Page 49 of God’s Country

“Are you going to use that excuse all the way out of these woods?”

“Bite me.”

“I’ll wash it,” I called to them from the tree where they’d bound me. “And I’ll fix whatever else you want from that BearVault.”

They just stared at me.

“Isn’t that what the Indian did for you?” I said, using the terminology for Cordell they seemed most comfortable with.

“You planning on poisoning us?” Stan asked.

“If I’m going to get you to Canada, I have to eat, too. I cook in the wild all the time.”

Now they stared at each other as if silently communicating.

“Why not?” Ollie said. “You try anything, I’ll beat you half to death.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

They’d tied my hands behind me before binding me to the tree. Stan came over, released the rope around the tree, stood me up, and untied my hands. They’d gone numb, and I rubbed them until some tingly feeling came back into them. Then I got to work.

There are lighter cooking utensils you can use when canoeing the Boundary Waters, but like me, Cordell preferred a cast-iron skillet. It’s like an old friend. It has its shortcomings, but I know it well, it’s versatile, and I trust it to do what I need it to do.

“Where’s the stove?”

“Stove?”

“I’m guessing Cordell brought a single-burner stove for cooking. A Coleman or Dragonfly. Something.”

“Mr. Act-First-Think-Later here kicked it in a fit of rage this morning,” Stan said, giving his brother the evil eye. “Broke the damn thing. Luckily, we’d already cooked breakfast.”

“I’ll need to get a fire going,” I said.

“Be my guest,” Ollie said magnanimously.

“I’ll need the hatchet.” They balked at that one. “To chop wood for the fire,” I explained. “You can always shoot me before I do either of you any damage.”

“Okay,” Ollie said. I thought he seemed almost eager at the prospect of using the Glock on me.

I cut kindling, got the fire going, put water in the fry pan, made a little salt paste to help scrape away the leavings from breakfast.

“Did the Indian bring a gravity bag?”

“A what?”

“A gravity filter to purify the lake water.”

“Yeah. It’s somewhere. No clue where now. Is that a problem?”

“I’ll make do.”

After I’d cleaned the skillet, I filled it with lake water, which I boiled; then I added the dried soup.

“Those cups you were drinking your whiskey from, where are they? And I’ll need a spoon.”

One after the other, they retrieved the stainless steel cups from their tents, and Stan brought out a big spoon. I stirred the soup mixture and then filled the cups. While the brothers drank their soup, I ate directly from the skillet. I hadn’t eaten since early that morning and I was famished. But I didn’t get to eat my fill. The brothers demanded more, and very quickly the soup was gone.

“I could use a drink and a cigar,” Ollie declared.