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needles. Venison, bear meat, and several ducks hung from a rack. Brook trout lay frozen in ice. A few vegetables from last year’s garden were carefully stored on a slotted bench that allowed moisture to drain away.
    “You certainly aren’t going to starve, sir,” Jim said.
    “I admire your ability to cope with the wilderness, Mr. Anderson,” added Mart.
    “Ay ain’t aiming to skimp on me wittles,” Tank answered. “Call me Tank. Dese young scalavags’ve been doing that for so long ay start peering about for me father when ya say ‘Mr. Anderson.’ ”
    When they walked back to the yard to enjoy their lemonade and cookies, Trixie heard Tank tell Knut, “It’s gettin’ hard for me to traipse across that saddle to town. Vith all yer company, ya sure ya don’t mind toting me dust an’ picking up a few t’ings?”
    “Mind?” Knut slapped Tank’s shoulder affectionately. “I’d mind if you didn’t let me do it for you. We’ve got it planned to break the monotony of camp life with a drive-in movie sometime this weekend, anyway.”
    Tank nudged Knut’s ribs. “And ay tank ya vant to see that Gloria, huh?”
    “That, too,” Knut said, laughing. “If I don’t show up Friday night, she’ll be dating some other guy!”
    “Not vith you around,” Tank declared.
    Cap and Knut upended chunks of logs for extra chairs, and Tank fetched a chair from the cabin for Miss Trask. Its legs were hand-carved of cedar, the back was contrived of moose antlers, and the seat was a sheet of deerskin.
    “This is a museum piece,” said Miss Trask with delight. “Priceless.”
    “So are the cookies,” Honey said.
    “Museum pieces?” Brian teased.
    “No, silly; priceless. Tank, how do you make them?”
    “Ay dump oats and bear grease and molasses into my crock. Then ay chunk ’em all together vith flour and dried huckleberries and some leavening. Alvays it comes out cookies.”
    “Bear grease?” Di looked at her saucer-sized cookie and gulped.
    “If you don’t like it—” Mart began.
    “I like it!” Di exclaimed hastily and began munching.
    When the last cookie was eaten, Cap asked casually, “Had any company lately, Tank?”
    “Company? Do ya count fishermen and kids on noisy trail bikes? Yah, sure. Some.”
    “Well, how about—” Cap chewed ice and stared into space—“night company?”
    Tank grinned broadly. “There’s Old Gray— he yells every night till all the coyotes over Park Crick vay, they take up that rackety song. Loverly ’n’ me, ve listen. Yah, that’s company for us. Night company.”
    Knut explained that Loverly was Tank’s pet skunk.
    Cap kept right on chewing ice, without looking at Tank.
    “Ya vant to hear about T’ree Claws? Yah? He comes sometimes.” Tank’s eyebrows twisted.
    “Three Claws is an old bear that got caught in a trap umpteen years ago,” Hallie said. “Tank feeds him when grub is short.”
    Still Cap chewed ice.
    Impatiently Tank asked, “You vant that ay count owls? Porkies? Skunks that wisit Loverly? Mister still comes around.”
    Cap shrugged.
    Cautiously Tank peered at Cap. Then he said, “Suka, suka, suka?”
    The sleepy look left Cap’s eyes. “Have you been visited by fur-people you’ve never met before?”
    “Ay tank this fur-fellow has been here before. Ay find footprints sometimes in vinter. This is the first time ay hear him in hot veather. Last night he come down off the peak, ay tank, and vent down-crick.” Worriedly Tank added, “He bother you?”
    “No, not really,” Cap answered. “Made the hair on my neck stand on end, though. Everybody’s on the move, packing up to go home. We thought we’d better check up on you. Want to go to Kellogg or Wallace till things quiet down?”
    “Ain’t nothing to get riled up about,” Tank said calmly. “As long as you’re around to do my toting for me, ay tank Loverly ’n’ me vill go on like alvays.”
    “Good,” Cap said. “I thought that’s what you’d say.” He included all