Part 2
In the morning, both men prepared to leave. Walter gave himself a straightforward explanation. He needed to reach the ranger station, sort out the radio trouble, report the tremors, and come back. He didn’t tell Eli that, for the first time in years, he didn’t want to remain alone in the cabin.
They warmed up the snowmobile, strapped on the packs, and decided to take the dogs. Eli went ahead to check the route. He returned twenty minutes later without a smile.
“We can’t get through.”
“Why?”
“Come see.”
They walked to the road. Now the noise from the night before made sense. A fresh slide had come down the slope. Rocks, snow, and uprooted brush blocked the only dependable road downhill.
Eli studied the rubble and swore quietly.
“No room to maneuver. We can’t drag the snowmobile across all that.”
Walter knew another old clearing that led toward the river, but it ended at the bank. Getting to the road from there meant a crossing they hadn’t checked or a long detour to the bridge.
“The upper trail,” Eli said.
Walter looked at him.
“You said it was old yourself,” Eli added.
He knocked a clump of snow off the road’s edge with his boot.
“Old doesn’t mean gone.”
Walter looked uphill.
“It crosses the hollow.”
“I know.”
Walter faced the slope. For three nights, Old Hump had come down from there. For some reason, an enormous bear no longer wanted to go back.
Eli tugged at his left sleeve. “It’s the only trail that might get us through.”
Walter didn’t answer. He slowly traced the crack in the gunstock with his thumb and looked up. Beyond the spruces, another dull blow sounded inside the mountain.
There were no more blows that morning. The silence brought no relief.
Walter stood beside the snowmobile, studying the upper trail. Once, it had been a decent route. Geologists had hauled supplies along it, and the forest crews had used it for another ten years afterward. Now it was a narrow strip between the spruces, buried completely in places.
Eli tightened a strap on his pack. “Well?”
Walter didn’t answer immediately. Red was circling the snowmobile. Catfish had sat down facing the hollow and wouldn’t get up.
“We’ll walk it first,” Walter said.
“Leave the snowmobile?”
“Not leave it. Check the first mile and a quarter. If the trail’s still usable, we’ll come back for it.”
Eli frowned.
“What if more of the road comes down while we’re gone?”
“Then it’s a good thing we haven’t put the machine out there.”
Eli considered that, then nodded. They took only what they needed. Walter checked the cabin door, though they expected to be back in a few hours. Then he went back inside.
Eli noticed.
“Forget something?”
“No.”
Walter stood beside the table, looked at the old photograph in its wooden frame, and came out again.
“What’d you go in for, then?”
Walter adjusted his pack strap. “Checked the door.”
“You already checked it.”
“Then it’s shut twice.”
Eli smiled and asked nothing more. The upper trail began so faintly they could almost have missed it. They followed the creek, turned between two large larches, and started climbing.
The snow was deeper here. Walter led, taking his time. Every few dozen feet, he stopped to examine the trees, the snow, and the slope.
Eli tolerated it at first. After twenty minutes, he couldn’t help himself.
“What are you looking for?”
“Don’t know.”
“You’re looking pretty hard.”
Walter didn’t turn around. “If I knew what it was, I might have found it already.”
Eli adjusted his left sleeve. “That’s why I love going places with you. Everything’s always so clear.”
Old Hump’s tracks lay ahead, and Walter stopped. They were no longer fresh, but the snow hadn’t quite softened their edges. The bear had been coming downhill. Walter crouched.
“See?”
“I can see a track.”
Eli crouched beside him. A few feet farther on, the trail of prints changed direction oddly. The bear had come almost to the path, turned around, and climbed another hundred feet. Then he had turned again and traveled across the slope.
Eli walked ahead.
“Maybe he was looking for food.”
“What food?” Walter asked.
Eli nudged the snow with his boot. “Roots. Something left over.”
“Under all that?”
Eli shrugged. Walter stood, and they followed the tracks.
A few minutes later, the prints turned sharply downhill again. Then they stopped. Eli halted.
“Now that’s interesting.”
A smooth patch of snow lay before them. No tracks, no broken surface. It was as though the heavy animal had vanished. Eli stepped forward.
“Stop,” Walter said.
Eli froze with one foot raised.
“What?”
Walter took the small hatchet from his shoulder and extended it handle-first. He touched the snow carefully. Nothing happened.
He pressed harder. The crust broke, and almost the entire handle dropped through. Eli stepped back.
Walter picked up a dry branch and tossed it into the hole. They heard a faint knock. Not immediately.
Eli slowly let out his breath. “That’s deep.”
“Mm-hm.” Walter listened for another sound as Eli retreated half a step.
“Why’s there an empty space under here?”
“Good question.”
Eli looked at the place where the bear’s tracks ended. “Did he fall through?”
Walter examined the edges.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“He’d have left marks.”
Old Hump hadn’t fallen. He had reached this spot, sensed something beneath the snow, and turned before stepping onto it. Walter skirted the dangerous patch. About a hundred and sixty feet farther on, the bear’s tracks appeared again.
Old Hump had made a wide detour. Eli looked back. “He knew.”
Walter said nothing.
“Uncle Walt. He knew it was hollow.”
Walter looked at the arc of tracks around the empty ground. “He sensed it.”
Eli frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Plenty.”
Walter moved on. Now he paid less attention to where the bear had walked than to where he had chosen not to step.
An hour later, the trail grew steeper. The woods changed, with fewer spruces and more rocks projecting from the snow. The wind was stronger here.
Eli stopped to drink from his thermos and looked around. “The trees are crooked.”
At first, Walter didn’t see it. Then he did.
Across a stretch of roughly three hundred feet, the larches leaned slightly in the same direction. Not much. A person could easily overlook it.
“The snow pushed them over,” Eli said.
Walter looked at him. “You handing me my explanations now?”
“It’s a reasonable one.”
Walter took a thin cord from his pack, tied the hatchet to one end, and raised his hand. The cord hung straight down. They looked from it to the trunks. The lean was slight, but the same from tree to tree.
Eli was quiet for a moment. “Could’ve been wind.”
“Could’ve. But look at the ground between them.”
Walter put away the cord and approached the nearest larch. Fine cracks ran through the snow at its base toward the next tree. He crouched and followed one with his mitten. Eli fell silent.
“What is that?”
Walter brushed along the narrow split. “Nothing I can explain yet.”
Eli crouched beside him, then looked along the line of trees. Walter stood.
“Come on.”
He started walking faster. Eli caught up with him.
“Where are we going?”
“Higher.”
“Hold on. We agreed to check the trail and come back for the snowmobile.”
Walter stopped. That was true. He had been the one insisting they shouldn’t go farther.
He wanted to see where the leaning trees ended. He wanted to understand why Old Hump had turned around on his own tracks three times.
“Just a little farther.”
Eli stared at him. “Yesterday you told me not to go up there.”
“I did.”
“This morning you said a mile and a quarter.”
Walter looked at the bear’s tracks.
“I did.”
“We’ve nearly gone two.”
Walter waved a hand in sudden irritation. “Then go back, if you’re keeping score.”
Eli said nothing. Walter immediately regretted it, but apologizing had never come easily to him. His nephew tugged harder than usual at his sleeve and looked downhill.
“I’m not going back alone.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll find some hole, climb into it, and spend the rest of your life telling people I abandoned you.”
Walter grunted. “You think highly of me.”
“I know you.”
They went on.
Ten minutes later, Catfish growled. Not at something ahead of them, but at the ground. Walter stopped.
The dog stood beside a rocky ridge, staring at a narrow opening between two boulders. Vapor rose from it. Eli took off a mitten. “Warm air.”
Walter bent down. At twenty-two below, damp air was rising from the crack and immediately frosting the stone around it. Eli moved his palm closer.
“A spring?”
Walter caught his wrist. “Keep your hand out.”
Eli withdrew it without arguing. Walter sniffed. There was no sulfur, none of the usual smell of marsh water. Just wet stone and earth. Somewhere deep inside, water dripped. They both went still. A pause. Another drop…
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