Nighthawk walked to the edge of the lake a few yards away. He

stood, listening to the quiet lap of the waves. After a moment, he pointed to the opposite shore and said, “Maybe over there?” Green squinted across the lake. “How can you be sure?” “My mother wrote that there was funny stuff going on across the lake. We've got to check it out.”

“What kind of funny stuff?” "She said big helicopters were coming in and unloading material

night and day. When the village men went over to investigate, they were run off by guards. Then one day, some guys with guns came over to the village and looked around. They didn't hurt anyone, but my mother figured they'd be back."

“Wouldn't it be better to go tell the authorities? They could send someone in by plane.”

“I don't think there's time,” Nighthawk said. “Her letter is more than two weeks old. Besides, I can feel danger and death in the air.” Green shuddered. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, and the only person who could get him out was raving like a medicine man in a B movie.

Sensing his friend's nervousness, Nighthawk smiled and said,

'Don't worry, I'm not going native. That's a good suggestion about the cops. I'd feel better if we checked things out first. C'mon," he said, and they headed back to the knoll they had climbed a few minutes before. They came to a natural overhang of rock. Nighthawk pulled away some branches that covered the opening. Lying upside-down on a crude rack was a birch-bark canoe. Nighthawk ran his hand lov- ingly over the shiny surface.

“I made this myself. Used only traditional materials and tech- niques.”

“It's beautiful,” Green said. “Straight out of Last of the Mohicans.” Better. I've gone all over the lake in it."

They dragged the canoe to the beach, dined on beef jerky and rested as they waited for the sun to go down.

With the approach of dusk, they threw their packs into the canoe, pushed it into the water and started paddling. Night had fallen by the time they drew close to the shore. They had to stop when the canoe hit something solid in the water.

Nighthawk reached down, thinking they had hit a rock. “It's some kind of metal cage. Like a bait box.” He scanned the water with his sharp eyes. “The water is filled with them. I smell fish, lots of them. It must be some sort of hatchery operation.”