"I asked you what's for supper," the sergeant said.

"Oh… Spaghetti. Freeze-dried sauce."

"That sounds real fine."

The dogs were whimpering again, though, and the sergeant tried but couldn't hide his worry now. The moon was higher. He went over to the dogs and patted them again. "I let them drink some water from the lake. I wonder if they're still a little thirsty."

From the three separate places in the forest, they heard noises. Then, a distance to their left, they heard a fourth sound.

"This is stupid. This is just our imagination," one man said.

"Those noises? Hell, they're not my imagination."

"No, I mean what's causing them."

"Deer or maybe elk?"

"It's possible," the sergeant said. "They come down here at night to drink. They see us here and don't know what to do. Your water's boiling, by the way."

They looked down at the pot beside the fire.

"Right. I wasn't thinking." And the man in charge of cooking paused a moment before fumbling in his pack, then pouring noodles into the boiling water.

"Hey, you said spaghetti."

"What's the problem? Noodles are the same."

"Well, maybe they're the same to you. But-"

"Quiet."

And they listened to the noises from the forest.

"That's not deer, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you."

"You're all crazy," someone said. "I've camped here a dozen times. I even brought my wife and kid once. You hear noises like that from the forest all the time."

"So how come you picked up your rifle?"

"I'm just checking that I didn't get some dirt in it."

"Good idea. I think I'll check mine as well."

"Now I've had just about enough," the sergeant said.

They turned to him.

"First of all, those noodles need some stirring. Second, if you wave those guns around, you're going to end up shooting somebody. Take it easy. What Jack says is true. You hear those noises in the forest all the time."

They stared at him.

"I'll help you with the sauce," the sergeant said. "Here, someone fill that plastic sack with water. Put more wood on the fire."

It was obvious what he was doing, trying to distract them, but they did what they were told, and everything was better for a moment, although the man who went down to the water's edge made sure he didn't stay too long. They heard him splashing by the lakeshore, and he came up toward them, water dripping from the plastic sack.

"Let's figure on the worst," the sergeant said. "Suppose it is wild dogs. They're not about to come at us. Hell, higher in the mountains, I've seen wolves so close their eyes were lit up by the fire. But they never came in toward us. They're just curious. The main job is to find Bodine. If you boys still are nervous when you bed down, we'll arrange to have a guard in shifts. That's fair enough?"

They thought about it, slowly nodding.

"Stir those noodles like I told you."

"I once knew an Indian," a man said.

"Good for you."

They laughed.

"No, just listen. He did odd jobs for my father when my father was alive and had the ranch. The Indian was David Sky-hawk, and I felt about him as if he was my brother. Oh, that Indian was something. Six-foot-three and built like some thick tree trunk. He's the man who taught me how to shoot and hunt and fish. My father never had much time for that. Well, anyway, he used to take me camping. In the summers we'd go up here, sometimes for a week or more. We'd often go up so high that I'd swear to God nobody else had ever been there. And he told me lots of things about these mountains. Once we camped so far we needed horses. We rode up, leading pack mules till we reached this crazy draw. It wasn't much, just steep slopes like a V, a stream that wound along the bottom, boulders on the ridges. Hell, there wasn't any undergrowth. There wasn't much of anything. The only reason we chose it was a kind of gametrail that would take us to the high end, and we started up the gametrail when the horses went crazy. I was only twelve then, so if only my horse had gone crazy, that wouldn't have proved much. Sky-hawk's horse began to act up too, though, and no matter what we tried, we couldn't get those horses up the gametrail. They were whinnying and shying back. Then the pack mules started acting up. They tried to turn, and there was hardly any room to do that. We were scared they'd lose their footing and tumble down the slope, so we dismounted, and we kept our hands across the horses' muzzles while we squirmed around to go back down the gametrail. Even as it was, we almost lost one pack mule. I asked Skyhawk what was wrong, and he just said that we should try another passage."

"That's some story."

No one laughed, though.

"I'm not finished. So we went back to the entrance to the draw and found another way, and all day I saw Skyhawk glancing past his shoulder toward where we had come from, and I asked him again what was wrong, but he just wouldn't answer. Everything went fine from then on. We came to a spring, and it was nearly dark then, so we camped and made a fire just like now, and we were eating, and I asked him once again. He almost didn't tell me, but he shrugged at last and said it was a superstition. There were places in these mountains where we shouldn't ever go, he told me. Places like that draw back there. You didn't know until you got up in them, and you never saw a bird or animal, but even then you might not notice if you didn't have a horse or dog or something like that with you. They could sense the trouble right away. There wasn't any way to keep from sensing it. They simply wouldn't go up in those places. If you tried to force them, they'd start acting crazy like our horses had back in that draw. 'What causes it?' I asked him, and he said he had no idea. His people knew that there were certain places that you never went to, and they didn't question that tradition. Spirits maybe. Some terrible thing that once had happened there. The point was that they marked those places and they didn't go there. Some bad medicine, he said, and Skyhawk was no dummy. He'd been to school. He knew the difference between fact and superstition, but he said the only difference was that people hadn't learned the facts behind the superstition. They just understood the consequences. He said that he had seen a whole pack train go crazy in a mountain meadow once. He'd seen a herd of elk go crazy like that once as well. The year before, he said, he'd gone out camping by himself. He'd pitched his tent and gone to sleep, and for no reason, he suddenly woke while it was dark and found that he was shaking, sweating. He crawled from his tent and packed his gear. He went as fast as he was able through the darkness to a different section of the mountains."

Now the man stopped, looking at them.

"That's the story?" someone asked. "Christ, what the hell was that about?"

"The point is, he'd been to that spot many times. It was a special place for him. But he said that those spooky feelings sometimes show up where they shouldn't be. They move, he told me, and he never went back to that site again."

"For Christ sake, that big Indian was fooling you. He was telling ghost stories by the campfire."

"No, I'm positive he wasn't fooling. He was serious."

"Hell, you were only twelve."

"That Indian was close to me. He never played that kind of joke. And anyhow, I saw the way those horses acted."

"So they smelled a cougar or a snake."

"Or something else."

"Hey, I know. Bigfoot."

They laughed.

"Yeah, that's right. That Indian was frightened by a Sasquatch."

They laughed even harder.

"You know, Freddie, sometimes that big mouth of yours makes me want to smash it in."

Now none of them was laughing.

"Take it easy," the sergeant said.

"No, the boy here wants to teach me."