Seeing the party leaving, the last few families readied their own children and sent them to meet the trail. By the time Oisín left the compound and made it around the pond, there were twelve kids. By the time they passed through the gorge there were fourteen.

“Oh shoot,” Oisín said. “We don’t have sticks. Everybody get a stick.”

Oisín had planned this. Another old counselor trick.

“What kind of stick?” the round-faced kid asked.

“Your name?” Oisín asked.

“Declan.”

“Okay, Declan. One of two kinds,” Oisín said. “The first kind would be a walking stick. That should be as thick as your wrist and as tall as your chest.”

Half the kids were already in the thicket, hunting and snapping.

“Either that,” Oisín said to their backs, “or a bushwhacking stick. That’s for protection if you see a snake or need to fight off a coyote. A bushwhacking stick is about two-and-a-half-feet long, and should be easy to swing around. Like a sword. You have two minutes.”

Oisín looked for and found a walking stick for himself. It was a gently bent eucalyptus branch. He stripped it of excess bark and held it away from his eye like a telescope, as if checking the truth of its lines.

The children returned with their bushwhacking sticks and compared them. Many swaps and substitutions ensued, but soon they were ready. They walked on, but then, as they watched Oisín stride magisterially with his walking stick, one by one they traded in their swords for versions of his.

“It’s hot,” said one girl.

Before her complaint could take hold, the herd’s attention flowed to a girl who had a small constellation of blue flowers stuck to her shirt. The other kids wanted to know what they were and how they stayed in place. Oisín knew they were forget-me-nots, but he’d never seen this, the way they clung to clothing. Soon the kids all had powder-blue flowers attached to themselves, too, and they walked on.

They climbed over the Anzas’ rough-hewn fence and passed through a wide pasture.

“Aren’t there cows here?” Rebecca asked.

“Sometimes,” Oisín said. He scanned the valley. “They must be on the other side of the hill. There’s shade over there.”

“I’m hot,” said a voice.

Oisín said nothing. Nothing could be done about the heat, and nothing could be done about children mentioning the heat. But after the pasture there was a winding, marshy stream, and Oisín showed the kids how to wet the backs of their necks with the cool water. The water made everyone thirsty, so Oisín had Rebecca distribute the two thermoses. The kids caught sight of the Pringles in one of the open backpacks and they were quickly devoured.

“Is it true you sit in rivers naked?”