Ranger

And after 14 years of taking statements from hikers and tourists and hunters and the occasional lost child, I know the difference in my bones.

Clark was answering from the outside.

I didn't say anything.

I nodded.

I poured myself more coffee.

I opened the stove and added a piece of split pine.

That was the second thing.

The storm got worse between five and seven.

The wind was steady at what I now think was sixty miles an hour against the west wall.

The shelter was built for this.

The roof was pitched and anchored.

The walls were 10 inches thick with insulation between the outer and inner boards.

The door was heavy pine with an iron bolt, but the propane lantern flame wavered every few minutes when a gust came through some small gap I couldn't locate, and twice I had to get up and check that the stovepipe was drawing properly, because if the chimney cap got buried in wind-packed snow, we would fill the room with smoke before any of us noticed.

At 7.15, I opened a can of stew on the stove and we ate.

Trent and Elise sat at the table.

Clark sat on his bunk.

I sat on the floor near the stove, which was where I preferred to be anyway.

Over dinner, Clark said, I used to come up here in the late 80s, hiked all through here with my brother.

I said, is that right?

He said, yeah, he passed too, a while back.