Austin and Zavala tentatively sampled the stew and pronounced it quite good.

The old man beamed with pleasure.

“Is it caribou?” Zavala asked.

The old man reached into a trash bucket and pulled out a can of Dinty Moore beef stew.

“Mike's a good boy,” Clarence said. “He and his wife buy me stuff so I won't have to cook. They worry that I'm lonely since my wife died. I like visitors, but I don't want to bore you men.”

Austin looked around the room. The walls were decorated with primitive harpoons and Eskimo folk art. A Norman Rock well print with the boy sitting in the dentist's office was hung in congruously next to a fierce walrus mask. There were family pictures, including many of a stout, handsome woman who could have been the old man's wife. The most out-of-place object was a computer tucked in the corner. Grandpa Tinook saw Austin's amused gaze and said, “It's amazing. We've got the satellite so the kids can learn about the rest of the world. I can talk on that machine with anyone, so I'm never alone.”

Clarence was no old blubber-chewing windbag, Austin deduced. He was sorry he had been in such a rush to avoid meeting him. “If you don't mind, we'd very much like to hear your story,” he said.

Grandpa Tinook noisily scooped up the last of his stew, put the bowls in the sink, and sat down again. He squinted as if the memory were hard to recall, but when he started to talk it was clear he had spun this tale before.

“One day many years ago I was out hunting. There was some good trout and salmon fishing, fox to trap, and herds of caribou. I always got something. I had this little aluminum skiff and a fine motor. Got me around pretty good. It was too far to come home after the hunt, so I used to stay over a couple of nights at the old airfield.”

Austin glanced at Zavala. Alaska is dotted with airfields hardly worth the name.

“Where was this airfield?” he asked.

“Up north a ways. Left over from the Big War. They used to ferry planes to Russia and used it as a stopoff. Blimps there used to look for subs. Not much left. There was a hut where I could light a fire and keep warm and dry. I could store game and smoke it there 'til it was time to come home.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, fifty years ago or so. My memory ain't what it used to be. I remember when they said I had to stop going there, though.”

“They?”

The old man nodded. “For months I never seen anybody. Then one day two men come by in a plane just as I'm cooking up some trout. Hard-lookin' white men. They flash their badges, say they're with the government and want to know what I'm doing. I give them some fish, and they're a lot nicer. They say there's going to be a big secret at the base and I can't come there anymore. But they will buy any fresh meat and fish I can get them. One of them gave me that gun you saw so I could shoot game. I took them lots of game and fish, never to the base, though. I'd meet them halfway.”