Richard Laymon: Tread Softly

"Guess we beat them to it," Scott said. "What do they drive?" Karen asked. "Probably the Plymouth station wagon." Karen imagined a station wagon trying to squeeze past the RV on the thin strand of road along the mountain slope, and her stomach tightened.

Scott swung off to the left. He pulled forward slowly, the tires crunching over fallen limbs and pinecones. He parked with the bumper close to an aspen, and shut off the engine. "Let's leave everything here for now, and check out the ranger station. We can pick up our fire permit while we're waiting."

They climbed out of the car. After the air conditioning, the heat outside felt stifling to Karen. But the air smelled sweet, and a soft breeze stirred the trees. She took a deep breath. She stretched, arching her stiff back, sighing with pleasure as her muscles strained. Then she followed Benny around the rear of the car, the thick mat of leaves and pine needles springy under her boots. "This is really wonderful," she said, joining Scott and Julie.

"Warm," Scott said. He took off his flannel shirt, rolled it up, and tossed it into the trunk. His T-shirt was tight across his chest, with a slight rip at the shoulder seam. "Well, let's see if we can scout up a ranger."

They walked alongside the tire tracks toward a small log cabin in the clearing ahead. A Jeep was parked close to the cabin's side. The snort of a horse drew Karen's eyes to a corral at the left, where a man in a uniform was currying a brown stallion. "That's probably the ranger," she said.

They walked toward the corral. The man saw them and waved. He slapped the horse's haunch, tossed aside the curry brush, and climbed over the fence. "Hello there," he called in an eager voice. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting. I was out on the trails, just got back."

"No," Scott said, "we just arrived ourselves."

"Well, that's good." He smiled at Karen and Julie, winked at Benny. He looked to be barely twenty, with short blond hair and cheerful eyes. Though he wore a badge on his uniform shirt, he was unarmed and had a casual manner that put Karen at ease. "Come on over to the office," he said. "We'll take care of your wilderness permit and get you on your way."

They followed him toward the cabin.

"Where you folks from?" he asked.

"Los Angeles," Scott told him.

"Dad's a pilot," Benny said, looking proud.

"Oh? What do you fly?"

"L1011s, mostly."

"No fooling? The big birds. My old man's a crop duster. He flies a replica of an old Fokker DR-1. The triplane?"

"Sure. Richthofen. The Flying Circus."

"Yeah. My old man calls himself the Green Baron. He works out of Bakersfield."

"Sometimes I wish I had three wings," Scott said, stepping onto the porch after him.

"All that airfoil, he can glide for miles. Sometimes has to."

They entered the dim, shadowy cabin. The young man stepped behind a counter near the door. On the wall was a huge topographical map of the area. A poster of Smokey the Bear hung over a two-way radio. Benny nudged Karen's arm, and pointed to a rifle rack on the wall across from them.

"Whereabouts are you heading?" the ranger asked.

"We're hoping to make it over to the Triangle Lakes area."

"Some good fishing up there. Here's an Angler's Guide for you," he said, and spread open a leaflet on the counter top. "This map's a bit sketchy."

"We'll be meeting some friends. They've got topogs of the area."

"Fine. This one'll give you a nice overview, but it's weak on detail. You've got a nasty ridge here, for instance." He tapped his ballpoint against a bare spot on the map. "Looks like an easy jaunt from Wilson to Round, but don't you believe it. It'd take an hour of hard climbing. The topogs'll take care of that for you."

He tapped the counter three inches from the bottom edge of the map. "Okay. You're about here. You'll want to take the Juniper Lake trail. It's two miles to Juniper." As he scribbled directions on an edge of the map, he said, "That'd be a fine place to spend the night. Some nice campsites all around it. When you head out of there, you just follow the trail you came in on. It branches out at the head of the lake, and there's a marker there for Triangle Lakes. You just stay on it, all the way. Here's where it comes onto the map." He drew a line along the trail. He circled a lake. "This is Tully. It's beautiful, has a real nice waterfall at the western end. Just a couple of miles farther, you've got Lake Parker. They're a good day's hike from Juniper. I'd stick to one or the other if I were you. Once you leave Parker behind, you've got Carver Pass to look forward to. You'll want to be fresh when you tackle that. It's a good three- or four-hour climb, takes you up to eleven thousand feet."

"Yuck," said Julie.

The ranger grinned at her. "About halfway up, if you're like most folks, you'll start wishing you were back home watching a ball game." He marked zigzags on the map. "You've got switchbacks you think'll never quit."

"I'm already exhausted," Karen said, "just hearing about it."

"A great view from the top," he told her. "And a good, cool wind." He lowered his eyes to the map. "Right here, on the down side, you'll run into the Mesquite Lakes. I don't recommend you bother with those. You'll know what I mean when you see them."

"The pits?" Julie asked.

"That's exactly what they are." He drew his line along the trail. "Wilson's just an easy three miles beyond the Mesquites, and it's fabulous. Wooded, good campsites." He circled Lake Wilson. "From there, you've got an easy shot to the Triangles. Get an early start from Wilson, and you should be there by noon."

"Sounds terrific," Scott said.

"Shall I put you down for Juniper, Parker, Wilson, and the Triangles?"

"Fine by me."

He took out a form and began to fill in the information. "So, we've got you into the Triangles on night four. How long will you stay there?"

"We'll want to be within an easy hike of here by next Sunday. Maybe spend Saturday night back at Juniper."

The ranger marked it down. "If you want to see some new scenery, you can make a circle by following the Postpile trail south out of the Triangles." He marked the trail, describing the lakes along the way, explaining that the return route was shorter and mostly downhill.

"So, we'll figure on two nights at the Triangles, then a night at Rabbit Ears, a night at Lake Tobash, and then back to Juniper. Should be a fine trip." The ranger reversed the permit form and pushed it toward Scott. "Would you please read this and fill out the rest?"

Scott studied the sheet. He wrote his name and address, and the number of people in his party. He signed it, and paid the permit fee. The ranger tore off a section and gave it to him.

"Okay, you're all set." He pointed at the screen door. "About a hundred yards that way, you can pick up the trail."

"Thanks for all your help," Scott said.

"That's what I'm here for. Have a real good trip."

They all thanked him and left the cabin.

"Well," Karen said. "That was painless."

"The pain starts when we put our packs on."

"He was neat," Benny blurted. "Did you see those neat rifles?"

"He had a nice Winchester in that rack," Scott said.

"Do you suppose he lives up here all the time?" Julie asked.

"Should've asked him."

She shrugged.

"I imagine he goes down before the snow closes the road."

"It's probably beautiful here in winter," Karen said.

"Yeah, at Christmas," Benny added. Hurrying ahead of the others, he turned around and walked backward. He raised his hands like a choir leader. " 'Dash-in' through the snooow,' " he started to sing, waving his arms.

"Forget it, Mitch," Julie muttered.

He ignored her and continued to sing until she hurled a pinecone at him. It bounced off his shirt. Laughing, he whirled away and ran the final distance to the car.