The Signal by Ron Carlson Read Free Book Online Page B

moose tracks, a party. Mack walked the perimeter of the area and toed a small fist of bear scat. “This guy got into the gum,” he said. “There’s a bear full of tinfoil in these woods.”
    The sun was way west now and the shadows had changed, the day turned. They walked up along the Wind River to the two fallen logs, a bridge they’d used all the times, and they walked across the mountain river and sat down.
    “Can you feel the altitude?”
    “I think so. Let’s have some water.” Three deer came upstream and saw them and turned around and walked down.
    “That’s a nice pack Kent got you.”
    “I got it.”
    “For this trip?”
    “For my trips.”
    “Kent backpacks?”
    “He might.”
    “At two hundred seventy-five dollars an hour, it would be expensive hiking for that guy.”
    Vonnie rose and hefted her pack back into place high on her shoulders, cinching the waist strap. She led them away from the river on the old trail through the pines. A mile later she stopped at the rim of the upper bowl. Mack joined her and they looked down into the wilderness. “Where are we going to camp?”
    “We always camped at Valentine.” This was their neighborhood.
    “Where are we camping today?”
    Mack lifted his chin. “Let’s go over there,” he said. “I know where there’s a ring of stones and some firewood.”
    Valentine Lake was a twenty-acre heart of silver blue rimmed to the edge by pines and red sandstone. They came over the low ridge and saw it set out as if invented this morning. Circling west they stepped up the stony terrace to the rock porch where they’d been before. It had the advantage of a level place for the tent and the boulders made a kind of room, good for sitting and leaning the packs. The fire ring was still in place, remarkable in that it was unused; this wasn’t on any trail. They had gathered the six rocks, each the size of an unabridged dictionary, ten years before and set them here on earth above the lake. Mack shrugged off his pack and leaned it against one of the boulders. He marched off into the trees, counting them to ten and finding the steel wire oven rack where he’d hung it. Over three stones it made a perfect cook stove.
    “We are golden,” he said, returning.
    Vonnie hadn’t moved, her pack still on. Now she walked to the perimeter of the campsite, her hands clasped behind her, a strange look on her face. “This is such a bad idea.”
    He had seen this face before, almost a year ago. He said, “Let’s get some firewood.” The day had broken on the evening’s clouds, and the surface of the lake was a million coins in the breeze. She looked at Mack and he stopped.
    “How’s Trixie?”
    He folded his arms.
    “No, how is she.”
    He knew to stand and face it, but it was against the grain. “Her name was Trisha.”
    “Trixie.”
    Mack waited, but he knew to be silent was to lie and he was done with that. “And she’s gone. You know that.”
    “Oh, what happened, big boy? Did you lie to her?”
    “Don’t, Vonnie. I mean, you don’t need to.”
    “Don’t.”
    He had resolved in his bitter extremity to say things as they were, not to duck or feint. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and it hurt every time before the relief descended. He hated to have this conversation here, above the lake in their camp, but he would do it. “Trisha is gone. I made a mistake. A series of them.”
    “Just one series of mistakes?”
    “Vonnie.”
    “Did you just lie to her?”
    “Don’t.”
    “No, I won’t. It’s a stupid question, no? To ask a liar if he lied.”
    “Vonnie. Let’s get some wood.”
    “Liar. A lying liaristic lie-maker.”
    “I stopped lying.”
    “Oh, when, ten minutes ago? How does a liar stop lying?”
    “Vonnie.”
    “Do they remove something?”
    “Vonnie.”
    “Yvonne. And let’s not get wood. No fire. Let’s just go up to Clark Lake.” She was crying now and her pack was shaking a little as she stood. “And catch a fish