“There are horses in the field, beneath those trees by the river.” Galen pointed and Bede looked, though all he could see was the wide expanse of half-bitten grass and beyond that, more trees.
“We use the paddock here for lessons, to teach horsemanship,” said Galen. “We’ll get horses in that are being traded and sold. At some point, we’ll be asked to help feed and groom and water, as needed, so be ready.”
They started walking again, going back in the direction of the main camp, along a path in the high grasses and past a row of tents. These tents were of the same green canvas as the mess tents, but they were smaller, more compact. They were almost hidden in the trees.
“I’m the fourth tent along,” said Galen, pointing but not stopping, taking long strides, always moving. “If you need me, I’m always around, but you can stop by my tent if you have to.”
Galen plowed back into the thickness of the trees, with the three of them trailing behind.
Bede knew he’d figure out his way around, eventually, but currently he felt as though he was trapped inside woods thick enough for Hansel and Gretel to get lost in. The smell of warm pine was almost overwhelming, but it was spicy and alluring, and Bede found he actually liked it.
“This is you, Toby and Owen,” said Galen as he stopped and pointed up a small path, shadowed pine branches.
“In there?” asked Owen, peering at the tent in the middle of a copse of trees.
“Yeah, this is your tent. Tent number twelve.”
With a hard sigh, Galen led them to the wooden platform and up the stairs to the tent. The opening flaps were tied back, a yellow canvas rain fly stretched over the top of the tent.
All of them clomped onto the platform, crowding it, then Toby and Owen slid inside the green-tinted semi-gloom.
Bede stuck his head in to look, the smell of sun-warmed canvas all around him.
“Those boxes hold your gear,” said Galen, pointing again. “You need to unpack and check the list that’s included to see if anything’s missing. You’ll get cowboy boots and a hat later this week. After two weeks, you get a cell phone, with six months of data on it.”
Standing perhaps too close behind Galen, Bede looked over his shoulder and watched as Toby and Owen opened their assembly of cardboard boxes and started going through them like two kids on Christmas morning. Socks flew, underwear too, and snap-button shirts that landed at ragged angles on the two cots like murdered bodies.
Galen turned to Bede, then jerked back as if startled at Bede’s closeness. Bede just smiled at him, always a good power move in a prison yard.
“I’ll show you your tent,” Galen said, brushing past Bede in haste.
“Am I on my own?” Bede asked, just realizing this as he followed Galen through the woods.
“Yeah,” said Galen, not turning around as sunlight sparkled off the gold in his hair.
Bede could hardly believe it. He’d lived with Winston forever, and then had shared cells with different men in Wyoming Correctional. He’d not been alone, on his own, for years and years.
It would be all kinds of weird to sleep alone in the middle of the woods, but it might be cool, too. If he didn’t get eaten by bears.
But rather than express any of this to Galen, who probably wouldn’t give a fuck, Bede followed silently, a cool breeze all around him, cooling him even as they went in and out of patches of hot sunlight.
They were well and truly in the middle of the woods by the time Galen slowed down and showed Bede his tent. Which was the same size as Toby and Owen’s tent, but wasn’t so buried in a clutch of evergreens. A little bit of it poked out from between the branches, like it wanted to be found.
“This is you, tent number eleven,” said Galen. “You might get a tent mate in the coming weeks, or you might not.”
Galen sounded like he very much didn’t care. Like the prospect of babysitting three ex-cons for the rest of the summer while they did their parole was some kind of punishment he very much felt he did not deserve.
“Will I get eaten by bears?” Bede asked, meaning it as a joke, even though the last thing he wanted to do was create any kind of rapport with this guy, who obviously hated all ex-cons, on sight.
A snort, half-derision, half-amusement, escaped Galen, and he put the back of his hand to his mouth, like he’d not meant to respond to the joke Bede had not meant to tell.
“You likely won’t,” said Galen, as if doing his best to be stern and gruff, rather than amused. “But who’s to say? Anyway.” Galen stepped back and waved Bede into his tent. “Unpack. Shower. Change out of those prison clothes. When the dinner bell rings, come to the mess tent. Do you remember where that is?”
“Sure thing,” said Bede, casual, dismissive, erasing any joy in the moment. “See you there.”
As Galen walked off, Bede stepped up on the wooden platform, pausing before stepping into his very own tent.
What an astonishing thing to find in the middle of the woods. A secret hideaway. The following summer, as Galen had explained, rich city folks would be paying at least four hundred dollars a night, so he might as well live it up while he could.
