“I’m scared,” Pip whispered.

“Don’t be scared, little man. I’m here. I won’t let anything bad happen. Besides, look up there.” Spud pointed up into the cloudless sky, littered with stars more brilliant than Spud had ever seen. “See those? There’s billions of them up there, and each one is a light pointing down at us, kind of watching over us in a way. Nothing bad can happen as long as we have those stars. I promise.”

Spud thought of what dangers lay in the dark forest ahead. Black bears and wolves—but they weren’t really a concern, as they preferred to stay away from humans. Spud had heard that moose could be aggressive, especially in rutting season, but they should be past that now. Then Spud thought about Reed. That’s the only thing that Pip should be scared of. Spud had no doubt that Reed would sacrifice him and the boy to save his own skin.

Spud brushed his fingers across the knife in his pocket. He would keep Pip safe.

Reed came back after ditching the Tahoe and walked past Pip and Spud without saying a word, stopping at his pack. He unzipped a pouch and pulled a pistol from the small of his back.

Reed had a gun! That’s what he had been fiddling with before he ditched the Tahoe. Reed had taken the gun with him so that Spud wouldn’t have a chance to get at it while Reed was away.

The knife in Spud’s pocket suddenly seemed a joke.

Reed tucked the gun into the pouch, zipped it shut, hoisted the pack onto his back, and said, “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 51

When they got to the outfitter’s Lyle jumped behind the wheel of the Cherokee and headed to his trailer to get his gear, leaving Max alone on the street. The lights at the outfitter’s shop were on, even though the sign read Closed. Max knocked on the door and a short, rugged-looking man came and opened it for Max.

“You Lyle’s friend?” the man asked.

“Max.” He held out his hand and the two men shook.

“I’m Henry.” He peered out as if looking for Lyle.

“Lyle went to his place to grab his gear.”

“Of course.”

Henry led Max to a counter, where a blue backpack lay surrounded by a stack of supplies. “I got you a good sleeping bag and pad. Do you prefer a tent, a bivvy, or a hammock?”

“A bivvy?”

“A one-person tent… about the size of a coffin.”

“That’s a comforting thought. Which is warmest?”

“The bivvy. It’s small so it’ll hold in the warmth a little better.”

“Sold.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any size-eleven boots, but while I was waiting for you, I called my brother-in-law.” Henry picked up a pair of dirty boots from the floor and plopped them onto the counter. “Waterproofed and broken in. You’ll like ’em.”

“Your brother-in-law won’t mind?”

“He owes me a favor… and I owe Lyle one, so…”

Henry walked Max back to a room with a selection of wool socks, fleece shirts, and down coats. Max remembered a mantra he had heard once about hiking in the Boundary Waters: Cotton kills.