He checked the contents of a survival waist pack his father had given him years back for Christmas. Warlock had only taken it along at Clete’s insistence, reminding him that they had occasionally been lost while fishing. There was a flashlight that no longer worked which meant it was no longer a flashlight; a German-made compass, a capsule of paraffin-protected matches, a Swiss army knife, a slight but large piece of material called a Space Blanket, a tin cup, some hooks and fish line, a flare, and a package of dried food and jerky he tossed in the wastebasket. No snacks today. He had brought along Diana’s bird book and binoculars as a cover if he needed to sneak up on Rabun’s land. He had rehearsed the vision of a group of thieving, burly woodchoppers discovering him in a thicket, at which point he would merely announce that he was an official Audubon bird watcher. No need for the retards to know how close to mayhem they were, what with the heat, the .38 invisibly packed at his shoulder.

It was easy to find the first corner of the property line some thirteen miles west of Grand Marais. You simply counted the section lines on the county map, which were a mile apart. He turned north on a two track log road, ostensibly toward Lake Superior. The road became rough going after a half mile so he parked, walking along jauntily looking for surveyor stakes beneath the ferns, the dog following with the veal knuckle still in his jaws.

Within a half hour Warlock was incomprehensibly lost. At the end of a full hour it was hopeless. Twilight had come and gone. In despair he gathered an immense pile of wood on a knoll looking down at a creek. Hudley whined and disappeared into the gathering dark.

Chapter 23