“Yes, Gabe,” said Blaze, smiling to himself because he’d gotten it right. The whole place was a big fake to let rich people feel like they’d gotten in touch with their frontier, old west, old time roots.
“Thank you,” Gabe said. “Now let me drop you off at your tents so you can get settled in. And feel free to use your shower tokens before dinner.”
Gabe slipped past them like he wasn’t at all worried he was standing unarmed in close proximity to a group of tough ex-cons whom he’d just basically scolded like they were in the third grade and ought to be behaving better, and led them back along the barely there path among the grasses. At a big clump of trees, he pointed down another barely there path that seemed to lead right into the heart of the woods.
“Kurt and Wayne, you’re in tent #1, just along there, and Tom and Blaze, you’re this way.”
Blaze felt a sense of relief that he’d get a break from having to listen to any more rules, or upbeat talk about what a wonderful opportunity they had ahead of them. All he could see was the space between the words where the truth was. That they’d be worked to death, punished if they stepped out of line, and on top of that, they’d have to shit and pee in outhouses, and take showers with a breeze around their ankles. Great.
Gabe stopped them at the other side of the clump of pine trees and pointed between the trees, where there seemed to be a bit less undergrowth, fewer grasses. But as for any kind of trail, there wasn’t any.
“You two are in tent #4, so make yourselves at home. I’ll see you at five thirty for dinner, when the cook rings the dinner bell. Okay?”
“In the mess tent, right?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” said Gabe.
“Make myself at home?” asked Blaze, making his voice rise in a saucy way, as if there were better ways that Gabe could make him feel at home other than dropping him off at a tent in the middle of the woods. And regretted instantly drawing that kind of attention to himself.
But Gabe, perhaps made wise by some kind of training about how to respond to inappropriate remarks, just smiled and nodded.
“Everything you need will be in boxes on your cot,” he said. “If you’re missing anything, just let me know. Make sure you find your flashlights, as you’ll need them when it gets dark. Okay?”
“Sure thing,” said Blaze with his best insouciant shrug. “I’m sure we’ll be deliciously comfortable.”
With a wave, Gabe left them alone, tromping away through the grasses, perhaps to go back to his tent, or perhaps to get out his bullwhip so he could keep them all in line.
“This is us, I guess,” said Tom.
“You want me to go first?” asked Blaze, seeing the hesitation in Tom’s step.
“Snakes, man,” said Tom, shaking his head.
“You’ll owe me,” said Blaze, knowing that he’d just gotten a few extra points by being the first one to do the other guy a favor.
That was how it worked in prison, an exchange system built on promises requested and then delivered. Or on goods delivered for a favor, or whatever. The barter system had been deeply entrenched in Wyoming Correctional, and Blaze saw no reason to dispense with it now, or at least until something better came along.
He walked in amongst the trees, crushing the grass and weeds beneath his still soaked slip-on sneakers. At one point, he was going to back up and find Gabe to ask for a machete or something to cut the undergrowth, but then, with Tom on his heels, they broke into a little clearing.
There, a green tent with a cream-colored cloth slung over it seemed to appear before them, as though it had been wished for. Blaze didn’t remember making a wish, and besides, wishes were for fools.
The tent, though, was cunningly designed and laid out in the clearing, pupped from the green trees, perhaps, or like it had been waiting for them forever. The front flaps of the tent were tied back, and a thin screen was zipped closed. Looking at Tom over his shoulder, Blaze stepped onto the platform made of new wood and unzipped the screen, pushing it out of his way as he stepped into the tent.
Inside, the air was warm and still, and smelled like new wood and sun-drenched canvas, and though dim in the middle, was lit by the sun coming down through the pine trees, which could be seen through the screens at either end.
There were two cots, one tucked on each side of the tent, and between the cots were two shelves side by side. Blaze could see that there was something beneath each bed, but it was what was assembled on the beds that drew him close: two large cardboard boxes that were so full they couldn’t be shut, and a smaller, but still large, shoebox.
Tom reached out and grabbed the shoebox from the bed on the right side and shook it at Blaze.
“Size twelve and a half boots,” he said. “Guess this is my bed.”
“Guess it is,” said Blaze.
He went to the other bed, claiming it as his in his mind, and reached for the shoebox. It said size twelve, which was too bad, since he wore size eleven, but what did that matter now?
Blaze popped open the lid and stood there gawping at the brand new soft brown leather boots with spongy soles and bright yellow and black laces.
“These are Carhartts,” he said. He looked at the lid again, just to be sure. “Yeah. Carhartts.”
