Page 57 of God’s Country

I watched Stan’s face as he thought about this. He looked like he was about to eat something Ollie had puked up in front of him. In the end, he said, “Let’s go then.”

Ollie retrieved his sleeping bag and the pack with its precious contents and followed Stan into the remaining tent.

I sat tied to the tree, looking up at the moon and saying a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator. The Kennedy brothers had become totally dependent on me. And oh, was I going to enjoy the hell I planned to put them through.

For one very brief moment, I almost let out the howl of a wolf.

CHAPTER 32

At first light, the brothers untied me. I spent a few minutes working the stiffness out of my muscles, then I began to track the bear. Stan followed me with the Glock, but Ollie, citing the pain in his back, remained at the campsite. I extracted a promise from Stan not to try to shoot the animal should we come across it. I made him understand that killing a bear was something for a powerful rifle, not a handgun. And a wounded bear would probably tear us both into little morsels and breakfast on us.

The great beast had left a trail of broken and crushed undergrowth that was easy to follow. We were five hundred yards or so away from camp when we came to a small clearing strewn with remnants from the BearVault and what was left of the canister itself. The bear had eaten his fill.

“Jesus,” Stan said, looking at the torn-apart BearVault. “Lucky that animal only ripped up a tent.”

I began carefully going through the remains, looking for anything salvageable. The bear had eaten every dehydrated meal, all the packets of tuna and chicken, the jerky, the Bisquick, the oatmeal, the peanut butter, nuts, dried fruit, granola bars, and of course, the honey. I found a plastic Nalgene bottle filled with cooking oil that was undamaged. Also the plastic container of instant coffee, and another with powdered milk. That was it. The bear had been thorough.

“You’re going to get us to Canada on that?” Stan asked, looking at my meager haul.

“This will supplement what I come up with along the way. You like fish?”

“Fish is okay.”

“Good. You’ll be eating a lot of it.”

I hated leaving the detritus of the BearVault and foodstuff. From my earliest days in the Boundary Waters, I’d had it pounded into my head, Pack out what you pack in. Leaving the kind of mess that the bear had created pained me. But I had other considerations at the moment.

We returned to camp to find that Ollie had crawled back into his tent and was sleeping again. The sun was well up by now, the forest alive with the song of birds, the air fresh with the scent of the new day.

“We need to get moving. We need to get to Canada,” Stan said. “We’ve been in this wilderness too long already.”

“If you’re thinking about the law catching up with you, you’ve got time before that happens. My friend Cordell and the other guy you shot aren’t moving fast, I can tell you that. And even if the girl is able to hook up with them, it’ll be a long paddle back to civilization. Also, as I’ve told you, we’re not going due north, which is where they’ll be looking when they get around to it. This is going to be another long day of paddling, so we’ll need some breakfast. Fill the water bag and filter us some clean water, then get a fire going.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Get us something to eat.”

I’d already gone through Cordell’s pack and found that he’d brought along a travel rod (a carbon collapsible fishing pole) and small tackle box. I assembled the rod and line, added a sinker and a bobber. Then I took off my shoes and socks, and while Stan watched with a disconcerted expression, I waded into the pool. I could feel the muck of the bottom ooze up between my toes, over my feet, and then above my ankles. I walked around a bit, and when I finally emerged from the water, I found four leeches had attached themselves to my lower legs.

“What the hell?” Stan said.

I pulled off the leeches one by one and held the last up for Stan to see. “Bait,” I explained.

I caught three modest-size smallmouth bass that morning. I cleaned them with the blade of the multitool, brushed them with oil, and put them in the skillet to fry. The smell of the frying fish brought Ollie from his tent.

“I thought we were all out of food,” he said with true wonderment.

“Nature provides,” I told him.

Stan had put a pot of water on the grate to heat, and we dined on fried fish and instant coffee.

“Thought that bear was going to kill me last night,” Ollie said, picking a fish bone from his mouth.

“Black bears don’t usually attack humans. They’re just after their food. Unless you do something to rile them. Get between a sow and her cub, say. Or wound one with a handgun.” I looked pointedly at Stan. “But, yeah, you were lucky. The claws on that boar were a good three inches long. Would have opened your gut with one swipe.”

Ollie chewed and looked at the forest all around us. “What the hell are we doing here?”

“The pack,” Stan reminded him.