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of the house, Erik put on his jacket and walked onto the porch. It was a nice day, he realized. The sun shone and the persistent wind of the night before had lowered to a whisper. He was amazed again by the prairie spreading so far in all directions, with no house in sight and no signs of other people. The sky looked so big. Gazing up, he thought of his parents, who were probably in an airplane at that very moment. It hardly seemed real. He felt very small all of a sudden, and even lonelier and farther from home.
    Wandering aimlessly around the yard, he kicked up gravel in the driveway and checked out the combines and tractors. The tires on some of those monsters were higher than the top of his head! He tried to imagine what it would be like to drive one.
    Then his eyes fell on the out house. He’d never been in an out house before. Would it be really stinky? He opened the door cautiously, prepared to shut it fast, but to his relief it didn’t smell bad at all. Maybe because it wasn’t used much.
    The open door let in enough light to see, and he observed with a grin that this was a two-hole model. He’d heard of such things but could never quite get his mind around the idea. He tried to picture sitting side by side out here with someone else, and doing— what? Having a friendly conversation? Looking straight ahead and pretending the other person wasn’t there?
    He shook his head. As he’d explained to his mother, he often wished he lived back in the days of the pioneers, but in this particular regard, he was grateful for modern conveniences. He read the sign posted on the wall above some stacked rolls of toilet paper, which said, “The job ain’t finished ’til the paperwork is done,” and cracked up. It was his first laugh since arriving in North Dakota, and it felt good.
    There was a pile of ratty old Life magazines on the seat bench, and that was about it. He was ready to leave when he heard a noise outside. He froze, listening.
    It sounded to Erik like someone panting , as if he’d been running hard. But who would have run all the way out here? Then he heard just the slightest whimper. Was it a whimper of pain or fear, or something else? He was spooked by the strange sound, but he couldn’t very well hide in the out house and hope whoever it was went away.
    Cautiously, he pushed the door open wider and peered out. From the corner of his eye, he saw something move into the barn. He caught only a quick glimpse of a shape, enough to know it wasn’t a person but an animal, although what kind he hadn’t been able to tell. He wasn’t quite sure of the size, either.
    He walked slowly to the big barn door, which slid from side to side on a metal track and was now halfway open. Slipping inside, he waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. He was vaguely aware of the pleasant smells of earth, grain, motor oil, and hay; aware, too, of his racing heart, as he imagined some crazed, slathering beast springing at him from the gloom. Did they have wolves out here? He didn’t know. He hoped not.
    Soon he could pick out the forms of different objects: a workbench with tools, some shovels and rakes leaning against the wall, scraps of lumber, bales of hay, sacks of what he figured was fertilizer, and an old, beat-up car. Then, in the corner by the stacks of hay bales, he saw movement.
    Listening hard, he heard it again: panting, followed by a whimper, and another.
    He looked in vain for a light switch. Sliding the barn door all the way open to let in some daylight, he began walking very slowly toward the sound. Knowing that a cornered animal can be dangerous, he approached the hay bales from the side, to leave the creature an escape route. If it didn’t want him any closer, it could choose to run for the door rather than attack. He hoped.
    As he drew nearer, he could hear the animal panting harder and could see that it was shaking, but he still