Jesse and a couple of the men had returned to chopping and splitting wood. Several other men were standing nearby, holding rifles. “Jesse, come in,” could be heard over the walkie-talkie in his pocket. Jesse reached in his pocket and pulled out the walkie-talkie.
He pressed the microphone button. “Yes, Tracy. What’s up?”
“We have a hiker here. It’s Wallace. And he wants to come up to the camp and donate the fish he just caught in the lake.”
“The lake? Are you kidding? That must be 15 miles from here.”
“No, I’m serious. I’m looking at Wallace right now, and the fish he caught. He has some good fish. One of them looks like a 10-pounder.”
“12!” Wallace could be heard correcting Tracy, then he chuckled. “Check that. One of the fish looks like it weighs at least 12 pounds.”
“And he wants to donate them to us?”
“Yes, he says he will donate the fish to us if he could use our shower and clean his clothes.” Tracy paused. “He could also use a shower; I can vouch for that.”
“Oh, I’m dying here! You’re a riot!” Wallace could be heard saying to Tracy.
“OK Tracy, send him up,” Jesse said.
“Alright, but you might not see him. He is dressed in camo and he blends in pretty good.” Wallace could be heard behind Tracy, laughing.
Jesse put the walkie-talkie back into his pocket. “Just what we need up here,” he said to himself. “A character.”
Wallace was a giant man, almost six and a half feet tall, weighing more than 270 pounds. He had a ruddy complexion, slight beard and mustache, and wore full camouflaged clothing and a green floppy hat. He carried a big, black backpack. A long, black nylon carrying case hung from his belt, containing a machete. One hand rested on an AR-15 rifle, which was hung over one shoulder, and his other hand carried seven recently-caught trout.
“Thanks Tracy,” he bellowed. Wallace was the type of guy who could not keep his voice down. Everything he said sounded like he was yelling. He headed up the road towards the central part of the camp.
****