"Hey there!" called a voice from someone walking along a path that came from the north, not the southern path that led to the airstrip.
"Hi," replied MacGyver, standing and raising a hand in greeting. Christy had already returned reporting that she had found the outhouse, and also the river. Then they had been sitting in the wooden chairs at the front of the cabin chatting as the afternoon drew into twilight. Jerry had walked back past the cabin, but hadn't stayed. Shortly after, they heard the plane's engine as he took off into the southern sky, circled overhead and flew west out of the wilderness and back toward town. When he was gone, Mac and Christy both sat silently for a few minutes, letting the reality of their remote location sink in.
The last of the light had almost disappeared from Mac's view, although he guessed Christy could still see quite a bit in the gray summer evening when they were greeted by the newcomer.
"Heard your plane get in," continued the voice, and Mac couldn't quite tell from this distance if it belonged to a man or a woman with a lower voice. "How was the flight in?"
"Good," replied Mac, and listened to two sets of footsteps approach the cabin. "You the ranger?"
"Nah, we're volunteers staying here for two weeks while the ranger's on furlough," replied the man, for Mac was pretty sure that's what the voice signified. "I'm Randall and this is my wife Jeanne." His introduction took away the last of Mac's doubt.
"Name's MacGyver, from the Phoenix Foundation, and this is Christy Henson from the University of Idaho," Mac offered.
"Nice to meet you," said Randall, hopping straight onto the porch front and grasping MacGyver's extended hand in a firm grip. "Phoenix Foundation. They told us you'd be along this week sometime. Doing a study on the Chinook?"
"We are," contributed Christy with her trademark enthusiasm.
Jeanne, walking behind Randall, chose the stairs, but once she had arrived on the porch, she welcomed them warmly, and it was she who unlocked the cabin door.
"Come on in," she said, and Mac judged her to be in her fifties by the sound of her voice and the way she walked. She was shorter than Christy, but had an air of hospitality and motherliness about her.
Without thinking, Mac put out a hand to find the door frame.
"You ok?" asked Randall with concern.
"Oh, they didn't tell you?" asked Mac. "I'm blind." He spoke in a "no big deal" tone of voice, hoping that he didn't have to go through the entire question process again.
"Hmm," was all Randall said, and Mac was sure the man had shrugged.
"Guess you people can do anything you want to nowadays," chimed in Jeanne, and Mac winced inwardly at the "you people" but he didn't respond.
"This your dog?" asked Randall as Puck bounded up onto the porch from where he had been sniffing off somewhere.
"Yep," affirmed Mac, and snapped on Puck's leash again.
"Let me just get a fire going in the stove here," said Jeanne, but Randall stopped her. "Let me get the fire going, Mother. You go out to the shed and find us that mess of green beans we been saving."
She assented and headed back outside.
Mac had discovered that just inside the cabin, a table extended from the left hand wall almost past the door, and benches lined the wall to accommodate it. He moved to his right and found a rough countertop where his fingers touched a haphazard stack of aluminum pans. He could hear Randall rummaging in a woodbox in the far right corner and he assumed the stove was that way.
"Want me to tell you where things are?" offered Christy.
"Sure," Mac agreed.
"Table and benches on the left," she confirmed. "Kitchen area on the right. In the center is a ladder to a loft, and under the loft are some bench cots. Stove on the right just past the kitchen. It has a water bucket with a spigot and a sort of sink. I think they cook on the wood stove."
"That we do," affirmed Randall. "Definitely a step up from a campfire! You two can sleep out on the porch under the stars or up in the loft if you like," he continued.
"Outside for me," spoke up MacGyver quickly, imagining the fresh pine air.
"Me too," agreed Christy happily.
"Have you ever been backpacking or camping before?" Mac asked her.
"Of course," she said in a mock-offended tone. "I'm from Idaho after all. What else is there to do around here but drive tractor and go camping?"
Mac laughed. "You got a point there," he admitted.
"Need any help?" he asked Randall.
"Not with the fire. Just about have 'er going. You can get into that food box under the counter and find some tortillas though. Some canned chicken and there's spices on the rack on the wall."
Just in case there were loose socks somewhere in the cabin, Mac put the German Shepherd on tie-down under the table, gave him some water, then joined Christy at the counter. It was built from plywood and felt more like a workbench than a kitchen, but he supposed it served its rustic purpose. Christy was already rummaging on the shelf under the counter, so Mac ran his hands along the wall next to the door. Finding no spice rack, he next tried the north wall.
"It's here," said Christy, taking his left hand and placing it higher than he'd been searching. His fingers met about ten plastic shakers, and some metal cans. Marking their location with his left hand, he took them down one by one with his right and popped open the lids, holding each to his nose. He selected one that smelled like garlic, one with the sweetness of paprika, and another with the unmistakable zip of chili powder.
"Is this garlic powder or garlic salt?" he asked Christy.
She leaned over to look. "Salt," she answered, then plopped a plastic bag of tortillas and two metal cans on the counter.
Carefully, so as not to knock them over, Mac felt for the pans stacked to his right. "Do you have any refried beans instead of chicken?" he asked hopefully.
"Sure," answered Randall, standing up from his fire building chore. He left the door of the firebox open, and Mac could feel the heat beginning to flow from the stove. It felt nice, since the mountain summer had begun giving way to chilly evening. "Grab a can under there and stick it into the little pot there. You got it."
"I need my flashlight," said Christy in frustration as she searched again in the food box. "Here. Here's refried beans. How do you get this food out here anyway? Plane?"
"No," answered Randall. Too heavy for that, and too expensive. We still use mule trains out here."
"Wow, really?" asked Christy in surprise. "How often do they come?"
"About every two or three weeks in the summer depending on the weather. Less in winter," replied Randall, sitting on the bench next to the table and lighting an aromatic pipe. He also must have lit a kerosene lantern because Mac could make out its soft yellow glow on his left. "Oops, sorry, Pooch. That's your tail."
At this moment, Jeanne came back in with her hands full of vegetables. "Green beans, peppers, and one more onion," she recited. "Better put onions on the list, Rand."
"Nope, those give me gas," he responded teasingly, but Mac heard the scratching of a pencil.
"Do the rangers stay out here all winter?" asked Christy.
"Not here at Shearer. Someone usually stays at Moose Crick, and there's the people who homestead back here," answered Randall, puffing on his pipe.
"I can snap the beans for you," offered Christy and took the bowl to the table near Randall.
"Homesteaders?" asked Mac. "This far out?"
"A few," said Randall. "Not many these days. The Wilderness Act meant that the Federal government has been trying to buy back the land these past twenty years. A few have stayed though. Some of the land is still privately owned. Rich folks just bought one of the homesteads south of here so they can fly in on their vacations. Some Hollywood actor, I think."
"Those rich city folk can be a problem," offered Jeanne. "Make a big to-do when the wildfires come through every summer, and if they don't have caretakers that know what they're doing they lose a lot of property."
"Those wildfires," pursued MacGyver. "I heard they're thinking about implementing a "let burn" policy out here, not trying to suppress the fire but letting nature take its course."
Randall snorted. "Some scientists and politicians," he began, and then seemed to remember who he was speaking to. "Beg pardon, but we don't like the idea, not one bit."
"Why not?" asked Mac curiously. From what he could tell the plan had a sound scientific basis.
"Well, first of all, they been fighting fires out here since, well, when did the fire crews start coming this far out, Mother?"
"Hmm," said Jeanne in thought as her fingers continued operating a can opener. "I think after the Big Burn in 1910? Maybe the twenties?"
"There you go," said Randall, warming to his subject. At least sixty years of suppressed fire. Lookouts on most of the peaks. Crews coming in with shovels to dig trenches. And you know what happens?"
Mac was beginning to follow the man's train of thought. "Underbrush?"
"Precisely," affirmed Randall. "So much underbrush has grown up that once the fire goes through, it's crazy." He drew out the syllables of the word "crazy" as if to emphasize his point.
Jeanne put a frying pan into Mac's hands and a butter dish. "Start this browning, please," she said, and Mac smiled at her, silently thanking her for assuming he could cook rather than the reverse assumption.
He moved toward the warmth of the stove and felt for the radiant heat on the top without touching it. "Will this work?" he asked, setting the pan on the stovetop.
"Little forward," directed Jeanne and returned to chopping her vegetables.
Mac moved the pan slightly until he felt it settle into the round depression of the removable burner. He asked for a table knife, and received one, which he used to scoop out some butter and toss it into the heating pan.
The butter had just begun to sizzle when Jeanne stepped up next to him and scraped her cutting board off into the browned butter. As the onions and peppers fried, they began to give off a heavenly aroma. Jeanne handed MacGyver a wooden spoon which he used to turn and stir the slices.
"Gonna flavor the green beans," explained Jeanne adding two slices of bacon to one side of the frying pan. The green beans were beginning to boil on another burner, and in a smaller pot, Mac stirred his refried beans, asking Christy to hand him some cumin to put in them.
Jeanne added the canned chicken to the sauteed vegetables, and Mac offered to season the whole fajita mix. She agreed and he found the rest of his spices from earlier.
When the bacon was fried and the green beans drained, Jeanne crumbled the bacon into them and added some butter and salt. She had set Christy to grating some Cheddar cheese, and soon called out that it was time to dish up.
"Would you mind picking out some vegetables for mine?" Mac asked Christy in an aside. She agreed without hesitation, and he mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently she didn't mind helping him out here and there.
Everyone grabbed an old-fashioned tin plate, loaded tortillas with fajita mixture, added the green beans to the side, and found places around the kerosene lantern on the plywood table that had been covered with a vinyl tablecloth.
"That's some good backcountry cooking, Mother," said Randall appreciatively as he dug in.
"Mr. MacGyver did the seasoning tonight," countered Jeanne.
"You're a hell of a cook for…" Randall stopped himself.
"For a blind guy?" finished Mac with a laugh. The tension eased and Randall laughed too.
"Beer?" offered Randall, but Mac said he'd be fine with water.
"You ever heard of the Magruder Corridor?" asked Randall as they ate.
Mac had to admit that he hadn't but Christy replied that she had heard the name before.
Randall warmed to his story. "Magruder was a merchant, way back a ways during the last century. He was friends with a guy in Lewiston named Hill Beachy."
"Lewiston is one of the bigger towns over that way?" asked MacGyver, gesturing vaguely to the west.
"Yep, past Orofino, where you flew out of," answered Randall. "Anyway, Hill Beachy ran a hotel in Lewiston. Magruder used to go to Virginia City, way over in Montana. Take supplies and bring back gold. During the cattle driving and gold rush days."
Mac settled back on the bench to listen to the story. Puck set his nose on Mac's foot with a groan of contentment.
Randall laughed at the dog, then resumed his tale. "So Magruder was bringing back a bunch'a' gold from Virginia City on mules. They didn't use a pack string in those days. Magruder picked up some extra guys to help his own people herd all the mules. Well, around the head of the Selway, those extra guys decided they wanted to take the gold for themselves, so they murdered Magruder."
Christy let out a small gasp of shock.
"Yep, killed him and his men, and took some of the gold and hid it in a cave, some say up Elevator Mountain. The rest they took with them into Lewiston."
At this point Jeanne joined the story. "The murderer was riding Magruder's horse, and Hill Beachy recognized it right away. That was stupid."
Randall continued, "they rode Magruder's horse, and when Magruder didn't come back after a while, Hill Beachy got suspicious. The Sheriff and his posse did a manhunt all the way down to California where they caught up to the gang and got one of the guys to rat out his buddies to avoid the noose himself. They brought the whole gang back to Lewiston and hung 'em all, except for the informer."
"They say he was dead within the year though, anyway, so it didn't do him much good," put in Jeanne.
Randall lowered his voice. "Some say the gold's never been found. That it's still hidden in a cave up here somewhere."
"It's just a legend, Rand. Come help me get some of these turnovers for dessert," admonished Jeanne with a laugh.
"But they called the road from Darby, Montana through to Elk City the Magruder Corridor," finished Randall, untangling himself from the bench to go help his wife. The turnovers she had made earlier with canned peaches and plenty of sugar and cinnamon had been warming during dinner and she served them with the canned cream that she had whipped and sweetened until it was light and frothy. MacGyver savored every bite.
"I think I'll head on out and get my sleeping bag set up," he announced once they had finished the turnovers and helped wash the dishes. "We want an early start tomorrow."
Everyone bid their good nights and Mac headed out to find his pack in the dark and unbundle his sleeping bag. He took it down to the porch of the small shed so that Christy wasn't crowded, and set to work feeding Puck and bedding them both down for the night.
As he lay on the hard boards, he looked up toward the sky but could see nothing but blackness. Whatever starlight and moonlight there was did not penetrate the thick scars on his corneas, and he finally closed his eyes in frustration. As he did so, the night came alive with smells, currents of air and layers of sound. The fresh mountain air combined with the day's warmth still flowing off of rocks and plants. Knowing that yarrow and mouse-ear grew in the area, he sniffed to see if he could catch the bitter scents. It was all a mix of the trees, the earth, and the different kinds of underbrush, which had been cleared from directly around the cabins to protect from fire. Close to him nighttime insects whirred, and in the distance the monotonous rippling of the river gave evidence to its location. The air that brushed his cheek was chilly, but without the bitter cold of earlier in the season. He snuggled down into the warm down bag and fell asleep.