Note: In my youth I had the great good fortune of attending a YWCA summer camp in the Adirondack Mountains. The name of the place was Camp Chingagook (mutilated to 'Gingercook'). It sat bracketed by Lake George and a lesser hill known as Tongue Mountain. As is tradition still, the counselors saw to it that we received at least one fireside horror story and my counselor, one Jeramy, did very well. The story itself had been retold many times, each with its own special nuance and, by the time I heard it, probably bore no resemblance to the original. As a teller of tales I would be very remiss not to commit this better than average yarn to paper. I offer it here with as little personal editing as possible, acknowledging that time has done some editing of its own on my recollective abilities. Thanks for scaring the hell out of us, Jeramy. mp

Joshua Hooksted would have been the measure of a man no matter when in time he'd lived. His stature was rather average, under six feet, but his frame and limbs were thickset and sinewy tough and spoke of a life of fair work. In his day he had herded cattle in Texas, been in one of the last Dakota gun fights and ridden beside Teddy at San Juan but that was long ago. Now he worked his small farm near another famous battle ground in Schuylerville, where the battle of Saratoga actually took place. Among his neighbors he was known for his quiet ways, his dependable back and his hard will

Amanda Hooksted was probably the only person who truly commanded Joshua's respect and was wise enough to do so only when absolutely necessary, which was infrequent at best. Amy, as she was known, seemed ill fit for the rigors of farm life. In her youth she had been the loveliest of the New York City socialites and even now, is her mid forties, presented a striking contrast to the peasant stock from which most the local women were bred. Still, when the work needed a hand, Amy was in the field with her husband hauling rocks and pulling stumps.

Their son, Aaron, was the product of both his parents. Short of twenty, he already possessed his father's strength and poise and the dark hair and fine features of his mother. He had learned their values and, of late, had established himself as a man of all work in the community.

Now, however, the fields were cleared and the October frosts were upon the land. As he did every year, Joshua finally won Amy's approval for a hunting trip. This annual ritual began with the final harvest and lasted until she predictably succumbed to his dubious reasoning. "We have plenty of meat for the winter, Josh," she would reply to his opening salvo.

"Mmmm. By winter's end there's never enough meat, and venison is such a wonderful change."

"Hah! We've had no deer meat in this house for five years now, ever since you began teaching Aaron to hunt the mountains. I hope he never comes to depend on those hills to keep his belly full."

"Can we go, mom?"

"You can go to the shed for a thrashing," Amy said resolutely.

"Hah! That I'd like to see," Joshua laughed. "Been some time since you did that to the boy."

"Me? You'll do the thrashing, Joshua Hooksted!"

"Not for wanting to go hunting I won't. Go fetch yourself a switch, Aaron, like a good fella."

"Mom?"

"Go! The two of you pack your things and go! Just the second you deliver me to the train station in Saratoga."

Joshua winked at his son. "So, been planning a little trip for yourself, is it?"

"At least my father still enjoys the pleasure of my company."

"When will you be ready, mom?"

"Not soon enough! Go hitch up the surrey and be quick about it!"

"And I suppose you've already made arrangements at the livery?" Josh smiled.

"Well I couldn't depend on you to do it now, could I old man?" Amy said as she took off her apron and embraced Joshua.

"Hitch the surrey, Aaron," he said as he hugged his wife. After Aaron left they kissed. "You do this to me every year."

"Why you have to go rambling annually is beyond me. I've learned to accept with my teeth gritted."

"And why you want to go to a place like the city is beyond me. People all over the place and all them damn buildings cluttering up God's sky. It weakens the senses."

"This is nineteen oh eight, old man. The world is on the move. It’s been seven years since Whitehead flew his plane and there’s automobiles replacing horses."

"Yes, well. I don't like where it's moving, and everyone knows it was them Wright brothers that flew first just five years ago. Now, where's my Greener this year?" he asked as he gave her a firm slap on the bottom.

"Over in the closet where it always is. And so's your colt, before you ask. And, for your information, it’s only the coarsest sort of bigotry that keeps Gustav Whitehead’s name out of favor." She held his sleeve and looked him squarely in the eyes. "Take good care of the boy, Joshua. Teach him well."

He nodded and smiled lightly. "It's likely he'll be taking good care of me, Amy. He's a full man now. Look at him there. Any more I do my best not to upset him."

Amy went into the bedroom and returned with her portmanteau. "He may be a full man but he still needs teaching. It's not like it used to be."

"We'll be fine."

The Hooksteds made the trip to Saratoga and said their good byes at the station. Aaron and Joshua took the carriage to the livery, and then they were off. By nightfall they'd reached Warner Bay on the southern tip of Lake George and set up camp before putting several fishing lines into the water. The sun had barely set before the two men were eating bass fried in fresh lard, and hardtack. Across the water they could see one or two lights from permanent structures and Joshua shook his head. "What's the matter, pa?"

"The matter is, there's too damn many people in this world." He handed his son the whiskey bottle and spat into the fire. "Aaron, when I was your age there was still open land; places where you could go and be alone. All gone now," he said with remorse. He pulled his bedroll cover over him closed his eyes. "Get to sleep, son. We want to be on the mountain come sun up."

"There's no deer in the mountains, dad."

"There's no people either and that's good enough for me. Good night, Aaron."

As promised, they were up at first light and moving up the eastern shore of the lake. When the sun was barely clear of the hills they came to a small jetty of land and set about picketing their horses. A mile or so from the shore was an out-cropping in the water called Dome Island where Joshua had once spent an entire month, a story Aaron was well familiar with. As they filled their canteens from the icy lake Aaron asked, "Does this water ever get warm?"

"I don't think so," Joshua replied. "This whole lake is spring fed. Purest water in the country with one exception."

"Where's that?"

"They have this here crater out west. Never saw anything like it in all my days. The water's deep blue and they say it's bottomless. I doubt that but it's sure deep. Dropped a hundred foot rope down it and could still see the end."

"You funnin' me, pa?"

"Nope," he said as he shouldered his pack. "Let's go."

The day was crisp and clear and warm for October and they walked mostly in silence towards the looming Tongue Mountain. For the first few miles they crossed over land with open forest. This soon gave way to the heavy thicket and scrub that typified the range so they took to following a stream bed. At noon they stumbled on an animal trail and followed it to the long trailing ridge at the top. Occasionally Joshua would spot a sign and ask Aaron what it meant, usually being pleased that his son knew. "And what do you think about that spur of flat rock above us there?" he queried. Aaron had no idea. "Well, if it ain't dinner it'll probably do us for a snack." Aaron crouched slightly and Joshua shook his head. "No need for that", he grinned. "Snake's are as hard of hearing as you can get." As predicted, a fat timber snake lay basking in the sun and coiled defensively as they encountered each other. Normally Joshua resisted anything that approached showing off, and for the most part this was no exception. Had Aaron not been there it would have been, for him, a simple act of gathering a piece of food. In the blink of an eye he drew and fired, separating the snake from its head from ten paces off.

Aaron had seen his father shoot before but never like this. To him it was magical. "Can you teach me to shoot like that, pa?" he asked as soon as his exhilaration calmed slightly.

"Could, but it won't make sense. There's little need for gun fighters in this twentieth century of ours. I will teach you how to get the meat off them though. Here; let me see your knife." He took his son's hunting knife and tested the blade. It was razor sharp. "Yep," he said as he handed it back. "That's the way all right. Wake me when we're ready to eat." With that he unshouldered his pack, leaned it against a tree and curled up for a nap.

"But pa," Aaron protested.

"Not now son. Later, when you get the meat off the thing. Hate them little bony things."

It was some time later that Aaron shook his father's shoulder. Joshua sat up and looked at the two little pieces of meat on wooden spits. "Well, your mother's right; you'd starve. What'd you do; throw most of it away?"

"Think you could do better?" Aaron challenged.

"Sure hope so. Fetch me another snake and we'll find out."

"Okay. Okay, we'll just find out. Let me borrow your gun and I'll.."

"Don't tell me you lost your knife too?"

"I got my knife right here," Aaron protested.

"Good. Then go get the snake. Don't need to waste more than one shot for a mid-day snack." He curled up against his pack again.