage of infrared and night vision technologies to spot and eliminate him, watched as the camp began showing signs of life. The man rose first, bringing the fire to life and suspending a pot of water to heat, retrieving packs from their bear-trees and setting about breakfast preparations. It seemed to Einar that the temperature had dropped significantly with the coming of daylight, not an unlikely happening, and one that he knew would begin to reverse itself quickly when the sun showed itself, but for the moment he was beginning to feel near the end of his resources as far as keeping himself from slipping too far into a hypothermic haze--ha! Been there most of the night Im pretty sure, so what are you complaining about?-without rising and moving about to get the blood flowing. Didnt do it, though, mustnt, as long as the campers were seated so close by enjoying their breakfast of fried potatoes, sausage, peppers and eggs--he could smell each of the elements, entertained himself for a while with picking them out and studying them, one by one, until the exercise left his stomach too badly cramped up with hunger, and he abandoned it--so he waited. After a leisurely breakfast the pair began breaking down camp, packing away the tent and cooking implements, preparing to be on their way, Einar remaining hidden and immobile throughout the entire process, watching them. Not until they had made their final inspection of the camp, shrugged into packs and started out down the creek did Einar finally dare to rise and stretch, moving muscles weary and unwilling with cold and nearly falling over on his first attempt, but making it, remaining standing. Took him a good five minutes to get things stretched out and warmed up sufficiently that he could begin to trust himself not to be terribly clumsy and awkward on the rocks that lay between him and the creek--would have been a mighty funny sight if they really had been after you last night, had crept up on you and youd tried to fight them offfunny, at least, to a casual observer, though not so funny to you--which was at the moment his primary objective. Passing through the abandoned camp on his way down to the water, Einar searched it for anything that might have been left behind, a scrap of foil or cloth that he might find useful, bits of food, anythingbut the pair had apparently been practicing nearly flawless wilderness ethics, and had left almost nothing behind. He did find--much to his delight-a good-sized chunk of potato and an attached sausage fragment which had apparently fallen to the ground and been discarded as unsalvageable when the diners saw that it was covered rather thoroughly in spruce needles, and he crouched there for a time inspecting it, inhaling its incredible scent and wondering, the shadow of the past nights doubts still

hanging heavily over him, whether he dared eat it. Could very well be poisoned, left there to temp him almost irresistibly while carefully placed to appear a bit of incidental and entirely non-threatening cast-off from the campers breakfast, its purpose being to incapacitate him with the powerful sedative that would allow his enemy to move in and capture him with ease some time later, and, a nauseous little shiver passing through him at the thought, he carefully replaced the food where hed found it--heavenly aroma still strong in his nose and mouth, nearly in tears at the loss--sifting spruce needles over it and wiping his hands vigorously on his pants to remove any poison that might have transferred. Now. To the creek. Einar was thirsty, had drained his water carrier while tracking and had not made the effort to access the creek that night, and now, all danger of discovery removed with the departure of the pair, he knelt beside it, scooping up great double handsful of the wonderful, ice-cold liquid. Pausing to refill his canteen, he caught his breath for a moment, listening for danger, hearing nothing and returning to tanking up on the water, managing to replace some of the fluids whose loss he had felt so keenly in the night, but feeling cold, sluggish and a little sick after such a great and sudden intake of water, shuddering as he got to his feet. Alright. A little distance is good, but I dont want them getting too far ahead.

Through the morning Einar trailed the retreating pair, heartened at first by the direct line they seemed to be taking down out of the high country, following the creek and almost never turning off from it, except once or twice to explore the small side-gullies and couloirs that descended steeply from the high escarpments above, apparently inspecting them for elk sign in a quest to see whether or not the creatures used those drainages as access points up onto the high ridges and plateaus that surrounded the valley. His jubilation--gonna be headed back up there to Liz before sunset, if this keeps up!--was soon replaced by a sense of growing concern as he watched them break off sharply from the creek, cutting up into a grove of aspens and disappearing up the spruce-spine that rose steep rocky above it. They were, by all appearances, cutting back in the direction of Liz and the elk-meadows, and he hurried to follow, seeking a concealed spot in which to cross the creek on the chance that they might be watching it from their higher position, and finding it in a thicket of willows, tall, dense and healthy with their ready supply of water, that clustered around both banks of the creek for a space. Moving carefully so as to minimize the swaying of the long, supple stems he worked his way down to the water, saw immediately that there was no handy bridge, no path of closely-spaced rocks or fallen tree for him to walk across. The couple had used a fallen tree some distance downstream of his willow grove. Hed seen them do it, but did not dare risk himself out in the open to follow suit. Recognizing the situation for what it was he quickly removed his boots, tying them together and slinging them over his shoulder, preparing to wade across. Einars chosen fording spot was far from ideal in all areas aside from that of concealment, which was of course his primary concern at the moment, but it did not take him long to realize that the water was swift and fairly deep just there,

the water being squeezed into a narrower channel than down a bit lower in the wideropen ground of the meadow. Despite the less-than-ideal conditions he managed to hold his own through the waist-deep channel of water that lay immediately beyond the bank, slipping only once and very nearly going down when the healed-over but still rather sensitive skin of his toeless foot came up short against a rather solid and roughlyfractured chunk of granite. Barely suppressing a howl at the hurt that radiated up through his leg at the contact, he stood nearly doubled over for a moment, just trying to breathe, to keep himself from losing his tenuous stance in the swift water, every sense screaming at him to get moving, get out of the water, as he was far too visible there, willows or not. Especially if there were others in the area beyond the pair he knew about, still a scenario that was rattling around in his mind, and then he was moving again, step by step through the water, facing upstream and ignoring as well as he could the stabbing pains in his foot and leg. Was mostly numb from the waist down by that point anyway, and though the numbness was not, it seemed, quite sufficient to dull the aggravated nerves in his foot, the force of the water necessitated a firm and solid use of both legs, which is exactly what he did, hauling himself up out of the water on the other side and glancing around to make sure he was well within the concealing thickness of the willows before sinking to the ground in a trembling heap, grabbing the battered foot and rocking back and forth as he fought to regain his breath. That accomplished to some degree, he looked over his gear and was glad to see that nothing had been lost in the little slip that had followed his stubbing his foot, boots still right where he had left them, and mostly dry, too, which was a major relief, considering the unknown number of miles that lay ahead of him that day. Better get started. Trouble came when he went to put his boots back on, finding the bashed end of his right foot already to have swollen significantly, making it all but impossible for him to get his sock back on. After a few painful and largely futile tries he gave up on the sock, stashing it in his pack and easing the boot on without it, a difficult enough task in its own right. Gonna need to pad the toe end of this thing with some usnea, but dont see any down here in the willows. Have to keep an eye out for it once I get up in the timber. Back on the trail, Einar found the spot where the pair had climbed up through the aspens, their trail plainly visible in the disturbed grasses and soft-stemmed clusters of lupine and yellow sweet clover left in their wake. Tracking became a bit more difficult after they entered the timber, Einar scrutinizing the ground for the more subtle scuffs and slides that marked their passage, finding them, following, but he was not moving as quickly as he might have liked. The foot was giving him major trouble, slowing his pace and leaving him, despite his efforts at using it normally, with a major limp. Well. Itll heal. Again. In the meantime, Ive got to keep up with these two, got to see what theyre up to, headed back in this direction. Wish I could have been tailing them closely enough to hear any bits of conversation that might have been going on, but just wasnt possible back there, and I sure didnt hear them say anything about it last night. Might just assume they were following some elk sign, except that I dont really see any up in here. This looks like a real purposeful change in direction, and I sure cant understand it. They seemed so set on walking out earlier, and now theyre headed right back up into the high country at a real good pace. And headed for a ridge that, if they reach and follow it, will lead them

directly back to a spot above the elk meadows and the spot in the creek where we were bathing. Whatve they done, hiked down to where they could put in the call, and now theyre doubling back so they can watch the action? Call in the choppers, pop some smoke and show em where to go? Certainly are a number of suitable spots up there in the elk meadows And suddenly his pace picked up, injured, throbbing foot all but forgotten in his haste to close the distance between himself and the suddenly far more suspicious intruders, to return to the spot where he had left Liz. Who, he hoped, had kept to the schedule they had worked out together and left the oaks sometime within the past few hours, retreating to their former camp way up on the opposite slope. There, at least, she would be some distance from where they might have been spotted, a good two or three hundred feet above the dead fire that the hiker had searched for and stumbled upon. Sure hope you kept to that, Lizzie. Which indeed she had, waiting the agreed-upon day and night there in her little shelter of stone, leaving it only to obtain water from the nearby trickle of a creek that sang and clattered down through the nearby gulley and spending the night curled up fairly comfortably on her bed of oak leaves and spruce needles and wrapped against the chill of the night in both hides, her sleep disturbed only by the knowledge that Einar was likely experiencing a far less comfortable night out there on the trail, and she spent her waking moments in prayer for him, that he would be protected, warmed, brought safely through the night and back to her. With the coming of morning she had eaten a breakfast of cold pemmican--might have tasted better as stew, but with the little one demanding everincreasing shares of her resources, she was quite content to gobble it up cold just to begin satisfying her hunger, following it with half a container full of the good clear water she had obtained that past night from the tiny creek. Rising, stretching her legs but not venturing far from the shelter, as they had agreed upon, she studied the morning--clear and promising another warm day--before returning to the creek to top off her water carrier. The place was quiet that morning with no sign of other people about, not surprising to her, but she knew it would have been a comfort to Einar, suspicious as he had been of the man whose tracks they had found, and when she climbed back up to the top of the gully after getting water and stepped out into the first stand of firs that bordered the steeply-angled oak meadows, it was to witness a group of five cow elk and their half-grown young rising for the morning. They hadnt seen her, not yet, and she froze, going into a cautious crouch and watching the great beasts rise and go about their morning routine of munching on the surrounding grass and soft, apparently tasty aspen leaves before meandering down towards the big creek for their morning drink. Quite a sight, and their nearness--several of the animals had been sleeping no more than twenty or thirty yards from her own nighttime shelter--left her grinning and excited, wishing Einar was there so she could tell him what she had just witnessed. And wishing also that their circumstances were such that she might have been able to try her hand with the bow, hopefully bringing down one of those large cows to add its meat to their winter supply, the large, heavy hide providing another warm garment or two for the coming months of cold and snow. She saw now, though, that the time was not right, their discovery of the recent human tracks confirming for her what Einar said about them needing to minimize their time spent in the valley just then, reduce their visibility while

down so low, but she hoped they might have the opportunity to take a similar elk up in their area. Early that afternoon, as she and Einar had discussed, Liz reluctantly packed up and left her little rock shelter, setting out for the creek and for their past nights camp up on the opposite slope, where--she didnt want to think that far ahead, but knew she had to--he had instructed her to wait three or four days for his return, after which, if he had not shown himself, she was to head back alone to their high basin home. A time that she very much hoped and prayed would not come.

Up through the timber Einar trailed the pair, their zigzagging course roughly following an aspen-choked couloir that rose steep and far less passable than their current heavily-treed route. Einar could not help but hope they might stick to their current climbing strategy rather than taking off up that couloir, as much trouble as that foot was presently giving him. Even the slow, deliberating steps required by his tracking duties were posing him a major challenge as the swelling in his foot worsened, and he knew he would be in for trouble if his course took him over the rough, scree-strewn slope. Already his balance was suffering, the leg threatening to give way beneath him if he let his focus waver in the slightest. Which, engaged as he was in a tracking exercise, he was certainly wont to do, from time to time. So he pushed forward, ignoring the foot as much as possible as he settled into a rhythm that naturally spared it just a bit, making good progress but not, to his dismay, approaching so nearly as to once again bring them within sight. They were still moving more quickly than he. And still heading back up the valley, back towards the place where hed left Liz. Again he tried to pick up his pace, wishing he had a bit of willow bark to chew for the foot--should have grabbed some down there at the creek, but wasnt exactly thinking about that, at the moment--and then remembering that he did have some after all, coiled up in the little pouch around his neck, in amongst the tinder pellets, jerky and bits of yarrow that were always with him, and he fished it out, softened a length of it in his mouth, and chewed. The willow bark helped, if only slightly, allowing him just a bit more leeway when it came to ignoring the foot and pressing on. And probably in the end doing it more damage than if you just slowed down, but cant do that right now. Thingll be fine, anyway. Just a bad bruise in a real unfortunate spot, thats all. That, and some swelling. Itll heal and--ha!--Ive already iced it, couldnt avoid doing that, so maybe thatll help. Would have to help. Have to be enough. He didnt have time to give it any further attention just then. The couple had, it appeared, left the timber and started across the couloir, a puzzling development considering the fact that the timbered slope still offered the easiest way to the top, if indeed the top was their ultimate goal. Likely as that seemed, Einar knew better than to take that for granted, to take anything for granted, as a mistake of that magnitude--he was tempted to simply continue his climb up through the timber, search out their trail on the ridge above, where he was fairly certain they must be headed--would leave him far behind and perhaps unable to catch up to his quarry before dark again descended to inhibit his efforts. Through the couloir, then, and relying heavily on his

spear for balance he started down its steep, rocky side, studying the vegetation on its equally steep upslope and seeing where the pair had scrambled out again, boots sliding here and there in the loose rock, starting miniature rockslides as they grabbed at the spiny stems of a scattering of currant scrub, apparently desperate for a bit of leverage. Feeling suddenly dangerously exposed in rocky openness of the chute, his only cover a smattering of badly stunted baby aspens, Einar took a hasty glance at the steepness looming above him, half expecting to see a cascade of loose rock barreling down on him--if the entire thing was indeed a trap, theyd done a good job, for here he was, standing fully exposed and unable to move beyond a fast limp in its jaws, waiting to be crushed--but finding nothing of the sort. Hurriedly picking his way across the remainder of the chute, he paused for a moments listening in the shelter of a large boulders shadow, heard nothing out of place, and began his scramble up the far side. Struggling, slipping, he ended up using some of the same vegetation the hikers had grabbed to aid themselves with the ascent--the currant-thorns dug into his hands and arms, but he hardly cared, could not afford to care, as it was all he could do to keep himself from sliding back down the sharp, loose-rocked incline, the pain from his foot seeming to radiate all the way up his leg in sickening waves, nearly immobilizing it at times--completing the scramble as quickly as he could and breathing a great sign of relief upon reaching the dark concealment of the timber once again. Hed felt very much as though he was standing in a shooting gallery down there in the couloir, steep and exposed as it had been, though the sense of imminent demise that had come over him during the crossing had, he now saw, likely been somewhat misplaced. Unless the hikers were not alone, were working with aerial surveillance or other men on the ground, it appeared he truly wasnt being watched, his presence unanticipated. The pair had not, he could tell from their sign in the timber there on the edge of the couloir, so much as stopped and turned to look back behind them after the climb. They clearly did not know that they were being followed. Which they were, of course, and as Einar saw it, the following would need to continue until he had some solid idea of their intended destination. At least his present course was taking him in roughly the direction he would have to go to reach Liz, better in some ways than if he had been tracking the pair further and further from her with that much more ground to cover on his return, but Einar wished very much that they might be heading in another direction, would have been more than happy to travel the extra miles, even on his badly swollen and tender foot, just to ensure that they did not end up once again in her vicinity. Had no control over their direction, though, and would not, as long as he remained woefully behind as he so far had, pushing himself very nearly to his limits, but unable to quite catch up. Just have to push harder. Which he did, knowing that he absolutely had to give himself the option of cutting around in front of the pair and making their trail undesirable, hazardous, impassable, find some way of diverting them if they began drawing too close to the spot to which Liz had agreed to retreat. Urging himself up to a pace that he had found all but impossible since the creek crossing, maintaining it--foot still hurt, but the willow bark had helped just a bit, the urgency to the situation allowing him to push it into the background, for the moment--Einar quickly gained on the couple, finally bringing himself back into visual contact with them sometime that afternoon on a high, timbered ridge that swooped steeply but gracefully

upwards from the spot where they had crossed the couloir. Watching them as they left the dark timber and started across the comparatively open ground of a bright, sunny aspen grove, he realized why they had done it. Had they continued their climb up the gentler ground back behind them on the other side of the couloir, they would have ended up separated by a progressively deep and sheer-sided ravine from the ridge which they now ascended, a ridge which had, apparently, been their intended route all along. The fact that they had realized this in time to cross and meet their ridge before things got too steep told him that they were either somewhat familiar with the area, or possessed a decent map and the skills to use it. Both of which facts pointed to the likelihood of the pair being exactly who they had sounded like in the snatched of conversation hed overheard that past evening--outfitters or hunters scouting territory before the opening of their chosen season or seasons. Which was perhaps all they had in mind when they cut off from the valley and doubled back on themselves--the need to take a look at one hidden basin or another, scour it for signs of recent elk activity and report back to their buddies back in the valley--but the other possibilities, almost all of them, as he saw it, involved situations that could quickly turn dangerous to Liz and the child, to their continued life up in the basin. Determined not to allow any of those threats to come to fruition he watched as the pair wound their way through the aspen glen, crossed a small meadow and resumed a steady climb up the shoulder of the ridge, following, having no inkling, as of yet, just how long and steep his chosen path would be. The morning of her fourth day up at the angled-granite camp dawned cold, heavily overcast and spitting rain, and Liz, against her every instinct, began packing up, preparing to leave as she had promised Einar she would do, to head back up to the cabin, alone. Her first night back there under the angled granite Liz had spent reasonably comfortably, spreading the deer hide over the remains of their old bed and, though she would have been happier with a small fire--Einar hadnt specifically forbade her from making one, but she knew he wouldnt approve, not so soon after seeing those tracks, and hed probably be right, if perhaps slightly overcautious--managing to sleep reasonably warmly beneath the doubled-over ewe hide. Despite the relative physical comfort of the place and her relief at no longer feeling under imminent danger of discovery as she had back in the firs beside the elk-clearings where they had discovered the mans tracks, her night had been a somewhat restless one as she couldnt get Einar out of her mind, tossing and turning and wondering where he was, whether he was safe and--she could guess the answer, shuddered at the thought--if he was eating, sleeping, was warm that night. Unable to provide herself with a solid answer she lay there praying for him until finally her own weariness took hold and closed her eyes, sending her into a somewhat fitful but badly needed sleep. The climb up and over the red ridge and the miles hiked afterwards to reach their current location in the valley had taken a great deal of effort on her part, and though she had tried to conceal from Einar just how difficult it had been for her to maintain the pace at times-he was clearly dealing with his own set of difficulties, was doing it, as usual, without complaining, and so would she--the effort had left her somewhat exhausted, grateful for

the rest. She simply didnt seem to have the lung capacity she had once enjoyed, which, while it made sense--only so much room in there, and the little ones taking up more and more of it every day--did seem to reduce her stamina and left her thinking that she would be glad when the time finally came for the birth, so her body could once again be something whose responses and needs were something a bit more familiar to her. In addition to the noticeably reduced lung capacity that was somewhat troubling her lately, it seemed she was always hungry, but no longer quite had the room to eat as large a meal as she might have liked. Again, a very reasonable if aggravating change, when she thought about it, and she accommodated for the difference as well as she could by partaking of small but frequent--very frequent!--snacks throughout the day. And sometimes--such as at the present, when she found herself lying there wide awake and hungry enough that it seemed worth her while to creep out of bed and retrieve a bit of traveling pemmican from the tree where shed hung it well out of the reach of prowling bears--the night, too. She had definitely put on some weight since the start of the pregnancy as she knew she needed to for the babys health, a change she had measured by observing her own body-could no longer get the fingers of one hand around the upper part of her arm as she had been able to do there for a while during one of the leaner times, not even close, and she was glad; that had been just a bit scary--and the process had sped up with the acquisition of that bear, its meat and fat offering her the opportunity to eat to her hearts--and bodys--content. Now if only I could get Einar to do the same, the goofy guy. He keeps asking me all the time if the little ones hungry, reminding me to eat, but half the time cant seem to remember to do it, himself. Hes got to start doing better before the cold really settles in this fall, or hes going to have an awfully hard time getting along, finding enough energy to keep himself warm. I see how he struggles with it a lot of times, even now. Well. Regardless of what hes doing, I have to keep on feeding little Hildegard, and right now that means a trip out to the bear tree for some of that pemmican-pudding. Mmmbear fat, serviceberries, pounded jerky and honey! Certainly does sound good right now! Returning to the shelter with her snack, she curled up once again in the hides, sleepily nibbling at a lump of the compressed food and thinking that she had better, with the coming of daylight, walk the surrounding woods and see about getting a few snares set out as she and Einar had discussed, should his return be delayed. Their yield would give her some fresh game to eat, prevent her from entirely devouring the supply of traveling food that they would need for the climb back to the basin, and perhaps, if they were successful enough, even allow her to add a sun-dried rabbit or two to that supply. Too dark to be thinking about snares just yet, though, so, finishing her snack, she lay down for another hour or two of sleep.

Einars situation was quite different that night, having tracked the pair well into the afternoon up through the soaring timber of the ridge, keeping them as well as he could within sight and only breaking that contact two or three times when his weariness and the growing pain of the battered end of his foot conspired to leave him crouched and panting for several minutes of involuntary rest, vision darkened by a swirling billow of black

spots. Rising again as soon as he was able to keep to his feet he had pressed on each time, forcing himself to catch up to the couple, relieved each time to find that he was still able to match their pace, more or less. Their actions grew, as the day wore on, more and more puzzling to him, the persistent speed which with they climbed, leaving him at times struggling hard to catch up, their apparent intention to not only follow the ridge but reach its rocky, exposed top, a place which seemed to him an unlikely one from which to hunt elk, considering the thousands of acres of timbered ridge and meadow-dotted valley land that ought to offer better opportunities, assuming they were truly the hunters their words and actions had led him to believe. An assumption which he was coming more and more to doubt as afternoon slipped into evening. They were scouts, alright, hunters, but perhaps not of the big game variety, and sometime just before dusk, as he stood breathless and weary in the sheltering concealment of a sharp granite spire at the edge of the last tree island before timberline, Einar decided that they must be man-hunters of some variety, private bounty hunters, perhaps, if not working directly with the feds. Still couldnt reconcile the mans apparently casual attitude back in the elk meadows--standing out in the open, ignoring the fairly obvious tracks and sign leading away from their trout-cooking fire--with the behavior of a person who knows hes potentially on the trail of a very dangerous, alert and well-armed sort of prey, but all other explanations seemed to be falling short, leaving him with too many questions. They were there hunting him, were carefully orchestrating their actions and even some of their words so as to appear on a benign elk-scouting mission, and were--had to be!--now climbing up the high, rocky spine of that ridge with the intention of getting a better look back down at the valley where they had discovered the fire, using the information they would thus gain to call in air support or, if working alone as it was beginning to appear--why make such a climb if one has access to air assets?--decide on the best way to circle around behind their prey and take it unawares. Which prey, he realized with a sudden chill disproportionate to the breezy, cooling high-altitude air of the evening, would consist just then of Liz, for it was her fire they would be seeing, if she had one. Hope youre thinking of some of these things, Lizzie. Better keep it dark and quiet down there tonight. The subjects of his tracking were, it appeared, preparing to settle in for the night themselves, that high, windswept spine of treeless rock seeming to Einar a strange choice of camp spot, considering what would have been available to them with a simple two hundred foot descent, but it was clear that they had an interest, for whatever reason, in being up high for the night, up where there was a view. Moving carefully to avoid causing rocks to scrape, clank and alert his quarry, Einar eased his way around the granite monolith, moving until he found a spot where the rocky bulk acted as a partial shield from the wind, and prepared to spend another night watching. Observing as the pair settled in for the night, Einar watched them unroll sleeping pads, bags and the wind-and-waterproof bivy sacks that would presumably protect them should a bit of a storm come in the night, their gear and habits hinting at travelers familiar and comfortable with navigating the high country, packing reasonably light and covering many miles--and many feet of elevation gain and loss--in a day. Not the typical behavior of most of the outfitter-types he had known, and as they unpacked a small gas stove and built a hasty rock barricade to shield it from the worst of the wind and increase its

efficiency, he was led to wonder once again just who he might be dealing with. Whoever they were, their supper, its scent whipped around into his rocky hiding place by a swirling and increasingly cold wind, was smelling awfully good, a freeze dried concoction of some sort into whose foil pouch they poured hot water from the stove, and after debating for a brief moment with himself over whether he ought to plug his nose to avoid the distraction--no! No way!--he lost himself in sampling the complex array of odors, picking them apart and determining, as near as possible, each ingredient of the hikers meal. Chicken, rice, something that smelled of tomatoes, and a definite scent of green peppers, and he pressed his stomach hungrily, dug into his pack for a taste of pemmican. Though Einar could pick up on the occasional ragged snitch of conversation, most of the pairs words were torn away by the wind before they could reach him, leaving him to go on speculating as to their purpose in spending the night on that high, desolate ridge, but no speculation was needed when, light quickly fading and the valley all but completely hidden in night-shadow, they walked out to a spot where the ground fell sharply away below, crouching and studying the dimness of the valley with binoculars. Nervously lowcrawling around his granite barrier to a spot where the valley was visible to him, too, Einar prayed that he wouldnt see the blinking orange star of Lizs fire down there, and he didnt, let out a breath of relief and hoped she would keep things dark in the morning, as well, as it seemed all but certain that the pair would be on the lookout. They settled into their sleeping bags, then, after a hasty cup of tea heated over the stove, Einar waiting to move from the patch of rock from which he had been observing the valley until any sound he might make would be thoroughly covered by the rustling and sliding of bivy sacks as the hikers got themselves set for the night. Stiff by then with cold from his long minutes of contact with the rock, he crept around to the more wind-protected side of his granite spire and sat rubbing cramping legs and arms, flexing them, focused on warming just a bit. Complicating matters, his clothes were in places still damp from the wading of the creek, boots, especially, definitely not dry on the insides, their once-thick wool felt insulation-now badly worn and thinned in places after months of use, but still quite absorbent-having gulped up a good bit of water and held onto it, leaving his feet feeling damp and icy as the night cooled down and he remained immobile there in the rocks. Knew hed better be trying to get that right boot off and take a look at the damage hed done the foot, make sure there were no open wounds and do what he could for them if he found any, wasnt even sure hed be able to get the boot off, as swollen as the foot was feeling. And would surely be in for quite a struggle in getting it back on, as well. If hed even want to put it back on, all wet and squishy and ice cold as it would be after sitting there in the night air while he tended to the footof course youll put it back on. Whats the matter with you? A wet boots infinitely better than no boot at all, especially up here in the rocks. Will dry. Eventually. Its gonna chill you pretty badly tonight, sure, but youre not gonna freeze the foot. Or yourself, either, so long as you stay on top of things. Way too warm for that. Not much else really matters, and your own personal comfort certainly isnt even close to being on that list. At which he nodded, resigning himself to the night and all it was to bring, but it was then that his thoughts--treacherous, wandering things that they were--turned to the outfitters,

to the fact that hed seen the man take off his boots and place them on a rock near his sleeping setup, a likely target, and seeing the sorry state of his own footwear--in addition to being soggy and wet, the boots were badly worn, not fall from failing entirely, just as winter began its approach--it was a tempting prospect. In addition to providing himself with a new pair of boots, the operation would rather significantly slow the pairs progress, prevent them from effectively engaging in whatever mischief they might have in mind, leave them immeasurably glad simply to reach the valley floor again and get out of the rocks to spare their feetand tell them beyond any shadow of a doubt that theyre not alone here, that all of their suspicions were correct, and that theyre being followed by the object of their search! Which might be a neat little trick to play on them if you knew for sure that they were aware of your presence--yours, not someones--knew for sure that the fire in the valley wasnt made by a rival outfitter as their words that night would seem to indicate is their beliefbut you dont know that. Your boot grabbing might turn a bad situation into a real disastrous one, in a hurry. And if theyre not outfitters but are feds or are working with the feds like youve been so sure of from time to timewell then, the placement of those boots was almost certainly intentional and real deliberate, a scheme designed to draw you out into the open where they can see you, take you, and then there it is, the end, they call in the choppers and haul you away, and Liz goes back up to the cabin alone in few days. If things go well. If they dont go well, feds will have locked you in a dark little room somewhere and tried their best to pry, squeeze and twist some information out of you, and it may take a month or two--ha! Probably not, not even close. They wont be playing around this time, probably will have drugged you, in addition to applying other pressures, and while you know you can resist the other stuff for a good long while, thisll be another thing, entirely--but they will get something, you know they will, and though hopefully it wont have any bearing whatsoever on reality, Liz will never be quite safe up there so long as they have you. Not to mention that shes coming up on a time when she really could use some help, would probably prefer not to be alone, even if she was safe. So. The boots are definitely out. Which he supposed hed known all along, really, but the thought exercise had been a good diversion if not a particularly pleasant one, had got his mind, for a few minutes, off the terrible chill that was wracking him in his not-quite dry clothes and soggy boots, rattling his teeth with every fresh whisper of wind and causing legs to cramp up terribly after the long, hard climb of the day. Mind was back on it now, for sure--you big fool, why couldnt you have strategize about boots for a few more minutes?--and there was really no helping the situation, no additional clothing to put on and, unless he wanted to press himself flat against the cold rock of the ground, no hope of entirely escaping the wind. Rock spire was helping, was shielding him, fortunately, from being hit with its full force, something that could not be said for the hikers, as he could hear their bivy sacks flapping and cracking in the wind. Well. At least the things were windproof. Aside from the noise--which was, fortunately, more than masking the occasional shuddering breath or involuntary clicking of teeth that made it past his efforts at suppression, and which he might otherwise fear could give him away--the pair were probably enjoying a comfortable night. Which Einar, though resigned to his present existence, definitely was not, and to add to the difficulty he could tell, entering his second sleepless night in a row, that he was in for quite a struggle when it came to maintaining his hold on reality--

whatever that is--knew he should have been able to go a good bit longer without being affected that way, but something still wasnt quite right yet, and he could feel it, that shadowy, sharp-toothed creature stalking around the edges of his existence as it looked for a way in, a weak spot in his defenses, ready to pounce. No matter. He would be ready for it. Didnt intend to sleep, anyway, so there was little chance of it taking him unawares, and if it wanted a battle, well, hed give it one to remember. Would have to do it silently, though, because he must not risk waking the hikers. Who, being fully aware of his presence and surely quite pleased with themselves at the success of their plan so far, were probably only pretending to sleep, anyway, as part of the ruse intended to draw him in close where they could get a dart into him, call in the choppers and haul him down off the mountain. Finished. Done. No more second chances, and he half-wondered that they hadnt done it already, supposed they were simply waiting until all of the details were right. Which, since they apparently seemed set on taking him alive this time, would have to involve the darts. Despite his firm belief--wouldnt have been certain, had he been able to step back and consider such things, when it went from random conjecture to unshakable knowledge, but it had--that the hikers and their ridge top camp were part of a scheme to bring him in, Einar began nodding after an hour or two there in the rocks, wakened moments later by the cold and by a sudden sensation of the ground rushing up at him, or the sky coming down, he couldnt really tell which, guessed it didnt matter much, anyway, shook his head to dispel the illusion, and went back to his watching. Only to wake again after several minutes of exhausted dozing to fling himself hastily to the ground, pressing his body into the rock, seeking refuge in its contours, sure beyond doubt that he had heard the rumble of an approaching helicopter. For a good while he remained motionless there, feeling about for any crevice or ledge that he might slip beneath for better cover but finding nothing, coming to realize, slowly and hardly daring to believe, that there was no chopper, had never been one. Hed simply been dreaming. Or something. Hadnt wanted to sleep before, but after that he was absolutely determined not to do so, an intention he made reality by balancing himself precariously on the edge of a granite chunk, its rough corners digging into him and his shaky balance ensuring a quick wakeup should he begin dozing. When that strategy stopped working--his body had learned quickly, had adapted to the situation by allowing his chest to sink down and balance against his knees, head hanging down, a continual series of quick jerks and twitches keeping him from toppling forward and off the rock, and he didnt like it, not one bit--he kept himself awake by finally--hed forgotten to do it before, when it had first occurred to him that such might be wise-easing his boot off and tending to the battered foot-end, which, though darkness was quite complete by that point, he could tell was crusty with dried blood. Not too much he could do for it under present circumstances, other than to pack the area with bits of usnea and yarrow from his pack, which he did, replacing the wet sock with a dry one, the pair of socks being the only items of extra clothing hed brought with him. Wouldnt do all that much good, as wet as the boot itself still was, but might at least give the wound a slightly better chance of remaining dry and clean, for a while. Tucking the remaining dry sock back into his pack, he supposed hed better save it for later, for use as an improvised

bandage, rather than putting it on his other foot. Wide awake after tending to the foot and feeling himself in no danger whatsoever of slipping back towards sleep, Einar sat on his pack in the most wind-free little alcove he could find there behind the granite spire, huddling against the cold and steeling himself to go on waiting through the dark hours of the night. Beginning at some point to seem as though it might never reach a conclusion, Einars night went on in an endless loop, sit, listen, struggle to breathe through the shivering and quiet your breath so that it doesnt interfere too much with your hearing, rise, hobble stiffly to the spot where you can get a look over at the hikers, use the pale, partially cloud-obscured moonlight to make sure theyre still there, creep around the spire and lie for a few minutes on your stomach watching the valley, the spot where Liz should be camped, make sure she doesnt have a fire visibleand he broke the monotony, when he dared relax his concentration enough to do so, by thinking of Liz, picturing her curled up all secure and warm in the hides beneath the granite slab to whose shelter he hoped she had by then retreated--a hint of a smile would on occasion flash across his haggard face at the sight, easing briefly its hard-etched lines--praying for her safety, planning for the things that must be done upon their return to the cabin and half-dreaming, a time or two, of the child, who appeared that night a wiry young boy-critter, some six or seven years old and quite skilled with the small atlatl that he carried, playing happily in the sunny clearing before the cabin. Hope so. Hope he gets to see that day. Hope I do, too Head snapping up from his latest almost-sleep he scrubbed his hands across his face, wriggled the injured foot and welcomed the jolt of pain that returned him rather suddenly to full alertness. If you really want to see that day, youre gonna need to stay awake here, Einar. Or not much chance of it. Theyll have you, and thenthen, he realized, Liz and the child would be alone as they had appeared in most of his dreams, and perhaps there was a very good reason for that, maybe theyd be safer that way, the search being abandoned with his capture or death--death. It would have to be death, if theyre truly to be safe up here--and the concept made sense to him there in the dark of night, so much sense, in fact, that its execution began to take on the appearance of a duty as the hours wore on, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps to such an end it might be a good idea to walk over there and wake the hikers, grab them and wait for the choppers to show up Didnt do it, and though too tired to understand precisely why, he would, in later looking back on the incident, remember his hesitation having something to do with the fact that it didnt seem to make much sense to go about saving ones family by abandoning them Once, making his customary three-foot walk over to the spot from which their camp was visible, he was certain beyond doubt that the hikers bivy sacks were empty, having been abandoned, filled rocks to prevent their blowing away and left to keep him in place there watching them while the hikers cleared out ahead of the federal raid, which might have been a welcome development a few minutes ago while he was still contemplating triggering such a thing himself in order to protect Liz and the child, but just then it most definitely was not welcome, and, about to turn and flee across the rocks and into the timber ahead of that distant rumbling, it was only when the woman coughed and turned over in her sleep that he began to doubt his conclusion, shaking his head and limping back down to his waiting-spot. Huddled there once again on his pack, Einar stretched

and rubbed cold-stiffened limbs in an attempt to retain some flexibility should quick action at some point be called for, a routine which he had repeated countless times throughout the night and which, painful and somehow incredibly tiring--he had some time ago reached the point where the thing he wanted most of all was to curl up against the cold and sleep, regardless of the consequences, and he knew they would be rather severe just then, for several reasons--he stuck with only because he knew that to abandon it was to risk losing entirely his sense of time, place, any awareness of his relation to it, as well as his ability to move his body in a reasonably expedient manner. Eight more cycles--rise, check on the hikers positions, creep around and search for any evidence that Liz had a fire, return to his spot and pound the blood back into his limbs, sit there shivering for a number of minutes and repeat it all over again--Einar counted before the first hint of dawn paleness began showing in the sky, just a slight lessening of the blackness at first, an almost unnoticeable fading of the stars. Gradually the change grew unmistakable, pale streaks beginning to creep horizontally across the eastern skyline-high and jagged with the naked teeth of distant peaks--their faint gold deepening to a rich salmon as the still-hidden sun crept up nearer the horizon, and it was then that the hikers began stirring, rising, leaving the cozy nighttime nests of their sleeping bags. Thoroughly concealed amongst a tumble of rocks, Einar watched their breath rise in the stillness of the morning chill, his own body aching fiercely where he had pressed it into the granite, flattening himself against the ground so as to be able to watch them without too much risk of detection. Shaking out bags and removing them from bivy sacks--looked like they intended to move on, and soon--the pair neatened and organized their camp, got into boots, hats and down jackets, leaving Einar to shiver even harder at the thought of such warmth as they prepared a pot of coffee on the stove, sat there watching the dawn roll in and sipping the steaming beverage from enameled mugs. Einar, realizing that he was himself quite thirsty and no doubt a bit behind on his water consumption after the previous day of climbing and a long night spent awake and watching, contented himself with a little swallow of icy creek water from his pitch-lined canteen, head aching dully and eyes trying to tear up at the intense cold of it. Enough. It was enough. He had endured the night, and would get through the morning, too, though the way he felt at the moment--weary, aching, half frozen and weak with hunger--did not make the prospect appear particularly appealing. And there was still the matter of determining why the pair was up there in the first place. His nighttime certainty that they were bait in a trap to bring him in had faded somewhat with the coming of daylight--why wouldnt they have acted in the night if such was the case? He could think of a number of reasons, actually, but none of them seemed as certain as they had just a few hours prior--but still there remained more questions than answers, and he watched them, wondering, his interest picking up as he saw that they had returned to their observation spot of the previous night, pulling out binoculars, looking and pointing and seeming to quietly but excitedly congratulate each other on whatever it was they were seeing. Careful, Lizzie. Dont give them anything to see. Which she wasnt, as he could not--struggling to hold his own glasses somewhere near still enough to get a good look at through them--make out even the faintest wisp of smoke rising from the timber there on the far side of the valley, and he was relieved, but still puzzled. What is it, then? Whats got your attention so tied up? Then, he saw.

Some five hundred feet below the ridgetop lay a little hanging basin, entirely invisible, he could see, from below and glowing a soft and brilliant green in the rock-reflected dawn light. Surrounded by a vibrant mix of alpine grasses a tiny tarn stood off to one side, almost touching the timber that appeared to shield the place from the worst of the winds, and there clustered around the tarn were a good forty five or fifty elk, some still asleep and others just rising for their morning drink. Watching, following the direction of the hikers gaze he saw what they must be looking at. A magnificent bull stood off to one side, alone and highlighted against the green of the meadow-grasses, several others just visible behind him in the timber. So. You folks really did come here to take a look at the elk-critters. Knew about this place from some other year, most likely, knew it might be accessible from below but wouldnt be visible, not without disturbing the critters at least, so you did the only thing that made sense, and spent the night up here in order to get a look at them, to get a count and a sense of what your hunting prospects will be like! For some time Einar went on watching the elk, watching the watchers, catching little snatches of their hushed but excited conversation from time to time, what he heard further confirming for him that the couple did indeed run a guide service for visiting hunters, were out in search of new spots to bring their clients. Einar, listening, lay there feeling more relaxed than he had been in nearly two days, despite the rather loud protests of his cramping and half frozen limbs and a hunger that seemed to be clamping his insides in a vise and leaving him terribly weak and dizzy, despite the occasional bite of pemmican. Morning advancing and the sun finally reaching their ridge top, the pair rose, stuffed sleeping bags into packs and generally began preparing to leave. The morning sun on his face brought Einar the distinct feeling of being born anew after the doubts and ponderings of the night, an intense joy seizing him and leaving a silent song of thanksgiving on his lips as he watched the hikers pack up camp and start off down the ridge, returning the way they had come, and he let them go, waited until they had been well out of sight for a number of minutes before picking himself up, stretching, beginning to study the contours of the ridge for the best and most expedient way to return to Liz. Wanting, if possible, to avoid backtracking all the way down the ridge and up the valley again, Einar studied the various drainages that ran from just below his current position on the rocky ridge top down to the valley, following what he could see of them, probing them for cliffy areas, anything that might prevent his passage. Couldnt be sure of any of them, due to the steepness of the slope and timber that grew progressively heavier as the valley floor approached. Einar would, he figured, just have to settle on one, give it a go. Glancing around to make certain that the hikers had not reappeared--didnt expect it, as they had set out quite purposefully after seeing what theyd come up there to see--he started off at a fast walk across the remaining open ground of the ridge top, taking a brief tour of his quarrys abandoned campsite and finding here, mostly concealed beneath a jutting rock slab, the half eaten remains of an energy bar--peanut butter with chocolate chips--that had apparently been cast aside and forgotten, still in its wrapper, by the retreating hikers. Reaching for it, hesitating, he almost left it to lie, snatched it up at the last moment and inspected it--had definitely been bitten, not just broken off, a hopeful sign when it came to the foods lack of poison, near as he could tell--inhaling its

wonderful odor and restraining himself with difficult from gulping it down without delay. If Im gonna risk being poisoned for three bites of food, best to wait until youre safely back up at the cabin, and not out here. Gonna keep it this time though. Should be safe enough, really. Quickly searching the remainder of the campsite and not finding so much as a scrap of paper he stood for a moment, face upturned to the sun, simply basking in its warmth and breathing; life was, at the moment, a very, very good thing. Grinning, he set off down towards his chosen drainage, hoping for a quick and uneventful descent so that he would be in plenty of time to meet Liz before his four days were up, and she started back for the cabin. He had, near as he could figure, already used two of them. The going was fairly easy there near the top of the drainage, or would have been, if not for his bruised and swollen foot, which was seriously impeding his balance as he stepped from slab to slab on the scree-slope. Being able to use the spear for balance was helping, but still he was taking more tumbles than he would have liked, slowing his pace out of concern that he might end up injuring an ankle or trapping a leg between slabs. Not a prospect that ordinarily would have concerned him much, but it was a real cause for care, that morning. And was also the only reason he spotted the tuft of white clinging to the side of a rough-hewn boulder some ten yards from his intended course. Diverting to investigate, he recognized the wooly fluff as belonging to a mountain goat, picked it from the bit of orange lichen in which it had become snagged and stashed it in his pack. Only to find, to his delight, that the tuft was only the first of many, the spot apparently having served as a wallow for a number of shedding goats that summer. Freeing clumps and streamers of the white wool from rocks and digging them from beneath the gravelly dirt where the creatures had rolled and scratched themselves in their effort to be rid of the itchy largesse, he had soon amassed a good-sized pile of the stuff, much of it dirty and in need of sorting to remove the bits of lichen and rock, but incredibly warm and usefullooking nonetheless. Thinking how pleased Liz would be to receive a useful quantity of wool--might even help make up for my running off like this again chasing ghosts, who knows?--he thoroughly scoured the area, pulling clumps from boulders and bushes, freeing long, lumpy strands of the stuff and working to remove the worst of the debris that had become trapped in its fibers, creating in his mind as he went a vast array of different items from the bounty, warm, knitted mittens, hats to replace their current ones, which were growing thin and ragged from use, heavy felted boot liners for the winter moccasins he would soon be making them, clothing for the babyand when finally he thought to wonder how much time had passed, the sun told him morning had slipped well into afternoon as he worked. Time to get moving, way past it, actually, considering that there was a bit of a time concern when it came to his reaching Liz before she departed for the cabin--really wanted to do that, be there to accompany her on the climb should she need help with any part of it, carry a greater part of the load for her and generally not abandon her to carry out the task alone, and he rose, stretched--had rather benefited from the time spent crouched there in the warm sunlight, shielded from the wind by the slight dip in the ground that represented the goat wallow, warm for the first time since wading that creek the day before--and was glad to find himself slightly more mobile, flexible, if still having a difficult time walking on that foot. Einars descent route quickly steepened, gentle scree fields replaced by the shadowed,

sharp-walled depths of a massive couloir, and as the way grew more treacherous--fine, loose rock that moved and threatened frequently to let go in a miniature rockslide beneath his feet, small cliffs and steep dropoffs that came with increasing frequency and nearly caught him unawares a time or two as he pushed his way through one stand of dense, stringy, stunted firs or another--he was forced to further slow his pace, lest his risk a nasty fall. Began wondering, in fact, whether he might have made a grave mistake in attempting that particular couloir at all, as all indications where that it might become entirely impassable without a good length of rope and multiple rappels, sooner or later. Probably ought to have simply climbed back out and looked for another way down at that point, and he knew it--picturing the ridge as it had appeared from below, he knew there were any number of sheer, cliffy drainages, petering out to nothing but scrapes of slightly less than vertical loose rock across the wall of the ridge, as well as a number of passablelooking ones--but he didnt, hating to waste the time and effort hed already put into his current route, especially considering the lateness of the day, after his rather drawn out wool harvesting operation. Really wanted to reach Lizs camp before dark that evening. Would simply have to watch the terrain carefully so as to be able to turn around before things got out of control, should the drainage truly prove impassable to him that day, exercise as much caution as he could possibly muster, in the meantime. Which, unfortunately, was just shy of being enough. He was picking his way through the loose scree just above a six or seven foot vertical drop, attempting to work his way around it to the hopefully more secure footing of a steep rockslide off to its side when it happened, feet going out from under him with suddenly and simultaneously so that despite his efforts at recovery, it seemed all he could do was watch himself in slow motion as he struggled in vain to grab bits of vegetation-currant scrub, the thin, springy branch of a nearby fir--and stop his fall. Didnt work, left him to tumble forward, head down, rolling, falling, striking his shoulder on the rocky outcrop at the bottom of that six foot drop--should have been able to recover at that point, to stop himself, and he tried, but to no avail, had gained too much momentum by that point--brought up short on a rocky ledge some distance below, flat on his back, shoulder blades striking solidly and head snapping back, taking a good hard thump on the rock. Einar lay there stunned for a good half minute before the thought occurred to him that perhaps he ought to see if he could move, and he did, slowly, head splitting and shoulder blades stinging sharply. Sat up dizzily, reeling, listing to the side and catching himself against the rock wall behind him, leaning there for a time just trying to catch his breath and get some of the nauseating pain in to fade from his head and back. Which it did, slowly, reluctantly, and when he checked his head for blood he was glad to find none. Tried to get to his feet then but momentarily abandoned the effort when it nearly sent him toppling forward. In a downward direction. Steady there, Einar. Looks like quite a drop here below you, and you sure dont need to be going over it. Not like this, anyway. Which is when, staring down into the near-vertical depths below him and squinting up along the course of his fall, Einar had the first inkling that he might be somewhat trapped. It appeared, in studying the trail of slid rock and broken vegetation, that he had taken quite a tumble, bouncing and rolling through a good bit of steep and sparse timber and off of several ledges before coming to rest--ha! Coming to rest? Sounds too gentle.

That was a genuine splat, if Ive ever seen one. Fortunate you didnt break your back with that one--on his own, and with several nearly-vertical expanses of rock separating him from the nearest spot where it appeared he could reasonably traverse to the side and get himself onto more passable ground, he was definitely going to be in for a challenge. Which, never one to back down from a challenge and perhaps still a bit goofy from the blow to his head, too, he tackled immediately, jamming fingers and one fist into a goodsized fissure in the rock above him, starting at something just above shoulder height and searching for purchase for his boots, finding it, lifting, straining, doggone arms better quite shaking like this, or youre gonna take another spill, which, unwilling to give up and ease back to the ground, he did, dropping back to the ledge and rolling forward, narrowly missing the acquisition of a goose-egg on his forehead to match the one on the back. Crouching there dizzily for a moment, heart pounding and head swimming, he tried again, gritting his teeth fiercely, putting more momentum behind the thing this time and managing to vault himself up by a good three feet, hand jammed firmly in the upper portion of the fissure and one foot planted on a good hold, before his arms gave out once again. Lying there on the ledge in a frustrated heap, he wanted to get up and try again, wanted to keep trying until he made it, because hed been so close, but he knew realistically that operating with such thin margins as far as his landing-spot, he would only have so many tries before something irreversible happened. Wanted out of there, but, seeing as there wasnt an active search closing in on him at the moment, figured he really didnt want it that badly, not that way, wanted down, but definitely preferred walking to flying. Sudden deceleration. Ha! Yeah, its never really the fall that kills you And once more he leaned back somewhat dizzily against the rock wall behind him, alright, youve had your go at getting out of here through brute strength and sheer orneriness, now how about slowing down and thinking on it for a while? Blow to his head certainly hadnt done him any good in that regard, had left him feeling more than a bit fuzzy, balance less reliable than it had been earlier in the day, and despite his compelling need to be out of there and back on his way towards the valley--and Liz-he knew, after a few minutes of the slow, pondering stuff that was passing at the moment for thought, that he would be wisest to delay the climb for an hour or two, see if the dizziness had eased some by that time, at which point the climb ought to go a good deal more smoothly. That wait was to be a long one.

Over the next hour or two Einar drifted fitfully back and forth between sleep and wakefulness, struggling to keep his eyes open but not always succeeding. Long as it had been since hed allowed himself more than a few minutes of sleep--two nights, now? Three? Hed lost track--he knew the rest would do him good, leave him steadier for the climb, but at the same time that knock to the back of his head had been hard enough that he wasnt sure of the wisdom of allowing himself to sleep, just then. If Liz or any other member of a party he was climbing with had sustained such an injury, he would have insisted on keeping that person awake and talking for awhile so he could make certain there was no sharp deterioration in their mental state or level of alertness over time, no sign of a serious and progressively threatening head injury. Well. You could stay awake

talking to yourself, right? Wouldnt be the first time. Im fairly certain everythings Ok, though. I feel more or less alert and orientedha!when Im awake. Yep. Pretty sure I know who I am, and all that. Despite his repeated assurances, Einar went on fighting the sleep that tried to come over him, finding its call just a bit too inviting, frightened, in some inexpressible and almost instinctive way by its insistence, and he managed to resist it for the most part, sitting there for a good while still too dizzy to contemplate another attempt at self-rescue, watching as afternoon grew long and gave way to evening, sun sinking down towards the horizon and bringing shadow to his little ledge. It was looking like the climb wasnt going to take place that day, not unless he quickly got himself together and tried it again, and the wave of vertigo that came over him upon rising experimentally quelled any such thought. Having decided to wait for dawn before again attempting that climb, Einar searched about in the rapidly failing dusk-light--hed somehow managed to drift unintentionally into something like sleep again after his latest attempt at standing--looking for anything and everything that might prove useful to him in getting through the long night he knew lay ahead. Wasnt much on the rocky little ledge, but he did find a few scattered pieces of wood, small sun-bleached sticks, ancient and weathered almost to the point of being crumbly, and he handled them gently lest they turn to dust between his fingers--much as he disliked the idea of having a fire in such an open, exposed place, he knew it might well become a necessity, the little pile of sticks holding immeasurable value--stacking them against the wall and continuing in his search. Wasnt much else to find, though, a small scrap of fir bark completing his collection--would be good to stick under his pack to offer him some additional insulation from the cold rock that night--and, accompanying a nibble of pemmican with a small sip from his water carrier, he sat down to wait. Half-dozing as he watched the last light fade from the opposite ridge, dreaming of Liz and seeing her as she made her bedtime preparations down there in the leaning-granite shelter where he hoped she was spending her second--third? Wish I knew for sure--night, she appeared cozy and secure from a raw and piercing wind that was beginning to gain intensity up there in the heights. Hopefully shed been able to do some snaring since returning there, secure herself a rabbit or squirrel or two, and though he could see no sign of it as he squinted down into the darkness of the valley, he pictured her sitting beside a little fire, cautiously built of very dry wood beneath the concealing shelter of the slab, and in his vision she was finishing off the remains of a large pot of rabbit stew, rich with nettles, violet leaves and seasoned with what appeared to be the chopped greens of wild onions, and he smiled in his sleep, stomach growling. Something wasnt quite right, though, and as he watched Liz enjoy her meal Einar realized that the wind was becoming awfully intense all of a sudden, sweeping through the little shelter and putting out the fire, leaving Liz to grab the remains of the meal and hurry off in search of a better place to spend the night. He wanted to follow her, tried to rise but couldnt seem to get his body to cooperate, and when he woke, Liz--and the shelter--were gone entirely, and he couldnt stop shivering. The wind, it seemed, had been as real as the desolate ledge on which he was trapped--too bad the rest had simply been dream--tearing at his clothing and leaving him to huddle ineffectively against its force, feeling awfully weak and exhausted and quickly slipping once more towards sleep. He knew it was time to make that fire. Quickly putting together a windbreak of stacked rocks he felt along the wall for the little

pile of sticks he had earlier gathered up, arranging them, fumbling with his neck pouch until he got it open and retrieved some milkweed down and a little lump of pitch. His fingers seemed slow, clumsy, their awkwardness disproportionate even to the chill of the wind, and the dull ache at the back of his head made him wonder if perhaps the effects of that fall were to be a bit more long-lasting than he had anticipated. The tinder, thankfully, caught on the first strike, baked-dry sticks quickly taking the flame and blazing up, and by their light Einar scoured the ledge for any he might have previously missed, finding several good-sized branches caught here and there amongst the rocks. The fire helped, allowed him to sit back down for a while, stop shivering and relax just a bit, and, fully aware of the little blazes necessarily short duration and wanting to take fullest advantage of it, he placed rocks in and around the small fire, meaning to heat them for later use. Warmed by the flames and finally beginning to feel a bit more clear-headed after the fall he was feeling antsy, badly wanting to get moving, find a way out of his current trap and use the night to make the climb back up to the ridge top--or as near as he would need to get to it to make the traverse over to the next drainage--but he knew that attempting again to do so by darkness was asking for another slip. And this time he might not be so fortunate as to get by with a near disaster. Couldnt afford another fall, not with his foot already messed up and back aching from his earlier spill. Would, in all likelihood, actually be saving time by waiting for daylight. Wait he would, then, and he huddled down on the meager insulation of his pack with a hot slab of granite pressed between his knees and chest, another in his hands, settling in and attempting to sleep. Exhausted as he was, slumber did not last long for him, heat of the rocks fading and the deepening cold of the night seeping in to replace it, a situation with which he would have found himself able to deal reasonably well, had it not been for the wind. Unhindered by any form of vegetation it howled along the cliffs that night--bowing in a storm, sounded like, though the skies for the moment remained clear--tearing the heat from Einars virtually unprotected body at an alarming rate. Shifting position, setting aside the long-cold rocks, he strove to better shield himself, but no matter how he maneuvered, some significant portion of his body was left exposed to the cutting, killing power of that wind. Wasnt working, none of it was working, his efforts leaving him to shiver progressively more weakly against the advances of the wind and eat through a good portion of his remaining pemmican in a struggle to give his body the energy it needed to go on, but he could tell his efforts were proving insufficient; he was losing ground in a hurry. Rising stiffly, back to the abyss and hands braced firmly on the rock of the wall, he began the slow shuffle that he hoped might restore some useful blood flow, moving more sure-footedly as he warmed, picking up speed. It was a routine not unfamiliar to him, had, in fact, saved him on more than one icy and necessarily fireless night, and the movements became easier as he found and settled into a rhythm, the repetitive shocks of pain from his injured foot only serving to warm him further, until finally he had to back off a bit to prevent himself from beginning to sweat, which definitely would have been counterproductive, in that wind. Sitting down for a brief rest before resuming his movement, Einar reminded himself that hed better keep working on the one lump of pemmican that remained in his pack if he wanted the energy to keep at his warmth-producing shuffling, had better be drinking, too, lest morning find him badly

dehydrated. Retrieving the pemmican, his hand came up against something soft and warm there in the bottom of his pack, and when he pulled it out to investigate--seemed rather extensive, and he wondered for a moment just what sort of creature might have decided to find some nighttime wind-shelter there in his pack--he found himself holding several pounds of incredibly warm mountain goat wool, its whiteness showing slightly even in the dark of night. Feeling it between his hands and inhaling its faint odor he remembered collecting it, or thought he did, faint impressions of sun-drenched rock and a slow, pleasant morning spent harvesting little white tufts from amongst the lichen-patches returning to him slowly, fragmented, not quite solid enough to be trusted. Not a good sign, perhaps, that such a large portion of the past day had slipped his mind, but not terribly surprising after such a solid blow to his head. Well. Remembered it now, and feeling around to make certain that he had retrieved all of the wool, he began stuffing the space between his shirt and sweater with the dense, insulating fur, already beginning the feel the added warmth it was bringing to his core, some of the wind blocked and his own body heat much more effectively retained. After that he was able to remain sitting for longer stretches at a time, but with the wind blasting unabated across the open expanse of rock around him, it was not quite enough to allow him to curl up and sleep. The stomping and shuffling routine that he had earlier worked out--exhausting but effective--he repeated as necessary throughout the night, greeting the morning red-eyed and haggard, but very much alive and feeling steady enough to make the climb, now that the light was nearly strong enough to allow him to see the way. A successful night, if a rather long one.

Aside from being incredibly stiff and sore--the inevitable combined result, he supposed, of landing as he had on his back and then spending a chilly night shivering in the rocks-Einar found himself a good bit steadier that morning when he stood and began testing the rock for a route up and out. His previous dizziness was gone, most of the haze that had muddled his thoughts and left fingers to move clumsily and with a maddening slowness lifted, and he was ready to make his escape. Especially considering the low-hanging deck of cloud that had ridden in with the night wind to all but obscure the opposite ridge, a thin drizzle already blowing in great sheets and curtains over the lower reaches of the ridge and dimming his view of the valley. Sure didnt want to have to be climbing in that, dizziness or no dizziness, knew the near-vertical ascent would pose him plenty of challenge without the rock being soaking wet and running with rainwater. Searching the little ledge to ensure he wasnt leaving anything behind--found his fire steel and striker sitting beside the remains of his little fire, not something he would have wanted to lose; you really must have been out of it last night. Never seen you set that down anywhere but back in its pouch, ever-- Einar pulled the mountain goat wool from between his shirt and sweater, stashed it securely in the pack and prepared to begin his climb. Things were making a good bit more sense that morning, the rock easily read and a route presenting itself where before he had seen only obstacles. Arms still werent much use, seemed awfully weak though not as shaky as the evening before and his foot was swollen and aching badly where hed bashed it in crossing the creek, but between a judicious use of

legs and feet and a number of fist-jams that left his knuckles raw and bloody he managed to haul himself up that wall, wrapping his arms around the little fir that stood sentry at its top and hugging it to him like a long-lost brother, hanging on for all he was worth until the tremors began leaving his legs, arms, and he could trust himself to move once more. Grunting and struggling until he had rolled himself, using that tiny tree for leverage, up and over the rim of the dropoff he lay panting on his stomach for a brief moment, got to his knees, grinning fiercely despite the twisting pain in his battered and abused foot, triumphant. Thanks. Thats real good. Nownow look at this! No more vertical, not if I stick to this rockslide that runs along the side of the little series of drops I bounced downwhew! Looks like that must have been quite a tumble. Good thirty, forty feet in all, and a real good thing I didnt try and take all that in one big bite! Probably wouldnt have walked away from that one. All these little ledges had to help, and timber helped slow me down for the final impact. Could have been an awful lot worse. Felt pretty bad as it was, come to think of it--he hadnt, on the climb, had strictly forbidden any such consideration, knowing he needed to put every ounce of concentration he could muster towards sticking to that wall and avoiding worse trouble than he was already in--back wanting to lock up on him if he twisted to one side or the other and his left arm starting to go numb whenever he raised his head to look at the remaining slope above him. Well. Just needs some time to settle back down, I guess, and itll be fine. Anyhow, you can walk, can climb after a fashion, and all the vertical stuffs behind you. Better find a pace and stick to it now, because that rains heading your way in a hurry, and as windy and exposed as it is up here, youre gonna be freezing again in a hurry and really hurting for some shelter just as soon as it reaches you. Least its not looking like a thunderstorm, so far, which is a real good thing considering how far youve got to climb and then descend again before youll be in the timber where therell be any sort of protection from stray lightning. Ha! Zap and sizzle, thatd be just what you need this morning, wouldnt it? Might justmight cure what ails you, ya know? Whatever that is. Might at least give back your memory of the last few hours of the afternoon yesterday, which I notice still seems to be mysteriously missing. Or might just go ahead and finish you off. Shortcircuit that goofy brain of yours, and thatd be the end. Poof! Crispy critter. Might be-ah! Doggone back, whats thewhy cant Ithere, better, wasnt sure I was gonna be able to stand up straight again there for a minute--but who knows? Might be better off that way, anyway. Fried, that is. Or roasted. Boiled would be better still, I guess, cause I sure cant picture there being much left of me if any other cooking method is used, and I might as well make a meal or two for some critter, if Im gonna be leaving my bones up here. Yep, Id sure be reluctant to fry or roast any critter as scrawny and far gone as I am these days. Boilings the way to go, for sure. Least that way you end up with some broth All of which, fortunately, was to prove highly irrelevant, as the storm brought with it no electrical activity, and Einar, still a bit more foggy-brained than he might realize and soon forgetting why he had been on the subject of the best way to cook up a human carcass in the first place--youre sure a weird critter sometimes, Einar. Cant imagine where you

were going with that one--resumed his climb. The going much easier now that he was using his arms only for extra balance and traction at times, and not attempting to lift half his weight with them each time he moved, he made reasonably good progress up the steep scree slides that marked the only passable route out of the couloir. Its sides were still, near as he could tell, too sheer to offer much purchase to any but the most competent of climbers, which he definitely did not believe himself to be, at the moment, and much as he would have liked to hurry up and out so as to find a way down and start on it, he continued his climb. By the time Einar reached a spot where the drainage began to gentle and widen, walls receding and the world opening up before him, the skies were opening up too, rain sweeping in thin and driven on a howling gust that swept up from the valley. Lacking anything even remotely waterresistant with which to cover himself, Einar did the best he knew to do, hurriedly struggling out of his sweater and rolling it into a tight little bundle at the bottom of his pack, where he was hopeful that it might remain at least partially dry, give him something to change into when either the storm ended or he reached some shelter. Which shelter, consisting of the timber slopes that stretched away vast and now storm-hidden below him, was appearing closer to being within his reach, now that hed finally made it up and out of the couloir. Trouble was that with visibility so limited he had no way to judge which drainage might offer him the best chance at making it all the way down to the valley, no information--other than a very hazy recollection of how things had appeared that previous evening--on which to base his choice. Had to make a choice, though, make one and give it a try, because the combination of wind and rain were already getting to him, slowing his movements and chilling him badly, and with a few silent-spoken words of prayer--guide my steps, show me which one is gonna get me down there--he set off, bypassing the first drainage that opened up beneath him and choosing--couldnt have explained why, but it definitely seemed the thing to do--the second. Slick. Everything was rain soaked and slick, granite slabs treacherous and offering him little purchase as he stepped from one to the next with a concentration so intense that it very nearly blocked out the icy bite of the wind against his wet clothing, and, the area entirely devoid of vegetation larger than a few ground-hugging evergreen mats, he wished very much that he had not lost his spear in the fall. Would have been a big help in maintaining his balance. Despite the difficulties Einar managed to lose a good bit of elevation without major incident, a number of little slips and stumbles slowing him significantly, but causing no injury beyond a couple of badly bruised shins, and when finally he reached the timber without having run into any major cliff bands or areas of impossibly loose rock, he found himself grateful almost to the point of tears. Descending a number of yards into the trees he found a spot where the ground had remained very nearly dry, huddling there in the wonderfully wind-free shelter of a massive thicket of black timber and contemplating the possibility of holing up there for a time, waiting for the storm to spend some of its fury, perhaps build a tiny fire and heat himself a bit of spruce needle tea, thaw out a little. Inviting as the idea sounded, he knew he mustnt give in to the temptation, must not risk spending another night out there, uncertain as he was about the intended day of Lizs departure. Sure wanted to make it back to that leaning granite shelter before she left, needed, though he wouldnt have admitted so, to make it.

Little did Einar know that Liz had just two hours prior packed up camp--reluctantly, solemnly, watching and praying for his return every step of the way and wishing most sincerely that she had never promised him she would leave after the allotted four days, but she had, and fully intended to remain faithful to that pledge--and left for the return climb to the cabin. Seeming to stretch on forever, the black timber of the slopes offered Einar a bit of shelter from the force of the wind, a slight lessening in the rain that reached him, but made little difference, as wet and chilled as he had become in covering the thousand or so feet in elevation of open rockslide that had come before it. Several times he came close to stopping, finding shelter and making a fire but always he kept himself up and moving, knowing by the leaden slowness of his legs and the weary pounding of his heart that where he finally stopped, where he allowed himself the luxury of rest and a fire, he might well end up staying for a good while. Couldnt risk having that be anyplace other than Lizs shelter, not with her possibly leaving in the morning--Or having already left. You know youve got no solid idea of what day it is, so you may get there andquit! Quit that. Can think about it later, but this isnt the time--so he kept on. Would be a real problem if he fell asleep out on the slope somewhere, only to find her gone by the time he woke and got himself down there. Reaching the valley floor and the creek at last, Einar did not even bother to look for a bridge, a fallen tree or natural dam of rocks and branches that might have offered him passage. Didnt have an ounce of energy to spare in wandering up and down the creek bank, could feel it, might have realized, had he been a bit warmer and thinking more clearly, that he was likely to expend more energy crossing at a less-than-ideal spot than he would have searching for a better one, but such things did not cross his mind just then; he knew only that he must reach the other side as quickly as possible, get himself up to Lizs camp before he was reduced to crouching there on the muddy ground, unable to go further. Every inch of him already soaked and dripping, boots squelching with water at every step, he simply waded out into the current, slogging across and hardly even caring when just past halfway he slipped on an algae-slick stone and went down, briefly submerged up to his shoulders in the icy water. Dragging himself heavily up onto the rocks of the far bank he rested briefly on his knees before rising, might have stayed there longer, exhausted as he was and seeming unable to catch his breath, but for the prickle of danger he felt traveling up his spine at the thought of remaining motionless for more than seconds. Without the warmth generated by movement, the forward momentum of continuing on and knowing that he must not stop, had a goal to reach before he could stop, hed be done for in a matter of minutes, in that wind. Climbing again, calling on whatever might be left of the deepest reserves of his strength-ha! Not much, but itll have to do--he ascended a good two or three hundred feet from the water, moving as quickly as he was able while keeping a sharp lookout for the landmarks by which he hoped to be able to walk straight to the area of the shelter, a dead spruce snag here, oddly-shaped rock outcropping there, reaching, after a span whose duration he could not have begun to guess a spot from which he could at last get a rain-

obscured glimpse of the area where he knew the shelter must lie. Making the final approach to the rocky spur that marked the area around the granite-slab camp, Einar knew with a fair certainty that she wasnt going to be there, could feel a particular sort of silence and stillness about the place that told him it was unoccupied, and had been for some time, but despite the warning he still took it pretty hard when a cursory glance about the camp told him he was correct. She had been there, and had gone. A series of muddy, rain-obscured tracks still partially visible on the tree-sheltered rocks above the camp told him what he needed to know. Lizs trail was no more than eight or ten hours old; shed been there as recently as that morning. Nodding, good job, Lizzie, he crawled in under the granite slab and collapsed face-down on the bed of dry leaves and duff, beyond exhausted and somehow feeling not very far from despair at the discovery that Liz had gone; he was too late. Was also, he began to realize after several minutes of stillness, a bit ridiculous to be disappointed that Liz had gone on; shed done exactly as he had asked her to do, the thing they had agreed she must do, and at the time it had certainly appeared the most sensible thing, as he had been quite concerned about the eventual results of their leaving the cabin unoccupied for too many days. The critters would eventually grow too comfortable, too secure in their absence, would move in and find ways to get at their stored food. Hed simply miscalculated the number of days since their parting. She had done right, and it was only, he knew, his own weakness that made her departure appear a disaster. None of which, logical though it was, really succeeded in easing the blackness that had come over him at finding the place abandoned, and he knew hed better do something, quickly, before it could manage to strengthen its hold on him any further, end up conspiring with the cold to keep him useless and immobile until he ended up beyond help. Was pretty close to being there already, near as he could tell, half paralyzed with the cold and suddenly seeming unable to move his limbs except in a series of ineffective flopping jerks, like a fish out of water. Or a man whod been in it for far too long. No matter. Not much for him to do, anyway, so there seemed very little purpose in wasting too much of his failing energy on movement; might as well devote all of it to the shivering, see if it might be enough to begin warming him to some useful degree, now that he was out of the rain and mostly shielded from the force of the wind. Foolish plan, and he knew it, knew he was dying, and would likely go right on doing so until the process was completed, unless something changed dramatically for him in the near future. Unless he changed something, for there was certainly no one else to do it. Didnt much seem to matter to him, either way. All he wanted was to rest. To sleep. It had been far too long, and he was at the end. One cant always have what one wants, however, seldom can, really, and despite an almost overwhelming need and desire to sleep, something kept prying at him, urging him back to wakefulness, to action, insisting that he get up and explore the place, and then, hand flailing about in his shiverings it struck something solid that moved before it with a clank and a clatter, and when he looked up to see the nature of the noise, it was to discover that hed just sent a couple of sticks scattering, the outer reaches, it appeared, of a little pyramid of dry wood all set up and waiting for flame. Couldnt figure out how it

had got there, but its purpose was plain, message irrefutable, and as he heard it he acted, somehow getting his knees under him and rising, fumbling for the fire pouch around his neck and several times nearly losing the tools before managing to get the steel clamped under his foot, striker pinched between his numbed hands, and make sparks. The little pyramid, which mysteriously appeared to have come equipped with tinder--and a very good thing, too, because his clumsy hands would have quite obliterated the entire thing attempting to place it--took off with a roar and a crackle at the introduction of the sparks. Lying there beside the growing blaze and blinking slowly at its brilliance, Einar saw a good-sized stack of broken branches sitting off to one side just waiting to be fed to the flames, another over against the opposite wall, and something about the way that wood was stacked--a certain neatness and deliberation just a bit different from the way he would have done it--managed to get through the cold-fog in his brain, and speak to him. Liz. It was her work, the pyramid, the neat little stacks of waiting firewood, she had left it there for him, had known he would be coming along behind her and had prepared the camp for him, and at the realization he could all but feel her there beside him, smiled at the realness of her presence, dead-flat eyes regaining a bit of life and the little shelter seeming suddenly a great deal less like a good spot for the final sleep he had moments ago been contemplating. Thank you, Lizzie. Now he got once more to his knees, groaning softly at the effort of it, at the hurt of moving his battered foot, but thankful, at least, that he was beginning to feel something again, anything, looks like Ive got a lot of work to do. Feeding the little blaze until it was well established and out of danger of collapsing and going out, Einar began the long and, in his condition, rather arduous task of struggling out of his wet and clinging clothes, managing it finally and getting them propped and hung near the flames to begin drying, marveling at the feel of the fires warmth on his skin but, still badly chilled and shaking and thus feeling rather keenly the thin tendrils of wind that whispered in through the open front of the shelter, wishing he had something dry to wrap up in while he awaited the drying of his clothes. Didnt, though, and could hardly complain, seeing the tremendous improvement that the fire and the absence of his wet clothes had brought. Which reminded him. Had better empty out his pack and get his spare clothes drying as well, look long and hard for a way to keep a set dry while traveling, too, for it appeared that the rain was there to stay for a while, which meant that hed eventually be out in it again, himself. In retrieving his sodden second pair of clothes from the pack, Einar came across the remains of the pemmican Liz had packed for him, soggy as well but unharmed, as the interaction of the fat and cold water had kept everything from dissolving, and he hungrily gulped a crumb of it, welcoming the instant surge of energy brought him by the rich mixture of fat, honey and jerky bits. Could have used it an hour ago, but had entirely forgotten about its presence. Measuring with his fingers the amount of pemmican remaining--no more than an ounce or two, by the looks of things--he regretted somewhat having consumed so much of it during his long, cold night up on the ledge, but knew hed had little choice. Would do just fine on what he had left, and there was always the possibility that he might run across a few serviceberries on the return climb to supplement it, stumble upon a roosting grouse or discover an anthill to provide him a few

additional bites. In the meantime, he knew he must content himself with the little nibble hed already consumed, wished, rather without purpose, that hed possessed some way to heat water so that he could have dissolved that bite of pemmican in it and thus prolonged the experience of eating it, further warmed himself with the broth, but he didnt, having left the cook pot with Liz. Who, he could only hope, was herself holed up in some dry shelter out there, heating a pot of tea or soup over a little blaze similar to the one with which she had so kindly bestowed him. Something seemed different about the place, the feel of it somehow altered, and she approached cautiously, looking for signs that anything was amiss but, the evening already quiet dim with a premature, storm-induced dusk, seeing none. The door, to her relief, appeared not to have been tampered with, no bear-damage leaving her to wonder what she might find inside, and when she removed the network of crossed and jammed logs and branches that Einar had erected to reinforce it and pushed her way into the cabin, the odor that met her--tanned hides and smoked meat and the distinctive if slightly unpleasant tanginess of Einars bear-stomach pudding--was a familiar one. It smelled like home. Kindling the fire that they had left ready to go upon their departure, she changed into dry clothes, got the wet ones hung to dry and huddled in the immense soft warmth of the bear hide as she broke up pieces of jerky for a supper stew. A rather pleasant existence after the long, cold hours of the climb, and she would have been quite content, happy, even, but for wishing so badly that Einar was there to share its comfort with her. Outside, the wind continued its battering against the cabin walls, rain falling in fits and starts and permeating the air with a raw, damp chill that was only then beginning to be driven back by the fire as the air in the cabin warmed. The thought of Einar out wandering in that storm--which he almost certainly must be doing, for when had she ever known him to hole up and wait out a storm like any sensible creature would? Seemed he found it very difficult to allow such an opportunity to pass him by without being out in it in the fullest way he could manage, and then there was always the possibility that his delay had been caused by an injury of some sort, leaving him trapped, unable to travel, and she prayed that if such was the case, he might have at least made it to shelter of some sort before the storm hit--make it difficult for her to fully enjoy the delights of having returned home after what seemed a rather long absence, but Liz did her best to get settled back in, neatening the place up and returning things to their accustomed places, even dashing outside during a lull in the storm and hurrying over to the stand of evergreens where they had hung a good portion of their food as protection for bears in their absence, fumbling a bit in the near-gone light but managing to loose the knot that held one of the cords to a nearby tree trunk, freeing the package--one of the jerky baskets--and returning with it to the cabin, her clothes barely even beginning to be damp as the rain returned full-force. The pitch-coated basket had, to her delight, done its job most effectively, keeping out all trace of moisture and leaving its dried meat contents every bit as brittle and crispy as the day she had packaged them up. A definite success, and she was rather pleases at the fact that they could leave the cabin and all of their food thus fora week? More? Well, lets see, we left here, took a day to get down, spent a night together, then the four I spent

before heading back up here, so thats most of six days without losing anything to weather or scavengers. Despite the success of the tree-hanging system of food preservation, she looked forward to the day when they might have the caches Einar had occasionally spoken about, raised, covered platforms that would give them secure spots to stash larger quantities of food well out of the reach of bears and protected from the depredations of smaller thieves such as ermine and pine marten, as well. A project she hoped they could soon get started on so as to have it done well ahead of the fall season when they would need more flexibility to safely leave the cabin for stretches of two or three days at a time while away harvesting chokecherries, going after elk and sheep and perhaps--if Einar was still agreeable to venturing down to the valley after the difficulties that had developed out of their scouting trip--an acorn gathering trip or two. The caches would save them a tremendous amount of time, keep them from having to go to the rather involved work of hanging everything before leaving the cabin for more than a quick jaunt over to the spring, lest they risk losing everything one again to a hungry and hibernationminded bear. Well. Tomorrow once the rain stops Ill go out and look for likely locations, find four or five to show Einar when he gets back, and then we can settle on a couple. As bulky and awkward as Im getting when it comes to climbing, I may have to send Einar up the tree to do most of the climbing work, but Ill sure do all the hauling of logs and chopping and getting everything ready, and maybe we can set up some sort of simple pulley system, too, so I can help lift things up there to him from down here on the ground. Before we know it well have two or three of these raised caches scattered around the place with a winters worth of dried meat and fat stuck away all good and secure in them, and hopefully some smaller, more hidden caches too, like Einar was talking about. He wants to put them along possible escape routes that we might use if we had to clear out of here in a hurry, as he says, and Ive got to help him do that, because I know hell be more settled and relaxed here if he knows theyre in place. And Ill be more relaxed, too, knowing that if he does at some point take a notion to grab me and leave suddenly in the middle of the night sometime with no intention of returning, at least well have some chance of grabbing a few pounds of food and other supplies on our way out! Yes, a good plan all around. Now if only youd come back, Einar. I know youre working on it, or will be as soon as youre able. I just wish wed talked more about what Im supposed to do if several more days pass and you still havent put in an appearance, because you know Im going to want to come looking for you, retrace our path to the granite shelter and see if you made it back here, maybe try and track you from the elk meadows if you havent, but I know you probably dont want me doing that, because somebody has to be here so the bears and other critters know theres an ongoing human presence and dont get forward enough to try breaking into the cabin after out supply of bear fat. Guess that means Im waiting here, at least for a few days. You take care of yourself out there, Ok? Remember to eat, to get some sleep now and then. Dont lose your way chasing after those tracks. Dont let him lose his way, Lord. I know hes awfully good at navigating, tracking, at getting along out there and keeping himself alive on next to nothing when he has to, but sometimes he can get to seeming so terribly lost, despite all of that, and if Im able to see it from out here, I

can only imagine what it must be like, having to live with that. Cant imagine, really. I just dont have the context to be able to completely understand it. But I do know he could really use Your help keeping things straight about the guy hes tracking, and knowing when its Ok for him let the whole thing go, to turn around and come back. Just help him with that. Bring him back to me. At which, soup beginning to bubble and her travelhunger getting the better of her--the little one was still growing, still demanding; despite the uncertainty of the day, that was one constant in her life at the moment, and, she supposed, would remain so until the birth--Liz returned to her supper preparations. It was not until the following morning when, rain having moved out in the night and Liz deciding the time was right to retrieve more of the jerky packets from their hanging tree, that she discovered she was not alone. Had not been alone, at least, sometime in the night, and the tracks, fresh and undisturbed by the rain there beneath the timber just outside the cabin-clearing, were unmistakably human. No longer in such a hurry now that he knew hed missed Liz and realizing, the warmth and food having given him a bit of perspective, that his climbing efforts would be far more efficient after a rest of some sort, Einar began settling in for a few hours of sleep there in the dry shelter of the leaning granite slab. Slowly savoring another taste of his remaining stash of pemmican--wanted to tear into the partially eaten energy bar hed retrieved from the hikers camp, but didnt dare, not until he was safely back home, on the slight but, in his mind, very real chance that it might still be part of a trap--he hovered over the fire until he was warm enough to trust himself to the exhausted sleep that he knew would be coming just as soon as he let go and allowed himself to succumb to its insistent call. Stoking the fire and burying himself--along with several heated rocks--as well as he could in the heap of spruce needles and oak leaves that had served as Lizs mattress for the past several nights he lay down with a great sigh, far too weary to notice or be disturbed in the least by the sharp prickling of his bedding as it dug into him on every side. Might have waited for his clothes to finish drying and got back into them as a solution to that particular problem had he been thinking about it, but the good dry nearly wind-free comfort of the bed far outweighed all other discomfort for him that evening, and he was asleep within moments. After standing there rooted to the ground for a few seconds at the realization of what she was seeing, Liz quickly dropped into a crouch, rabbit stick in her hand, scanning the timber for any sign of the tracks author but seeing nothing, and not really expecting to. If the intruder was still in the area, he would almost certainly have been watching her as she exited the cabin, would have found a spot and concealed himself well. The discovery left the safety and security of their entire existence at the cabin in serious question, not to mention the fact that their entire food supply was now suspect, having possibly been accessed and contaminated by the unknown interloper, and she had eaten some of that jerky for her breakfast Suddenly nauseous and feeling near panic at the thought she wanted to vomit, to rid herself of the possible poison before it had a chance to take hold, to incapacitate her and do harm of one sort of another to the child, but she restrained herself, shaking her head and taking a series of deep breaths in the hopes of quelling her queasiness before it was too late. Think. Just slow down and think about this. Poisoned

food? You must have been spending too much time around Einar lately Look. You can see he didnt spend any time under the jerky-tree. Stopped to look up, but thats about all. Youd be able to tell if hed done enough moving around under there to lower the baskets, do something to them and raise them again, and he didnt. So the food is fine. The rest of this definitely isnt fine though, and youve got some things to figure out in a hurry. Studying the track in the hopes of being able to recognize it, to gain from its somewhat fuzzy contours at least a small portion of the information that seemed so readily available to Einar in similar situations, she was able to remember well enough the shape and pattern of the prints they had seem down at the elk-meadows to be quite confident that these were not made by the same pair of boots. Or even, near as she could tell, by the same person, as the marks appeared to her made by a noticeably smaller pair of footwear, and worn, she was pretty sure she knew enough to guess, by an individual weighing somewhat less than the man whose sign they had discovered down there in the scrub oaks. The depth of the impressions indicated to her that the individual was definitely heavier than Einar--his tracks were all over, the comparison not hard to make--and somewhat more so than herself, as well, though not to a tremendous degree. Not nearly heavy enough to be Bud Kilgore, unless he had come into some awfully hungry times since their last meeting, and that realization eliminated any hope she might have been harboring that the tracks could belong to a friend. To anyone who was not an enemy. But at least he wasnt the same enemy who had potentially watched them at their bathing and fishing in the valley. None of which was the least bit comforting to her, as it was clear that their home had been discovered, invaded in their absence and she, unaware of the fact, had slept in a cabin that was almost certainly under surveillance by whoever the intruder should prove to be, and with that thought in mind she crept further into the timber, secreting herself in amongst a close-growing cluster of stunted little firs, listening, her grip tight on the rabbit stick as she fully expected them--someone, whoever they were--to come bursting out and making an attempt to seize her. Which, somewhat to her surprise, they did not, the woods remaining quiet save for the familiar morning sounds of the birds and a soft wind sighing in the trees, the harsh and distant call of a raven. Why were they waiting? Hadnt seen her yet? Had seen, but were waiting to move in until she exposed herself once more out in the open? Until the sun stood at a more advantageous position for their snipers, for the men who must be up in the rocks watching her every move, waiting, perhaps, for Einars return so the two of them could be taken together and without any chance to resist, to escape? None of the possibilities sounded even remotely acceptable to her and, on the chance that perhaps she had managed to slip unnoticed from the cabin and into the trees, the idea struck her that the only thing to do, her only remotely reasonable option, involved taking off with what she had on her and nothing more, fleeing into the timber before they could tighten their noose any further and never looking back. Ready to do it, she stopped herself, shook her head. This must be exactly the sort of thought process Einar gets himself into when he takes one of his notions to put some distance behind him, and while hes sometimes right, you know that half the time hes done nothing more than run himself half to death unnecessarily by acting too quickly on such notions. Now you just slow down and think about this, Ok? You cant leave, anyway, not unless you

could be sure of intercepting Einar along the way and warning him not to come here. Youve got to stay, and deal with it. Somehow. Even if only by hiding until he comes back, somehow making sure you see him before whoevers out there waiting for him does, warn him and see how he wants to handle the situation. Better yet would be to track down and eliminate the threat before Einar shows up, and maybe youll have the chance to do that, if you stay hidden and keep a sharp eye out for movement. Find the guy, sneak in close to him andwell, youve got the rabbit stick, your knife, and youve used both. Have had to use both, and can do it again. Now. Where did he go? Squinting into the dimness of the surrounding woods, she tried to follow the tracks with her eyes, only to lose them no more than a few yards on to the soft springiness of the spruce-ground; if she wanted to know where the man had gone, shed have to follow him. Follow she did, carefully, pausing frequently to listen, to test the air for foreign scents as she so often saw Einar do when similarly engaged. The practice had never made sense to her before. She had wondered how he could possibly be gathering useful information through sniffing the air like that; her sense of smell simply hadnt been that keen and delicately tuned, but that had changed dramatically with the pregnancy--she could, in fact, smell the insidious sour tang of the bear stomach pudding in the cabin from where she stood, would have used the occasion as another opportunity to wish it gone, had she not wanted so badly for Einar to return that the thought of getting rid of anything of his just then was even more difficult to stomach than the stench of the pudding--and she, too, now relied on her nose to provide key information about her environment. And the scent that she noticed as she continued along the trail, circling around behind the cabin and ultimately heading up into the timber that ascended along the slope above it, the only scent that seemed slightly out of place, was slight hint of lavender. Which struck her as highly unusual and very nearly left her doubting her own senses. Einars dead-exhausted sleep carried him through a good hour or two of the night, sleep without stirring and without dream, and when he woke, it was to find himself firmly gripped by the chill of the night, his covering of needles and leaves having been shaken off in his sleep. Spruce needles were digging somewhat painfully in to his back and side, and his feet were numb. Not that he cared, not enough to rouse himself and do anything about it, with the weariness of three or four sleepless nights pressing on him like a ton of wet cement, and he curled back up against the cold, pressed and squirmed his feet in under the ground litter and would have been back asleep within moments had it not been for the wind. Seeming to have learned the most effective way into his shelter and taking full advantage of it, the long, thin tendrils of the damp-chilly night wind found him there in his blanketless bed, crept up his backbone, whispered between his ribs and left him shaking so that his covering of leaves never lasted long, being constantly scattered to the ground around him. For some time he lay there trying to be warm and allowing his mind to wander ahead of him back up to the cabin, to the thick, soft warmth of the bear hide, to the fact that Liz would almost certainly be waiting for him when he got there, would have some stew simmering over the fire, and for a few minutes he could almost feel her there beside him, tucking that hide in around the two of them after their big meal, warming some of the ice from his bones and

It wasnt working. His pleasant flight of fancy dispelled quite firmly by an especially insistent gust of wind that chattered his teeth and left his too thin limbs rattling almost audibly against one another for a moment, Einar lay there alone once more in the damp air underneath a dripping rock, bone cold and aching with hunger. Finally tiring of the constant struggle with his bedding he sat up, remains of his sleepiness scattered as he realized just how cold he had become, lying there. No surprise. Really might dolittle bit better here if youd get back into your clothes, take advantage of the protection you do have, instead of lying here freezing in your birthday suit and dreaming of that bear hide and he felt around in the dark above the dead fire until he found his clothing, pants dry and sweater somewhat close, good enough, definitely better than nothing. Seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to get his stiff limbs coordinated and jammed into the garments but the change helped, cut down greatly on the power of the wind. Outside he could still hear the sound of the rain as it softly pelted the spruce canopy above him and set the aspen to shivering, a faint drip and splash as excess water eased from the rocks and found its way to the ground, but it seemed to him that the storms strength had decreased somewhat, rain coming less urgently than it had before and wind, though still tormenting him when its direction was right, having eased some. It was, near as he could figure, time to move on. The sleep hed got, though not nearly enough to make up for his string of sleepless nights, had done a great deal to refresh him, leaving him much clearer of mind, if still immensely weary, physically. And terribly sore, too, his first serious rest since the twin mishaps of his foot-bashing and the tumble on the cliffs leaving him nearly crippled with stiffness that night and really feeling for the first time the full extent of his injuries. Could still move, could--he tested it, wincing at the results--still bear weight on the injured foot and believed that with some effort he ought to be able to cram it, swollen though it was, into his boot. Which meant that he could make it and would, despite the unpleasant and rather long trip that was sure to lie ahead of him between his resting spot that night, and the final shelter of the cabin. Creeping to the shelter entrance he found that the rain had eased even further. Definitely time to go. Boot didnt fit anymore when he tried to put it on; definitely shouldnt have taken it off, looks like, but I was concerned that the doggone foot might start rotting off if I didnt give it some time to air out. Which I guess it might have, only now its gonna be in even worse shape cause it looks like Im gonna be climbing sock-footed if I dont find some way to get this boot on. Which, picturing the route that lay ahead of him, was all the persuasion he needed to convince him that he absolutely must find another way to get the boot on, even if he ended up having to split it down a few inches with his knife. Which, considering that the swelling was largely in his foot and not the lower leg, wouldnt have done an awful lot of good, but he was willing to give it a try, if all else failed. Wouldnt have a foot left if he attempted that climb without some protection, and having already lost the toes, was somewhat firmly attached to hanging onto the rest, if at all possible. Struggling in the darkness, figuring he might as well give the boot a final try before cutting into it, he eased his foot into the top, almost glad it was too dark to see what a swollen mess it had become. Still didnt seem the least bit inclined to fit but he got forceful with it this time, squinting against the pain and jamming the foot in until he felt his heel hit bottom. Ok, worst is over. Breathe, Einar. Breathe and enjoy this impressive

light show your brains created for you, because its gonna be over soon. Which it was, the splinters and flashes of light soon fading and falling to the ground around him, sharp shards of broken glass that he encountered with every move of his offended foot, but to which he paid little heed. Time to get moving. Up through the rain-damp timber Einar climbed that night, relying on his memory of their descent to keep him somewhere close to the proper route while traveling largely blind in the still-stormy darkness, foot protesting at every step until, a good hour or so into the climb, he finally began growing somewhat numb to its complaints, hunger and weariness and the lingering effects of the recent blow to his head combining with the pain to leave him a bit less aware of his surroundings than he would have preferred, but unable to do much about it. His world narrowed to the area immediately around him and the knowledge that he must keep climbing, had to reach the cabin before allowing himself to stop again, he pressed on step after step, his goal being to make the heights of the windswept, treeless red ridge before morning, to cross it while still concealed by darkness. And he very nearly made it. Dawn found Einar winding his way up thorough the last stand of stunted, twisted timber that lay below the ridges rocky summit, his progress having been slowed significantly when the dull, drifty haze that had come after s time of traveling on the injured foot had been replaced sometime well into the night by a stark and somewhat terrifying world in which every creak of a wind-tossed aspen, every rustle of the brush and every patter of an overly-large raindrop as it rolled from the end of an overhanging branch and hit the ground reached him as the announcement of an imminent threat, very real and present in his immediate area and demanding action before it could reach him. This change, though allowing him the awareness and quick response time whose absence had so troubled him on the first half of the climb, did quite dramatically slow the progress of his travel, leaving him to carefully plan each and every move with the intention of minimizing the noise he might make, keeping himself well concealed within the timber. Einar would have known, had such notions been a part of his thinking just then, that a large portion of his problem was related to his ongoing lack of anywhere close to enough food while at the same time exerting himself greatly over the past several days of climbing, a partial and temporary easing of the situation as close at hand as stopping and finishing the few bites of pemmican in his pack. Such did not occur to him as he moved quietly through the trees that night, treading softly on the rain-soaked floor of fir and spruce needles so as not to risk making the slightest scuff or snap as he passed and freezing stock-still for a good minute or two every time some woodland creature--or the wind, or his imagination--produced a similar sound. It was, then, with a good deal of relief that he greeted the coming of daylight, anxious though he had been to make it up and over the bare expanse of the ridge before the coming of the sun, seeing where he was and rejoicing in the glad realization that the crossing represented the only major obstacle that still separated him from the plateau, the cabin, and Liz. An illusion that he would be able to hang onto for a sparse few hours more Hesitating there in the trees above the cabin Liz went on testing the air, searching for

additional clues that might explain the faint but distinct odor of lavender that hung in the air but finding nothing, the continuing line of tracks being her only clue. The intruder had clearly not been very careful, had gone to no special effort to conceal his tracks, and this puzzled Liz, led her to wonder whether the oversight could be attributed to a lack of concern on the part of the track leaver--which would indicate a casual hiker of some sort who as of yet had no idea just whose abode he had stumbled upon--or if the plain trail might have been deliberately left to bait her into whatever position her opponent might find most advantageous. Well, she was having none of that. Wouldnt do it. Left the trail, circling up higher into the more densely-growing timber above the cabin and keeping well out of the few clearer areas through which it appeared the trail would have led her, cutting down now and then to confirm that she was still roughly paralleling the tracks and making frequent and irregular pauses--just like a wary deer, and just like Einar whenever he was on the trail of something and working to keep himself from becoming too fixated on the trail to the exclusion of other important warning signs--to look around, listen. The track-maker had turned, made a wide arc above the cabin, above the low cliffs, turned and headed back down towards the clearing, and Liz followed, distant, cautious, until once again she found herself down at cabin-level and staring through the trees and straight at her own front door. There, sitting on the bench-log just outside the cabin, was Susan, her silver-frosted black curls peeping out rakishly from beneath the wide-brimmed, blue-banded khaki canvas hat that Liz had always seen her wear while working in the garden and greenhouses, a small daypack sitting on the ground beside her. Seeing Liz she rose, eyes glowing and a big, half-believing grin lighting her face. Liz wanted to run to her, embrace her, but hesitated, glancing into the tree-shadows, heart in her throat. Was it a trap? Had Susan been forced to come in order to put her at ease and expedite her capture, and Einars? Einar would almost certainly tell her so, would believe so. But Liz did not. Susan was very strong, a fighter, and would, regardless of the circumstances under which she had been made to appear, have found some way of communicating to her the danger. And she wasnt. Studying her face, Liz believed she was there under her own power, willingly and without threat. But one cannot be too sure, and for the moment she hung back, watching warily, rabbit stick in hand. Susan! How did you? I came here with a fella named Bud Kilgore. He says he knows you. Weve been hiking for three days to find this place, and let me tell you, never in my life have I toured so much country in any three days! Weve been up one ridge and down another, across the valley, up the rockslide and through the woods. Twice! So I believe were safe from having been followed. I couldnt have followed us, and certainly couldnt begin to retrace our steps. Which sounded likely to Liz; she believed Susan was telling the truth, but still suspected a trap, even if Susan had somehow been roped in as an unwitting participant. Wheres Kilgore?

He told me I had to come out first and say hello, because between the two of you he pretty nearly got himself killed the last time he came up here. Let me see him. I want to see him. At which there was a rustle and a snap from the nearby chokecherry thicket, Liz crouching and in one seamless movement pulling a dart from her pack and fitting it to the atlatl as a hint of white flashed amongst the vegetation, a handkerchief, it appeared, tied to a long stick. Kilgore was quite literally waving the white flag, and Liz, though having a hard time keeping herself from bursting into laughter, was still suspicious. Not buying it. Not until shed seen him. Well, come on out of there. I probably wont shoot. A growl and a groan from the bushes as the man shifted position, apparently getting to his feet. Probably? Whats this probably? And wheres that crazy old toeless wolverine of a mountain critter of yours, this morning? He still alive and kicking? Seen sign that says he is, real recent sign, but I sure dont see him anywhere. You get tired of his cantankerous ways and decide to keep him tied to a tree out there somewhere so you can have some peace and quiet at the house, or what? Cant say Id blame you. Some critters are really only fit for Hes around. Now you come on out of there, move real slowly and come out here in the open where we can see you. The brush rustled again as Kilgore moved out into the clearing, Liz taking a step towards him and motioning for him to get down on his knees. Grumbling, he complied, not even bothering to finish emerging from his brushy hiding place, first. Aw, not this again. Youre gonna stomp on my back and tie me up, arent you, like last time? How come youre not roughing her up? Whys it always got to be me? Oh, for goodness sake, Im not going tojust get out here where I can see you! Kilgore came, hands slightly raised, empty aside from the pole with its hastily improvised white flag, stopped in the middle of the clearing where Liz could get a good look at him, warily watching her atlatl hand, knowing full well that she was likely very deadly with the thing and seeing in her eyes that she would not hesitate to use it if she thought there was a need. Wouldnt hesitate for a second. Quite a pair these two must makekinda surprised one hasnt done the other in by now, really, both being wound so tight all the time. Which maybe is assuming too much Havent laid eyes on Asmundson yet. Liz had taken another step closer to him, was scanning the nearby woods in an attempt to ascertain whether the pair were alone, couldnt be sure, but glancing back at Susan and seeing that her attention was entirely focused on Kilgore rather than on their surroundings as it might have been if she had known of or suspected the presence of others, her confidence increased.

What are you doing up here, Kilgore? I seem to remember Einar mentioning what would happen if you came back after last time, and Im quite sure he meant every word of it. I got no doubt he did Maam, but you see, Mrs. Goodland here, well, she didnt seem to entirely believe me when I told her Id visited you folks and lived to tell about it, and I really did need her to believe me, for a number of reasons, which is why Im risking life, limb and--knowing that wild-haired mountain critter of a husband of yours--a few other mighty important things to bring her here for a visit. Youre risking more than your life and limb in coming here. Youre putting our child in danger, and I can tell you right now Einar isnt likely to take at all kindly to that. Where is that fella, anyway? Aint like him to hang back in the brush like this and let you do all the threatening. Ought to have put a dart or two through my hide by now, if past experience is any indicator. He hurt or something? Ended up losing his leg to that infection, and dont want me to know about it? I dont think thats it, because his tracks sure do look two-footed to me Hell be here soon. Look, if hes in some sort of trouble out there, Id be glad to go and No! Susan had used great restraint in remaining seated throughout the exchange between Liz and Kilgore but seeing that things were growing a bit heated between them and not doubting for a moment that Liz would take action if she deemed it necessary she was on her feet, had Liz in her arms, looking her over, embracing her, exclaiming over the bythen quite noticeable presence of the growing child. How about showing me the house, kiddo? Looks like quite a place you two have built here.

Liz, still somewhat in a daze at the unexpected arrival of seemingly friendly company and not quite sure yet whether she dared trust appearances, took Susan into the cabin and showed her around by the light of the fire and of the open, sun-streaming door, Susan exclaiming at the quantity of dried bear meat--Liz explaining that more awaited her retrieval up in the trees--bear fat and dried serviceberries, the neatly arranged baskets of spring beauty and lily corms along the rafters, pouches and bags of yarrow, hounds tongue and other medicinal plants, and giving special attention to the good soft bear hide and the beginnings of the rabbitskin blanket Liz was making for the baby. Quite a place, indeed. Theyve sure done well, considering the circumstances and what they had to work with! Looks like theyre a little short on winter clothes though, as late in the season

as its getting to be, or on hides to make them out of. Sure wish Id had some inkling of where Mr. Kilgore was taking me when we left the house--has to show me something, indeed! And three days later, here we are--because I would have brought a different pack and loaded it up with all the things I wanted to send with them the first time Kilgore had remained outside during Susans tour, Liz casting the occasional suspicious glance at him just to make sure he hadnt pulled out a radio and started contacting his employers, though she knew from his past actions and from the fact that they had been left in peace after his most recent departure that he was highly unlikely to deliberately compromise them in any way; even Einar had come to trust him on that visit, or hed never have allowed him to leave the place alive, and Susan used the private moment between the two of them as an opportunity to dig a bit deeper into a matter that Liz had clearly been uncomfortable discussing in the trackers presence. Where is Einar? I know you said hed be back soon, but I couldnt tell if that was just for Mr. Kilgores benefit, or Hell be back. I know he will, but its been fourfive days since I saw him down in the valley miles from here, and I just hope hes Ok out there. I mean, he will behe always finds a way to be, but he was so worn out those last couple of days and this time it was my fault, because I insisted on going down there to scout for acorns, and then we found the tracks Someone had been there, a man leaving tracks in the little clearing where wed been watching some elk, and Einar got the idea that he might have seen us, or at least seen the smoke from our fire where wed cooked up a trout that morning and he had me stay behind in a hidden little spot while he went to find out what the man was up to, and that was five days ago and its the last Ive heard from him. I wanted to wait for him down there but we agreed that if he wasnt back within four days Id come back up to the place just so thered be somebody here to deter the critters from getting too bold with our meat and fat and all, and I know it was the right thing to do, but Im awfully concerned that something might have happened to him out there, maybe he caught up with that man and Oh Lizzie, thats a lot to be carrying around, isnt it? You know hes a very resourceful man though, and Im sure hes doing everything he can to get back up here to you. Hows he doing with that foot and all? Mr. Kilgore told me it was looking pretty bad when he was up here a month or so ago, but I wasnt sure then whether or not I ought to believe everything he was telling me. His foot is better. It was a long haul, but we finally got it to heal up and stop getting infected, and now hes barely even limping anymore, most of the time. But heswell, I dont know. He never has been able to start putting weight back on after being sick for so long with the foot, doesnt seem to be trying very hard, really, and Im pretty worried about whats going to become of him when it really starts getting cold this fall. He can barely keep warm at night as it is, though again, it really doesnt seem to be a very high priority for him. Enough about all of that, though. I dont think hed like me talking about it, and since hes not here to speak for himself Susan nodded, let the matter go,

but could tell that Liz was a good bit more anxious about the entire situation than she was willing to let on. Kilgore, seeing that the serious conversation seemed ended between them and noticing that Lizs breakfast fire was near going out--really wanted to be able to make himself a second pot of breakfast tea, if she was agreeable--gathered a number of small-diameter logs from the pile he had just shortened, and was about to feed a handful of them to the little fire when Liz saw and stopped him. No! Please dont add any of that stuff. Its for later. Its too green. Weve had to be awfully careful with fire lately, because before that second most recent rain a few days ago, we had a little plane making repeated passes over the area, and it was coming way too close for comfort. Weve got to give it a few clear days now to make sure its not coming back, and I want to stick to this pile of totally dry little sticks today for the fire, if you dont mind. Although, she told herself, maybe I ought to be adding a great big armful of that stuff, actually, along with some green spruce branches so were giving off big plume of black smoke to warn Einar that something is amiss here. He wouldnt know what, of course, but would recognize the smoke as something Id never deliberately do, and that would hopefully tell him that he needed to approach with caution. It would be a very bad thing indeed for him to return home with no warning whatsoever to find people there at the cabin, especially with Liz not knowing whether hed been eating or sleeping much over the past several days--though she could guess--and she knew he was very likely to take it all the wrong way, possibly with disastrous consequences for himself, their guests, or all three. But of course she did not want to tell Kilgore any of that, simply motioned for him to put down the firewood. Kilgore nodded, put back his small armload of not-quite dry enough aspen branches, barely suppressing a grin. Green and white was it, this little plane? Youve seen it too? Heck yeah, Ive seen it! Did you see us waving? Whowhat? Who was waving? My old buddy Roger and I, when we flew over the place. You see us? Einar did. He insisted he saw the plane tip its wings at him--on two different occasions--but I thought he was just seeing things. Most times when a fella sees things, its because theyre there. Thats usually the simplest explanation. Roger and I got ourselves hired on with the feds, you know, so were doing all of this on their dime. Which left Liz thinking for a moment that her worst fears had been confirmed, and she would have been half inclined to go at Kilgore with her knife right then and there before he could take steps to render the area safe and summon his employers, had not Susan been listening to the entire story with glowing

eyes and a certain hint of a wry smile that Liz knew to be an expression of her most sincere form of almost childlike delight; Susan knew the rest of the story, and approved. Liz was still suspicious, but loosened her grip some on the knife. Hired to do what, exactly? Well, to lead em on a one wild goose chase after another, eat up their resources and quietly sow discord and mistrust within their organization until they end up scared out of their boots and stabbing each other in the back before finally heading home in disgrace, but they dont know that bit, of course. Not yet. They think theyve taken me on because Im one of the best trackers on two doggone continents and am gonna help them get their man, and Roger for the same reason. Well, that, and the fact that I said Id only do it if they hired Roger, too. I needed his plane, see? Im not sure what I see. Just not sure. But if youre trying to lead them away from us, why fly over this area at all? Wont that just draw their attention? Not to mention what it did to Einar each time you came overI dont think he hardly slept for a week, and we very nearly ended up having to leave this place and abandon all of our winter supplies because he thought the site had been compromised. Aw, its good for him. Keep his blood moving. Everybody needs that, and Id hate for the old boy to start getting too fat and lazy just lounging all comfortable-like around the house, you know. Now that you kids got a house. As for the other part, well, if were gonna get em looking where you arent, and keep em that way, well, we got to have a real good idea of where you are, so we know the areas to avoid! The no-go zone. Needed a real good picture of it in our heads before we could work up the ground plan, and the way you and Asmundson blindfolded me and lead me all around for hours on end on the way down from here last time, I really couldnt be too sure of the location of this place, without getting eyes on it.

Moving quickly across the open expanse that topped the ridge--red sandstone talus dotted with pebbles of grey and white quartz, water-rounded and suggesting almost absurdly that the area must have once been part of a massive lakebed, lonesome sandstone boulders and massive monolith-like formations adding to the mystery of the place and its height offering glimpses of three different mountain ranges in the distance, for those who had time to stop and look--Einar paused briefly in the shadow of a leaning pillar of red, lichen-speckled stone, head resting against its cool surface as he struggled a bit for breath in the high, thin air. Oughtnt have been having any trouble getting enough oxygen, accustomed as he was to making himself at home at such heights and higher, pushed the feeling aside and tried to ignore it, shaking the heaviness from his head and attempting to force his eyes to focus as he stared out across the vast spaces below him--had climbed a long way, and the ridge dropped off sharply to the timbered slopes far below--his attention drawn to the flat top and steep, fluted sides of a nearby peak whose grey granite features gleamed stark and almost white in the sharply angled morning sunlight. He

recognized that peak, knew he had climbed it, years ago and from its far side, had made the challenging and somewhat tricky traverse along its steep sides, clinging like a spider in search of the protrusions and irregularities that might allow him passage--had chosen an alternate route, of course, a more difficult one, wanting to avoid if at all possible running into other climbers on his way up--gaining at last the approach ridge and finding himself straddling a sharp corrugation of rock whose sides dropped down a vertical thousand feet on his one hand, two on the other, plunging away with an almost-dizzying sharpness and leaving him on that thin knife edge of rock, literally straddling it, scooting along with each foot dangling into a separate abyss and then he stood, balancing precariously there on the very spine of the world, arms outspread for balance and feeling quite certain that he could fly, must be flying as he took step after carefully-placed step, dancing, rejoicing, covering half the distance before the ridge grew narrower still and nearly spilled him into the yawning depths below--it would have been a quick end, but he had no desire for such--leading him to crouch, shift, ease his body down over the edge so that he could make far safer and more secure progress by bracing feet against the rocky steepness of the knife edges side while clinging with his hands to its top, moving forward hand over hand until he reached its end. Staring back along the brilliant sharpness of the knife edge one might have thought the most difficult portion of the climb was behind him at that point but he would have been wrong, quite seriously mistaken, as the final ascent consisted of a quick and carefullybalanced scramble over steep stacks of tipsy rock slabs piled like stacks of dirty dishes and no more stable--plates, mostly, but with some cups thrown in there for extra interest, and you sure didnt want to step on one of those the wrong way--definitely the most challenging portion of the climb and the one during which disaster loomed largest and most ready to seize the unwary climber, the one whod let down his guard in the triumphant aftermath of making it unscathed across that precarious spine of rock But hed made it, reached at last the small area of almost-levelness at the summit, a tiny plateau of shattered and splintered grey-white rock, the world--half the known world and no less, had to be--spreading out below him on all sides in a magnificent sweeping turmoil of jagged, jumbled peaks, spires, shadow and sunlight, and in the valley, green, the deep, impossible green of the alpine summer, ridges of red sandstone rising from their depths, timber-combed sides and bare tops standing in sharp contrast to one another. Sitting, breathing, heart beating in a deep, still, triumphant joy that one can only know in such places and after reaching them by the sweat of ones own almost-unsuccessful struggle he stared down into the depths of a lake that lay mirror-surfaced and a deep gemblue in its protected little crater of rock and impossibly green tundra-grass some two thousand feet below the dangling soles of his boots, one of several such that he could see from up there on his rocky perch. Einar sighed, shook his head and stared up at the waiting heights of that peak, memories as fresh as if hed been there yesterday, and, struggling for breath as he stood at an elevation a good fifteen hundred feet below that of its summit he could feel that peak calling to him, urging him to leave his current course and seek its slopes, or those of one similar, make that climb while he still could, find a good place to sit and watch and waitcould deny all he liked the pressing and perhaps quite imminent finality of the

thing that had been stalking him those past few days, but he knew it was out there, had felt its touch in the alarmingly weak and rapid pounding of his heart whenever he demanded more than the slightest effort of it, the blurring of vision and stumbling of gait, the shadows lurking out there around the edges of his mind, pressing in at times to cloud his thoughts and leave him with increasing frequency uncertain of his own senses. Though he could resist it, could fight it, the thing would have him in the end as it did all living creatures, and if that end was as near as he suddenly felt it might be, he wished very much to be up on one of those peaks to meet it. Up there in the good free air as his friend Willis had been to await his time, a fitting end indeed and a good one, and though for himself he might have perhaps preferred to go out fighting, weapon in hand, the peak would have to do, and he could hear its call, rose to go but stopped himself, scrubbing a hand across his face and grinning a bit incredulously at the flight of fancy upon which he had somehow managed to embark. What are you doing, Einar? You cant be making any final climb, not now with Lizzie and the little one waiting for you down there and winter on the waynope, not yet, not time, maybe if you were out here by yourself itd make some sense, but you got duties here, and no way are you gonna turn away from them to be making that climb, no matter how loudly those hills may be calling to you right now. Now get up, you big goof, and go on down there to the cabin. Lizziell fix you up, get this foot back in shape and maybe yeah, sure would be good if she had some soup or something waiting for you down there, cause if you dont get more to eat pretty soon, Im not sure youre gonna have much choice about that final climb and all, though the way things are going you may not have the energy to climb anything more than a medium-sized boulder when the time does come, and that wouldnt do, nope, sure isnt the way I want to go He rose, rubbed stiff hands together--had begun shivering in the cool, breezy shade of the rocks; was past time to move on--and scanned the remaining space that lay between him and the waiting timber, saw no sign of danger, heard none, though the way the blood was rushing in his ears, he wasnt entirely confident of being able to hear it, stepped out of the shadows and started across. Gonna need a little help here Lord if youre willing sharpen my eyes and open my ears and keep me on task so I can get back down there to Liz, and do it without putting us in danger by getting myself seen Reaching a few minutes later the lower end of the ridges open expanse of rock and short, stunted grass, Einar slumped down in the first little outpost of timber for a few minutes of relieved rest. Had been expecting every moment to hear the distant but too-quickly approaching hum of an aircraft, contemplating what he would do to try and save himself if caught out in the open without time to get to cover, and the best idea hed been able to come up with had involved a hasty drop to the ground and a huddle in the shadow of the largest cluster of rocks he could reach, in the hopes he might be overlooked. The odds had not been good, and now, dark timber-shade enfolding him once again, he was just beginning to feel as though he could breathe again. For several reasons, including the slight drop in elevation. Feeling the foot, too, which he had managed to largely ignore during the necessarily hasty ridge-crossing, and he wished he had the time to stop and get the boot off for a while, air it out some and see what might be done to improve the situation. Didnt dare, though. Knew hed not be likely to get the boot on again the way it felt like

things had swollen up, and he had to have the boot, if he was to make that descent on two feet. Could do it on one with the assistance of a stick or crutch, had done similar and worse in the past, but wanted, if at all possible, to make his return to Liz--and the cabin, with its promise of food, shelter, rest--an expedient one. Was beginning to need water pretty badly too, his last opportunity to refill the pitch-coated water carrier that had proved such a benefit on the journey having come several hours prior at a little seep in the timber partway up the ridge, and though he had both consumed a good bit himself and filled the carrier at the time, the climb had required a good bit of effort on his part, and had left him dry. Well. Would be plenty to drink once he reached the spring, and if all went smoothly and he was able to maintain a reasonable pace, he ought to be there within the space of no more than two hours. Quite doable. Being determined, hed very nearly done it, having descended to within several hundred feet elevation of the spring, when he saw the billow of black smoke, thick, ugly, rising from the approximate location of the cabin.

Einars first thought on seeing the smoke was that Liz might have somehow managed to catch the cabin on fire--goodness knew it was composed largely of highly flammable materials--and, heart pounding at the thought that she might be in some sort of trouble, possibly asleep, trapped in there and overcome by smoke, he was about to rush headlong down the remaining slope to save her, had to save her, had to get her out of there, but something made him pause, wait, watch for a fraction of a second, and that was enough. The cabin wasnt burning. Simply wasnt enough smoke, and it was too well contained, too organized, might very well, by all appearances, be emanating from the same chimney-hole that wisps bits of smoke from their cooking fires always exited, and not in a volume tremendously inconsistent with cooking, either. But Liz knew better. Wouldnt use wood as wet and pitchy as that releasing the smoke had to be--looked like she must be burning green branches, needles still in place, as a matter of fact--and if she had mistakenly added something of that sort to the fire, she would have noticed, extinguishing it as quickly as possible to avoid just the sort of security-risking monstrosity of a smoke column that he now watched rise above the plateau. Which left him wondering once again if there had been an accident of some sort, if--several of his worst nightmares rolled into one, and suddenly it appeared to him the most likely scenario--perhaps the enemy had somehow discovered the location of the cabin, trapped her inside and He was running then, heedless of the injured foot, his exhaustion and a grabbing, squeezing tightness and ache in his chest at the exertion, none of it mattered, nothing mattered but to reach Liz before it was too late, to drive the enemy away so he could get to her, he knew they would be too many, wished he was better armed and--abruptly changing course--was aware that he must not attempt to meet them head on, not if he wanted to live long enough to be of any help to Liz. Theyd expect him to approach the place from the usual direction, from the spring past which all of their trails led, and he began circling around so as to come down just to the side of the cabin-cliffs where he

hoped to be able to get a good look down at the cabin area, approach undetected and get some idea of what might be amiss before being seen, himself. Theyd almost certainly have a sentry up there if the operation was at all well organized but that should prove no obstacle to him, hed hear the man, see him--world was crackling around him with that intense aliveness that it took on at times like these, sight and hearing uncommonly keen, despite his earlier impairment--eliminate the threat and decide, quickly, it would have to be quickly, as that smoke was still rising, how best to gain the cabin and rescue Liz. Covering the remainder of the descent in record time Einar reached the area where steep black timber began giving way to the sparsely-treed talus slopes angled down sharply just above the cabin-cliffs, slowing his pace slightly so as to avoid starting a rockslide and giving himself away but still moving with a speed and agility that he would have found quite impossible that morning under less threatening circumstances. There they were, the cliffs, and he scanned the area for any sign of the sentry he was sure they would have placed in the rocks, moving silently from tree to tree with atlatl in hand, dart ready to loose but he saw no one, sensed no one; he was alone up there. Smoke still rose from the area of the cabin, black and at times copious but it was clear to him by then that the cabin itself could not be burning. The smoke pattern simply had not changed enough, had not increased in the way he knew it would have done, flammable as the construction materials had been and nearly as a dozen or more pitchy spruces grew crowded around its location, and in that realization he found incredible relief, for quickly as he had been moving, he knew he was to have been too late to do anything but pick up the pieces, had the enemy decided to burn his family alive in that cabin. Wouldnt have even been able to do that, in reality, for they would have had him as soon as he stepped out into the clearing to try it, and he could only hope that he would have been able to take a few of them with him. There was no fire, though, no immediate sign of the enemys presence at all, aside from the obvious fact that Liz was doing something that Liz would never do, in feeding the fire with live green spruce branches to produce those clouds of black smoke, and Einar worked his way in closer, keeping to the stunted little patches of vegetation that dotted the cliffs and wriggling out to a place near their edge on his stomach, trying for a better look. There it was, the back of the cabin, the roof, smoke proceeding neatly from the chimney-opening and no one visible, but as the pounding of blood in his head began to quiet ever so slightly he thought he heard something, crept a bit closer and his fears were confirmed. He heard voices, mens voices; Liz was not alone. Had been captured, apparently, was being held in the cabin, kept there so she could see not his approach and shout him some warning of the waiting foe, but she had not gone for it, had not remained silent and passive as they no doubt meant her to do, awaiting his capture. In the smoke she had found a way to warn him, to put him on his guard and let him know that something was amiss, and though he had at first badly misinterpreted the signal, it had done its job. Now. Where are they? Where, and how many? Unlikely that they would all be in the cabin. Cant see much from in there. Nor from up here, really, as I sure didnt place the cabin with the intention that it be easy to observe and assault from a distance, quite the opposite really, which is a good thing as long as its us in there defending the place or trying to slip away, but is really gonna hurt me in this case. Looks like I may have to

work my way in around to the front if I really want to see anything, and then I lose the advantage of being on the high ground, but theres not much I can do from up here on the high ground. Maybe down there Ill at least be able to figure out how many they are, quietly reduce that number a bit while I wait for the ones inside to step out, theyll have to step out, no bathrooms in there, and then Ill make my move. Would be good to know more about how theyre holding Liz, whether shes free to move and help out with all this when the time comes, or nothave to guess not, because if they know whats good for them, they wont have left her loose like that. Not a mama wolverine like her. Unless-shook his head to dispel the thought, but it wouldnt go away--theyve somehow talked her into working with them, turning on me, convinced her its the only way to save the babyseems unlikely seeing as she made this smoke to alert me, but shed do it then, would have to go along with it and I wouldnt blame her for a second. In which case Ill still make my best attempt here, and will almost certainly wind up dead but perhaps I can give her a chance to slip away. Shes pretty fast even now with the little one, knows the area very well and has a real good chance, if I can just draw their attention for long enough, take a few of them out and Activity down there at the cabin, someone emerging and stepping just as quickly into the trees, disappearing before he could get a good look at them--wished hed previously got the binoculars out, but hadnt had time to do so--but the little glimpse had puzzled him some, had definitely not put him in mind of an armed federal agent either in appearance or demeanor, but then it had been a rather brief glance, his vision still blurring on him and proving a somewhat unreliable witness. There. Another individual leaving the cabin, his back clearly visible for the space of a good second or so, exposed, and Einars atlatl hand tingled, but he held back, couldnt be giving himself away just yet, not until he knew more of Lizs status, which he did the next second, for there she was, exiting the cabin under her own power and following the two individuals off into the timber, appearing to move a bit more slowly than normal, looking somewhat dejected, if he was judging correctly, but not visibly injured or restrained in any way, and that was a good thing. Very, very good, and he saw his chance, was moving, squirming back away from the cliffs and rising when at a safe distance, melting into the timbered slope to their side and beginning to work his way down to the level of the cabin. Didnt know why Lizs captors were leading her off into the woods, but saw in the change a marked improvement in his chances of being able to engage them, to free her. Together the three of them--Liz, Susan and Bud Kilgore--walked to the cluster of trees where Liz had hung the jerky, intending to help her complete the task on which shed been intent when she discovered Susans tracks. It was clear to Susan that Liz was preoccupied, worried about Einars continued absence, spending a good bit of her time listening for him and rearranging things there in the cabin in futile attempt, it appeared, to keep her thoughts off of what might have happened to him out there, and she hoped that in helping Liz with a project or two, her mind might be taken off the waiting, just a bit. There were some very serious matters the three of them needed to discuss--four of them, if Einar should return before they had to move on--but Susan saw more harm than good coming of it if the subject was broached while Liz was still so intent on watching for him. Liz had mentioned being involved in the jerky-recovery project when shed discovered their tracks, and that seemed to Susan a good place to start. And besides, she

was very curious to see how Bud Kilgore was impressed with the jerky-trees, stood staring up at the numerous baskets and packets of desiccated bear that swung dry and well-protected from their aerial perches, grinning and nearly toppling over backwards in his enthusiasm to study the scene. Ha! And all my life Ive been told jerky dont grew on trees! Seems those folks just never did encounter the right trees, How do you know when the stuffs ready for harvest? Does it change colors? Start falling off? The bears and weasels and all gather down here on the ground and start drooling? Well I hope it wont change colors or fall off, because those would be very bad signs. You dont want to let it get over-ripe, or its not so good to eat. Though Einar would probably like it just fine, even then. Maybe like it even better. That was his special pudding you smelled in the cabin Fermented jerky, huh? Thought I smelled something sort of familiar. Not jerky. Its the contents of the bears stomach, mixed with some bear blood and fat and nettle greens and things and left in a warm place for a couple of weeks to ripen. He calls it pudding, andfamiliar? Dont tell me youre in the habit of snacking on fermented bear stomach contents, too. That would just be too odd! Mmmnope. Not bear stomach, specifically, but it sounds kinda like kimchi. In a real back-woods, high mountain sort of way, and Im guessing Id like it real well. Figure hed teach me how to make the stuff? If he dont put a dart through my neck for coming back up here, that is Tell you what. If you can talk him into teaching me, Ill show you how to ferment a monkey. Not too much skill to it, but the results are something to behold, alright! Thankfully I havent seen a single monkey up here, so Ill pass on that part, but I have no doubt hell be glad to show you how the pudding is done. Hes pretty proud of the stuff, though Ill admit its not a taste--or a smell--that I particularly care for. He says its a living food, full of enzymes and good for your digestion, and while I have no doubt at all that its living, Im just a bit skeptical about it being the sort of life Im wanting to ingest! Though your fermented monkey idea does sound a good bit worse, if thats even possible Oh, the monkeys sure not something you want to go eating raw, cause thatd leave you real bad off and then probably dead before you had the chance to enjoy the stuff for many days, but once you boil it, all the dangers removed. That was the whole point of the fermented monkey, really. Just to show folks that if you boil it long enough, theres not much that aint edible. Even out there in the bush, under the most adverse of conditions. Course it helped too that them Selousie boys--well, future Selousies to be more accurate, because this all took place during the selection phase, went through it myself before eventually helping to run it for a couple years--hadnt had anything much to eat for a good five, six days beforehand, too, and had been working real hard. By the end of that,

they were more than ready to tear into the critter, fermented, green and splitting with maggots, or not! Maggots just added to the protein of the meal, you know, and Susan, seeing that Liz was beginning to appear a bit green, herself, made a gentle attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction, but as Kilgore was quite intent on sharing memories from his days of selection and training with the Selous Scouts--she wanted to hear them, just didnt think the time was right and could tell the subject of highly fermented dead critters and their attendant masses of wriggling white insect life was leaving Liz somewhat nauseous--she had a rather monumental task on her hands getting him on another subject. Which quickly became a moot point when they began lowering the jerky baskets, Kilgores attention shifting to the construction and waterproofing of the vessels, leaving him to study them with rapt fascination. Never seen anything like these, Maam. Your invention, or Asmundsons? I made them. We wanted to keep the meat dry without having to leave it down in the cabin where bears could get at it while we were away. Has a bear break in and take some sheep jerky a while back, and we didnt want to risk that happening again so close to winter. Thats his meat in the baskets, by the way. He and Einar ended up having a bit of a disagreement over his raiding the cabin, and Einar wanted to head out and settle it with a spear, and he would have, too--it wouldnt have been his first time--expect that I insisted we stick with building a trap Spears a challenging way to meet a critter like that, for sure. Good for a fella, if he lives through it. But the traps a good bit more efficient, since it tends to make for less wear and tear on the hunter, and leaves him more ready for the skinning and butchering part of the bear hunt, when alls said and done. Thats the hardest part of the job anyway, as Im sure the two of you found out. Looks like you were successful though, because that hide youve got in there is a real masterpiece. Well done, and I can only imagine how warm its gonna be on some of these crisp fall nights that are coming up. Wondering though, whatre you kids gonna do for things like boots and parkas and such? Because I dont see anything of the sort sitting around in the cabin right now, nor the piles of skins and furs youd need to sew em, with snow potentially coming in just a couple of months. Well get by. We did it last winter. Yeah, only it left Asmundson short a set of toes, and you with a little one coming wont be able to get out and take on as much of the trapping burden this winter, if he pulls another stunt like that and gets himself laid up for a month or two. Ever considered that? Einar doesnt get laid up for a month or two. I practically have to sit on him just to get him to spend the night in the cabin where its warm and dry instead of wandering around out in the rain trying to cover distance or complete one task or another, and thats even when he is injured. Which he isnt right now. Like I said, well get by. Is that why you

came this time? To try and talk us into giving up and walking out of here? Because I wont have it! If thats your intention you can just Susan put a gentle hand on her arm, and Kilgore laughed. Nothing of the sort, Maam. Just making sure youre seeing the reality of it, the thing youre in for this winter, and from the way youre jumpin on me like a burnt-tailed tiger at the mere mention of it, Im guessing maybe theres some things you havent really let yourself look at, yet. Ill drop it. For now. Lets finish up with this jerky. It made sense. Made perfect sense that they would want to deny him any chance to access that food, ensure that he would be weak and without supplies if he chose to flee instead of taking the bait right away and attempting to free Liz, perhaps even force him to rely on a contaminated packet or two of jerky that they would prepare and leave for him, and Einar was not particularly surprised when finally--having moved slowly and with immense care as he swept the area for sentries, sensors, mines and traps, but finding nothing--he reached the area of dense timber in front of the cabin, found the intruders and discovered them to be engaged in a systematic retrieval of jerky baskets and jars of secured bear fat from their lofty repositories. What didnt make sense was the apparent willingness, eagerness, even, with which Liz appeared to be helping them, and at the sight if it and the realization of its possible implications the toll of the past several days seemed to catch up to him all in a rush, manifesting itself in the hurt of his too-long ignored foot, a thirst that left him feeling all wrung out inside, eyes dry, aching, throat catching and leaving him struggling with difficulty to suppress a cough, a crushing, debilitating weariness that seemed to permeate his every pore and leave him dreadfully cold all of a sudden, dizzy, and he leaned heavily on the tree that was providing him concealment, thinking for a moment that though he didnt know much about the present situation, he did know one thing: he was done. Going no further. Couldnt, even if he had wanted to, even if he had reason, which he hardly did, seeing as Liz appeared to be happily aiding in the enemys efforts to ensure that he would be near starvation when the time came for their final confrontation, and the thought of her choosing to do so was very nearly more than he could bear, at the moment. Fought it, pushed the thought aside and quickly managed to regain a bit of his composure, stand up straight once again and get his eyes focused on the scene before him. Didnt have enough information, and despite his brains urging him otherwise he knew it, knew there might be any number of explanations for Lizs behavior, foremost among them the likelihood that the enemy had threatened to destroy the child if she did not comply quickly and thoroughly with their requests, in which case there was no blame in her doing so; she had to protect the child, and he--awash in relief at the renewed reason to go on, to live, to act--must rescue her. The two of them. The intruders were just then pulling down the last few packets of jerky, had their backs to him but he could hear their voices though unable to make out words, Liz joining in the conversation and even laughing from time to time, sounding fairly relaxed, and though the laughter made him glad in the realization that they must not have too badly hurt or threatened her in order to gain knowledge of the location of the jerky, it did nothing to

reassure him when it came to her motives. Why would she be laughing like that if acting under duress? It made no sense. She had, by all appearances, turned on him, was willingly aiding the enemy in their efforts at his capture, was glad and relieved at what would be for her the end of the search, of the struggle that her life had become out there, and his hand tightened on the atlatl, body suddenly a good bit steadier and mind clear with the silent, deadly calm that comes immediately before action as he edged closer to the small group, keeping himself well concealed behind one small cluster of trees and then another, closing the distance Things might have come out very differently indeed had Liz not got a strange feeling just then and turned, looked up, seen him, met his eye. Einar froze when he saw Lizs gaze on him, waiting, attempting to weigh her intentions and she kept quite still also, wanting to speak to him, to go to him but recognizing that it would be a rather bad idea to do either. Several things happened in very close sequence then, the first being that Einar read in Lizs eyes not the slightest hint of warning, regret, no sign that anything might be amiss at all, in fact, and though he might well have rightly questioned his skill at reading such emotions had he really thought about it, the message he saw there rang true. She was not complicit with his enemies. Their enemies. Which gladdened him so greatly that for a moment he almost didnt care what happened next, what was to become of him, except that of course it did matter in reference to her, as he must free her and ensure she got to safety. And then--events still moving with a dizzying speed, or perhaps he was just dizzy still from the exertion of his fast descent--just as he was making the decision to motion Liz to the ground and loose a dart into the back of the nearest intruder, he recognized Susan, who had just then turned to speak to Liz but held back when she saw what Liz was looking at. Confused and still expecting a trap Einar turned his attention on Kilgore, who remained preoccupied with retrieving a final bag of jerky, lowering it carefully from its branch, and by the time he realized something was amiss and turned around, Einar had him square in his sights, so to speak, and was ready to let the dart fly. Liz stepped in, stepped between them, holding up her hands as if to restrain him. Einar, dont. And he didnt, recognized Bud and took a couple of steps back into the timber-seemed Liz wasnt in immediate danger, not with those two, but he still suspected a trap and wouldnt let Liz anywhere near him when she tried. Couldnt. He was the real target, there, and couldnt let her put herself in the line of fire. Didnt know where to turn, though, where his foe might be lurking if not up in the cliffs, and he already knew they werent there, or hadnt been as of ten or fifteen minutes prior, not a sign of them, and that was the only place that really offered a vantage on the woods around the cabin unless they were in the air and he sure didnt hear anything, but the dronesthose drones flew high and silent and hed been on the receiving end of their tender mercies once before, as he remembered, and Bud Kilgore had been involved that time, too. Had been there with the dart, that horrid, hateful dart to render him helpless, useless, immobile in advance of the strike, and though he knew there was something wrong with that memory, with aspects of it--seemed Bud had been no more aware of the impending strike that he

had been, himself, or so he had later insisted--it was the nearest thing to the truth he could seem to come up with at the moment, and he hung onto it. Much as he wanted to turn and flee then, get himself away from the target area, he couldnt leave Liz, not when they almost certainly already knew her location and would be able to move in and take her as soon as they had him, or before they had him, if they were convinced he was getting away, and she wouldnt follow him, wouldnt respond to his frantic signals and leave the little clearing to go with him, so he did the only thing he knew to do, remained rooted to the ground there beside his sheltering fir, waiting, watching. Liz waited, too, Susan and Kilgore wisely restraining themselves from attempting to intervene in the knowledge that their actions would likely only make the situation worse-which they would have, perhaps in a manner fatal to one or more of them--and gradually some of the fight began to drain out of Einar as he realized that the attack was apparently not as imminent as he had believed. Even then--confused, wary and beginning to be relieved all at once and suddenly rather unsure of a situation that had moments ago appeared clearly defined if lacking an obvious solution--he wouldnt let Liz near him, warned her away and stood there for a good while shivering and staring and growing obviously close to collapse as the rather solid reality of his condition and the days exertions caught up to him once again. Kilgore was first to break the silence, finally sensing a slight lessening in Einars level of alertness and being sure that if someone didnt make a move pretty soon Asmundson would be turning and fleeing into the woods--he knew that wide, wild-eyed look, had been there himself a time or two--and then it would be anyones guess just when, or if, any of them might see him again. Probably wouldnt, the way he was looking. Asmundson, hey, give it a rest, man. You done good, secured the area and Im telling you, further action is not necessary at this time. Notnah, dont be raising that dart at me, I aint the enemy here, and you know it. Come on now, place is secure and your ladys got some stew waiting in there in the house, and believe me, from the smell of it, the stuffs worth trying out Which, though Kilgore didnt know it, was quite the wrong thing to say, Einar suddenly believing that the tracker was attempting to bait him with food and prepared to resist that particular tactic to the very end, but the brief exchange had given Kilgore the opening hed needed, and as Einar turned to run--Ill be back for you Lizzie, but this is going in the wrong direction real fast--he made his move, diving at the fugitive and taking him hard in the small of the back, knocking the breath from him and leaving him to fall in a crumpled heap to the ground, gasping for air. Kilgore moved quickly, straddling Einar and grabbing for his wrists when he saw him going for the knife but Einar was quicker, jabbed Kilgore hard in the stomach with an elbow and, still fighting for breath, got himself flipped over and facing the heavier man, nicking him in the arm with the blade and, Kilgore momentarily distracted, throwing him off. The tracker, knowing full well that Einar intended to finish the job, and quickly, dodged to the side when next he came at him with the knife, landed him a solid blow to the side of the head that sent him to sprawl dizzily back to the ground, momentarily stunned. Liz, watching, couldnt stand the sight of it as she was sure one of them was

going to end up killing the other, had her own knife out--a fact which had not escaped Susans notice, and she, too, was ready to act, having grabbed Lizs rabbit stick--and might have gone in and finished Kilgore off herself just then had not Einar suddenly quit struggling, Kilgore standing and offering him a hand. Einar took it, stood, himself, reeling unsteadily as Kilgore held his arm to keep him from falling. Shaking his head, Einar grinned a bit confusedly at the tracker. Whatwhat was that? Whatre you Training exercise. Did it work? Einar nodded, head hanging and sweat dripping from his nose as he fought to catch his breath. Guess it must have, cause were both still here. Sorry to come at you like that, but looked like you were in a pretty bad place there, so figured Id better just Ha! Seems its you whos in the bad place. This is my place, which makes it a real bad one for you to be in. Specially coming unannounced like this. Real bad deal. Unannounced? Well, how am I supposed to announce it, you not having a phone or radio or even a doggone mail drop, no access to any of the conventional means of communication? Homing pigeon? Leaflet drop? Doggone purple smoke? Purple smoke? Hehyou mean violet, right? Yeah, violet. Sure, might work. Once. Better still would be you not coming up here at all, because I worked awful hard on this place, we both did, and now its been compromised and weve got to move. Got to pack up and...and Hed pulled free of Kilgores grasp and started for the cabin, made it three steps before his lost his balance and went to his knees, Liz there beside him, holding him, trying to get him to look her in the eye, but he wouldnt do it, or couldnt. She helped him up, motioned for Susan, who had hurried in to help, to keep back. Lets go home, Einar, and get you something to eat. Susan, Bud, give us a few minutes, Ok? And then you can come in and eat, too. Theres plenty for everybody.

In the cabin Liz tried to close the door but Einar wouldnt have it, wanted to be able to keep an eye on Bud and Susan and finally settled for sitting opposite the door, which was not nearly as close to the fire as Liz would have preferred him to be, but at least he was sitting, instead of maintaining the staunch insistence that had kept him so stubbornly on his feet outside. Seemed about time, as it appeared to Liz that he could barely hold his

head up. Havent slept since our last night together above the elk meadows, have you? Einar responded with a few moments blank stare, shrugged. Not much. You look like it. He was shaking--worse than outside, if anything, as he began to relax a bit from the strained vigilance that had kept him going past all reasonable limits that morning--and she got the bear hide around him, wonderful, enfolding warmth, a great comfort had he been able to feel it, and she held him until he could, until he began responding just a bit and allowing her to take a look at him. Shed known from the first sight of him that hed had a rough time out there, but was still somewhat surprised to discover the sizeable lump on the back of his head, hair matted with crusted blood where his wound had oozed more after the rain stopped. When she asked him what had happened he just smiled and shook his head dismissively--it was nothing, just a little scratch, but she knew better, kept after him until he told hear at least some part of the story. Took a little tumble and whacked the back of my head on a rock. Wow. That must have been quite a little tumble. Let me get a better look at it. Are you Ok? If I wasntpretty sure wed know it by now! Had plenty of time out there to bleed into my brain and all that if it was gonna happen, and looks like my heads just too hard to allow for that sort of thing. Which Liz really could not dispute, at the moment. Shed got his shirt off as he talked, was cleaning the jagged and partially healed tears that stood out red-edged and ugly amongst the mass of bruising along both shoulder blades--he hadnt even been aware that the skin was broken, as many other things as hed been dealing with at the time--and shook her head at the damage, smeared on a bit of berberine salve and stuck a mullein leaf in place over part of the laceration. Susan had been at the door watching, entered and sat down beside Liz and held out to her a black zippered pouch that shed pulled from her pack. This isnt much, just a few odds and ends I carry, but theres some gauze and ointment in there if you want to use it. Im pretty sure Mr. Kilgore has more than that in his pack. Liz took the bag, sorting through its contents and pulling out several gauze pads, the antibacterial ointment and some tape, proceeding to do what she could for Einars back, Susan helping when she saw that he did not seem inclined to react in a bad way to her touching him. Seeing what they were about Bud came in and offered his small but reasonably well-equipped medical kit to the furtherance of the effort, but they were mostly finished by that point, or so Liz thought, having not yet seen his foot she had noticed his limping on the way to the cabin but had thought it simply the result of his having covered so much ground over the past several days, wearing himself out so badly

and aggravating old injuries, but when he refused to allow her to help him into fresh socks, she began to suspect otherwise. Liz got insistent, then, demanding that he sit back down--had got to his feet and was standing rather dizzily, leaning on his spear and ready to head back out into the timber rather than have their two uninvited guests learn the condition of his foot--and all but pulling his boots off over his half-hearted objections. Or trying to. Right one was rather firmly held in place by his badly swollen foot, and instead of alerting Liz to the problem and asking her to stop, he simply sat there grimfaced, silent and sweating as she finished coaxing the boot rather more roughly than she might have done had she been aware of the injury, letting out an involuntary grunt as the thing finally came free and staring at her with an odd and somehow terrifying combination of resignation and defiance that she had seem from him a few times in the past, and it had always meant major trouble. He was getting that faraway look in his eyes again so that she wasnt even sure that he still recognized her, and she hurried to get his attention by offering him a bit of fermented pudding, hoping its sharp, rather definite odor might help keep him in the present. Though ultimately he wouldnt take the pudding, he did seem a great deal more aware after a good whiff of the stuff, and who wouldnt have been? The foot was bad. Had bled some on the mornings journey, just enough to solidly cement it to his sock and leave it damp and festering, the stench telling Liz that there was already a problem. Bud, assuming she had been overly optimistic in her telling him that the foot had mostly healed and imagining Einar having lived all the time between his first visit and just then with a badly infected foot, just shook his head. No way to live, thats for sure Einar still didnt want anyone to touch the foot, couldnt quite shake the notion that he needed to keep Bud and Susan from seeing the extent of the trouble, even though logically he knew it was too late, cat was out of the bag, but the logic of it wasnt quite enough somehow, wasnt quite reaching him, and as soon as Liz turned away--shed meant to retrieve a few of their stored Oregon grape roots to simmer up a berberine wash for the foot--he began shoving his boot back on. Not a terribly speedy process, thankfully, and Liz caught him at it before he had finished, took his hands in hers and held on until he reluctantly relinquished the boot. Giving up on the foot-cleaning project for the moment--would probably just make him less likely to want to eat, anyway, if they took care of it before the meal, and he looked as though he could ill afford to be missing out on too many more meals--Liz noticed gratefully that Susan had found herself a task and settled right into it, stirring and tending the soup, which otherwise might well have boiled very nearly dry by then. As it was, the stuff was quite ready to eat, and Liz divided it, handed one pot to Susan for her to share with Bud and kept the other for herself and Einar. Lizs stew was quite good as usual, a rich combination of bear jerky, fat and serviceberries, seasoned with wild onions and sweetened a bit with some of the honey they had brought back from the bee tree. Susan ate it with obvious relish, appreciative of the sort of meal Liz had been able to concoct under arguably rather difficult circumstances and Bud enjoying with the meal bits of Einars highly fermented bear stomach pudding. Einar mostly just watched, suspiciously eyeing the visitors and trying to resist whenever Liz held the pot out to him in an attempt to keep from

consuming any of the meal without their guests realizing that he was avoiding it. Wouldnt do to have them realize that hed caught on toto whatever it was they had in mind Liz was tremendously persistent, though, and eventually, lacking a solid reason why he ought to go on refusing and beginning to feel terribly hungry, now that he thought about it, he was persuaded to take a taste. Stuff was awfully good, felt like life itself as his body began hungrily absorbing it, and though as a matter of general principle he wanted to get up and leave the cabin for the duration of the meal, sit outside and keep watch, he allowed Liz to go on giving him tastes of the stuff, finally taking the pot with the intention of half-draining it--had to leave her plenty--but sitting there instead for a good minute, just breathing the steam. Wonderful, wonderful, stuff, wonder of wonders, and he might have fallen asleep staring into its depths, drifted off and dreamt happy, hungry dreams had Susan not spoken just then. The two of them--she and Bud--had remained quiet throughout the meal, neither of them being the sort to attempt to cover an uncomfortable situation with idle chatter, but neither was she one to hold back when she believed something needed saying. Moving closer to Liz, Susan held out her pack. If were all done with your excellent soup, Liz, Ive got something here to add to the meal. We didnt bring too much, unfortunately, because I certainly wasnt informed of where we were going, and Mr. Kilgore seems to be in the habit of traveling light, but I did pack this. Rummaging in her pack she pulled out a partially eaten jar of Nutella and some graham crackers, handing the food to Liz. Treasure of inestimable value to those who have not seen any such for a good long time, and Liz showed it to Einar, holding it under his chin to get his attention, as he remained dazedly focused on the steaming contents of the soup pot, drifting somewhere between stupor and sleep. Unable to bring Einar to pay any heed to Susans gift and not wanting to resort to the tried and true but rather unpleasant and, considering the presence of their guests, potentially dangerous attention-grabber of rushing for the door as if shed hear or seen something that needed immediate attention, Liz took the pot from his hands and set it aside. Hed had a few swallows, and did not appear inclined to take more just then. Perhaps that was best, anyway. Though he had so far been unwilling to discuss with her the particulars, she had a pretty good idea that he had eaten very little since their parting five days previously, and would probably be wise to take things a bit slowly. No harm in adding a bit of the Nutella to his snack of soup, though, and carefully, almost reverently Liz used her knife to spread a thin layer of the stuff on four separate crackerhalves, one for each of them, allowing Einars a more generous helping of the sweet, chocolatey stuff. For a good while he simply stared suspiciously at the treat after Liz set it on the rock beside him, watching the two guests gobble their desserts and half wanting to throw himself at Liz and knock hers from her hand lest she end up poisoned, drugged, unable to resist whatever plans they might have for her, but as the soup had already begun acting to clear his weary, foggy brain a bit, the thought occurred to him that it seemed unlikely indeed that the two of them would partake of the drugged food, somewhat unlikely, actually, that Kilgore and Susan would participate at all in a scheme to secure their capture. Each of them had proven themselves more than once, had been presented with opportunities to betray the two of them, and had not acted, had, conversely, gone to

great risk to secure their ongoing freedom. Food ought to be alright, then, unless people do change, can be persuaded, threatened, given choices that are not really choices and be forced, at times, into carrying out one despicable act to prevent the other from happening, and though Einar couldnt think right off of any such leverage they might use against Bud, Susan did have a family, sons, young grandchildren and a lot to lose if she didnt comply. Well. Such questions would always exist, would forever preclude the placing of too much trust in anyone from the outside for those living under circumstances such as theirs, but in the case presently at hand--right next to my hand, actually, and I sure would like to snatch this thing up and take a bite--he had no reason to expect ill intent, and even less to anticipate dangerous results if he shared the treat with Liz and their two guests. Seemed to be having no detrimental effects on them, and his had come from the same jar, extracted by Lizs hand and never touched by either of the others. Just eat, Einar. Sometimes you really do spend too much time analyzing a thing Which of course he knew wasnt true, couldnt afford to treat suspicious circumstances with any less scrutiny, buteat, I tell you! And he did, the sweet, fatty mineral-rich goo doing a great deal to renew his strength and bring his mind back in a useful manner to the present, from which place he gave Susan a grateful nod, meeting her eye for the first time since showing up. Awful good stuff. Thanks. Oh, youre more than welcome. Ever since learning how much you like the stuff a jar of it has gone with me in my pack wherever I go, just on the chance that I might meet one or the other of you Which got her a skeptical, sideways glance from Einar, but at her offer of a second helping the gratefulness returned, doubt easing a bit. He remembered his time at the greenhouse and later, after a rather perilous hidden conveyance into the shelter of the garage, the day and night of anxious pacing as he had waited to learn Lizs fate and worked on plans to get the two of them safely out of the area. Susan had been true then, had always been a friend and benefactor to Liz, and though the very real possibility still remained that the feds might have got to her, threatened her family and secured compliance, he did not believe that to be the case. Which conclusion, once reached, greatly reduced the air of tension there in the cabin, a good thing indeed, with four people sharing such a relatively small space. While Einar ate Susan had been busy emptying her pack, lining its contents up on the flat-topped log at the back of the cabin that Einar and Liz used for a shelf, and when she nodded insistently at Kilgore, he did the same with his pack, though unlike her he only put out items that he considered dispensable, and not parts of his basic load. When everything was arranged to Susans satisfaction, she gestured to Liz and Einar, showing them the line of items on the shelf. How about you two go shopping? Weve got to take our boots and all with us, because its a long way out, but you might as well have some of the rest. Like my cook pot. I can do without that on the return trip, and it looks like you two could use a third one, around here! I would have brought more if Mr. Kilgore had given me any hint of where we were headed, but he is apparently a very private person, and able to keep a secret--and concoct

a cover story--quite well. We were three days into a short overnight backpack trip before he gave me any indication that we might be seeing the two of you. Kilgore nodded, gave Susan a smug smile as if to say that she was exactly right, and he was proud of it, added a few more items of gear from his own pack to the growing row of supplies. Liz looked the things over, her attention immediately grabbed by the small pile of gauze pads, rolls and a small bag of anti-inflammatory tablets that Bud had reluctantly parted with, hardly enough to cover two dressing changes on Einars once-more troublesome foot, but so much better than nothing that tears came to her eyes at the sight of the things. After receiving a small nod of assent from Bud she took the medical supplies, setting them aside amongst the stacks and bags of mullein leaves, yarrow, willow bark and Oregon grape roots that had stood in their stead for so long up there at the cabin, good substitutes, but she was immensely grateful to have access to the more conventional supplies for once, however limited the resource would prove to be. Einar hung back, sagging against the wall--was so incredibly tired, but knew he had better not be allowing himself to sleep, not with so many things uncertain at present and a hasty move to plan--watching with some disapproval as Liz acquired and set aside a number of new treasures. Seemed to him an unreasonable risk to be keeping such things, even if Bud and Susan came with only the best of intentions. Was always a chance that someone had guessed their destination and added a surreptitious and difficult to detect goodie or two to one or more of the items in their packs deemed most likely to stay behind at the cabin. A concern that Einar was not to be focusing on for much longer, as Liz had decided that the time had come to deal with his foot, clean it up and prevent its growing any worse before he finally toppled over in sleep as he appeared so close to doing. Turning her attention to Einars foot after choosing and setting aside a number of the items Bud and Susan had offered her, Liz was glad to see that his meal had gone a long way towards reviving him, leaving him, once jarred out of his near-sleep, a good bit more alert and capable of rational thought than he had previously appeared. The only downside was that he--being himself--was also even less inclined than he had been before to find their company or anything related to their presence to be a good idea, a fact which caused some difficulty when Liz attempted to talk him into taking some of the antiinflammatory tablets from Susans medical kit before she worked on his foot. He flat out refused, but Liz wasnt giving up on the matter just yet, held them out to him insistently. Please take a couple of these. They should do at least something to reduce the pain and swelling in this foot, and wont put you at risk for bleeding, like chewing a lot of willow might be inclined to do He shook his head, gently pushed her hand away. Nah, its good for me. Makes me stronger. Einar, its not good for you. Not this time You need to sleep after were all done with this, and thats a lot more likely to happen if youre not hurting so badly. Come on, just do it. Are you worried that they may be poisoned? May not be what the label says? Here, Ill take one first, so you can see that theyre safe. Which she was just about to

do, but Einar stopped her, snatched the bottle out of her hand and hid it behind his back. Dont be doing that sort of thing to little Snorri! If you want to experiment on yourself, Ok, but he doesnt have any say in the matter so youd better just hold off while hes in there! Susan looked puzzled. Snorri? Whos that? The baby. Some days its Snorri, others Hildegard, depending on whos talking and whether were thinking its a boy or girl, at the moment. But I dont think were really going to use either name, in the end. Well, they certainly areunique names, for sure. But then this child is certain to be one-of-a-kind, him or herself, so maybe the unique name would be Einar, having just then realized what Liz had been saying, sat up a bit straighter and snorted indignantly. Not going to use either name? What do you mean were not going to use them? Decent, respectable names they are, and with a longstanding family tradition behind them, too. I thought we came to the conclusion that your Granny Hildegard was fictional? A figment of your rather imaginative imagination? Please tell me she was Well sure she was, but Uncle Snorri was--and maybe still ishavent heard from him in an awful long time, but with us Asmundsons, that doesnt necessarily mean hes no longer with us--real as can be. Its a fine name, dont you think? Its a very unique name, as Susan says. Now. Quit changing the subject, and lets take care of your foot. Are you ready to stop acting like a big goof for a while and give me that bottle back? I need it back. Sure, Ill give it back. Just as long as youve given up on the idea of doing drug testing on little Snorri, for the time being. Or on me. I was never going tooh, just give me the bottle! And she grabbed it from him, handed it to Susan, who tucked it back into her pack where it would be out of his immediate reach. A bit irritated at Einars ongoing reticence Liz began working to remove his sock, easing it down perhaps a bit less gently than she normally would have and aiding her progress with periodic applications of water in the hopes of softening the crust of dried blood and ooze that had cemented it quite effectively to his foot. Einar sat there grim-faced and silent as she worked, half wishing that he had been able to accept her offer and take the anti-inflammatory, but knowing hed made the right decision. Too much at stake, and really, he wasnt in the habit of indulging in such things too frequently, anyway. Though, he thought to himself, recalling the occasion with a bit of a shudder, he definitely would have when it came time for the removal of his toes, had such been available then. Hadnt been, though, and hed got through it, and this was nothing

in comparison. Nothing at all, or at least so he told himself as he struggled to keep still and allow Liz to do her work, the sock finally freed from his battered foot and a pot of berberine heating for a soak. Shaking her head, Liz regarded the sight with a good bit of dismay. What did you do to yourself this time? Looks like you spent the better part of a day kicking a rock wall. Barefoot. Why would you do that? Ha! Might as well have been kicking a rock wall, but no. Had my boots off to wade the creek, and it was going real well until I bashed the right one into a chunk of granite that I hadnt seen. Water helped numb it some for a while, but thenwell, I had no choice but to go on walking on it. Wading the creek? You mean just after you left me up beside the elk meadows? No, later after Id followed the tracks down the valley some. Found his camp--their camp, cause there ended up being two of them--and watched it all night, waded the creek in the morning after they took off across it, and up into the timber. Foot slowed me down some, but I couldnt really stop and do too much about it. Had to keep after them. Spent a night later on kinda trapped on a little ledge where Id fallen, and took some time to do what I could for it then, but as hard as it was to get the boot back on, hardly wanted to touch it after that. Should be Ok, though. Should He stopped talking, sucked his breath in through clenched teeth and focused his gaze on the little strip of sprucesheltered sky visible through the open door as she lowered his foot into the barely-warm pot of berberine solution, and it was a long time before he could finish his sentence. Should be just fine after what youre doing. Thanks. Dont thank me. Just try to stay away from rocks for a while. This thing had just started really healing, and nowI cant imagine how you did this, anyway. How you walked for four days on this foot. Im glad youre home! To which Einar wanted to respond by telling her that he wouldnt be home for long, that neither of them would, because they were going to have to leave the place now that it had been compromised, but he ruled it wisest to avoid such talk there in the company of their guests. Best Bud and Susan believe they were staying. And besides, Liz had finished submerging his foot in the berberine solution and was gently scrubbing to remove the layer of dead-puffy skin and flesh that covered its damaged end, precluding for the moment any further thought of talk on his part. Which was alright, as Bud, prowling about the cabin in an effort to keep his distance from Einar--fella was plain dangerous half the time, not the least bit tame or civilized, and Bud could see him become more agitated if either he or Susan got too close--discovered the small container of honey from which Liz had drawn the bits with which shed sweetened the soup, and was doing all the talking for him. Honey tree, is it? Looks like you kids must have found a honey tree! Now Im still somewhat doubtful about your chances for making it through the winter up here, mighty

high and desolate in this basin, but with access to something like that, Id have to say the odds just got an awful lot better! So you gone and harvested it yet? I havent seen any buckets or barrels of the stuff around here, no bear stomachs or deer intestines full of honey hanging from the rafters, so Im guessing youve still got that to do. Well, just let me know if you want any help, cause Ive seen it done a time or two, having grown up around bees--a long time ago, I know, but some things a fella tends to remember pretty well--and every year Id help my Dad with the honey harvest, so if you Bud Kilgores offer of help with the honey was interrupted by a distant but growing hum that Einar heard first, stiffening up and tilting his head in an attempt to hear better, but before long they all heard it, the distinctive drone of a small plane passing low over the basin, and when Liz scrambled to the door for a cautious look, the aircraft was definitely not green and white.