The Baldy Ridge lodge was on top of a barren hill next to one pine tree. As Brad and Petes topped the ridge they looked down; it was just a hundred more yards to the lodge. Brad moaned, "Oh, Geez!" He sank down on a rock, tired and disappointed.

"That's not fair," growled Petes as he shrugged off his pack. "A road comes right up to the cabin! We've been tricked."

"They could have driven us up here." growled Brad. He let his heavy pack slide down his arms to the ground. His aching shoulders turned cold as the mountain breeze caught the dampness that had been under the straps. An old pickup truck was kicking up a cloud of dust as it headed away from the cabin, down the other, less steep, side of the mountain. Brad could hear its springs crunch as it bounced along the dirt road.

Maynard sauntered towards the pair from the direction of the lodge, hands in his pockets, kicking up a little dust with his feet. "I was the first one here." he taunted. "Maybe they give rides down for babies who can't make it."

"Shut up, egghead," muttered Brad. He rubbed his left shoulder.

"What'd you say?" Maynard pulled his fists from his pockets and stuck his chin up in the air. "Say that louder!"

"Give it a rest," muttered Brad. He sighed and reached for the strap of his pack. He pulled it along beside himself, feet dragging, the rest of the way to the lodge, unwilling to heft it on his sore shoulders again. When he got to the door he peeked inside his new "home" and saw beds, beds, beds. The walls were lined with bunks. Nothing more than wooden slats nailed to the log walls. They were stacked four high.

Packed like sardines, thought Brad. Kids were already throwing their packs up on bunks to claim them. Brad hefted his pack across his back, holding one strap across his right shoulder, and hobbled to a stack of bunks. He gritted his teeth, and with a heave, tossed his pack up to the top. He used the other bunks as ladder rungs and climbed up. When he reached the top, he was satisfied. He always had to have the top.

Then he looked down. Wow. He'd never felt a fear of heights before, but it sure seemed a long way to the floor! He sat up quickly and thunked his head on the ceiling. "No space at all," he grunted and rubbed the new welt on his scull.

Petes took the bottom bunk on Brad's stack. "I like to stay grounded," he laughed. "Here Willie. You be above me."

Across the room was the girl’s side. There was a big double curtain to pull across and separate the sides at night. Now the curtain was opened and Brad could see Chelsie perched on a middle bunk, just across from him. She was swinging her legs and whispering to the girl below her. They were separated by a giant woodstove which sat solidly in the center of the large room. Around the stove was a circle of wooden tables.

Maynard sauntered into the cabin, his pack riding solidly with both straps across his shoulders. Brad decided the big lug didn’t have the sense to take it off. "Well, well, well," the bully declared, stomping his way towards Brad and Petes. "Guess I'll bunk here." He threw his pack on the bunk right under Brad, just above Willie. "Looks safe enough." He stuck his tongue out at Brad. Brad didn't care, he rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

"Okay, campers. Attention!" shouted councilor Tom from the doorway. He was carrying a notebook. "We assign duties by bunks." Alice was right behind him with her own notebook.

"Bunk `A' is in charge of cleaning ashes from the stove and stacking firewood. All the proper equipment is under the bottom bunk. You need to start right away..." Kids near the front of the cabin started shuffling around and Tom turned to help the `A' crew.

`Proper equipment! Proper training!' echoed in Brad’s ears. He smelled the climbing tree again, the dust and dark bark. Mr. Spensor's long, creased legs were blocking his vision. Brad shook his head to clear it.

Metal clunked under his bunk and Brad leaned over the side to see what was going on. Petes looked up with his toothy smile. "Hey, Brad, we got buckets. Bet you anything we carry water." There was a `D' carved on the log near their bunks.

Alice was busy working through the girl's side of the cabin, assigning chores. She was handing Chelsie and her bunkmates dishcloths and rubber gloves. Bummer, thought Brad.

When Tom and his clipboard arrived at Brad's bunk, sure enough, Petes was right. "Bunk `D' fetches water and dumps dish water." stated Tom. "Your carrying buckets are under the bottom bunk. The pump is around the cabin to the north. Dump the water into the large red container near the stove. Keep it full at all times. Your job starts immediately. Any questions?"

"Can shrimps carry those big buckets?" sneered Maynard.

"Politeness is required here the same as it is down on the lake, Maynard," said Tom. "If you can't cooperate with your bunkmates I'll move you to another bunk or have you taken back to the main camp." He made a mark in his book. "Now get going."

I guess I should leap from my bunk, thought Brad. And the very thought stopped him in wonder. He'd never thought about it before - he'd just done it! Looking down, it seemed a long way. Maybe he had never actually looked before. He rubbed his skinned elbow, then slowly picked his way down the rungs of the lower bunks.

The four boys pulled buckets from under the bunk, two each. They headed out the door and around the side of the cabin to the pump.

"We will all co-Operate here," said Maynard sweetly. "I'll pump since I'm the strongest." He hefted the handle, up and down, until the first squirt of water shot from the nozzle. "Now here, Willie. Hold your bucket under the pump. No, a little closer. A little closer." Suddenly Maynard gave the pump handle a big heave and water splashed all over Willie.

Brad saw red. "You big bully!" he yelled. "Leave him alone!" He rushed around the pump towards Maynard and stepped into the largest foot print he'd ever seen, it stopped him in his tracks. "Wow! Look at this!" he exclaimed, his anger forgotten in an instant.

The boys gathered around. There in the mud were two giant footprints. The heel of each print was sunk deep in the ground, the toe was smooth, no lug marks, and pointed.

"Probably just Tom's." whispered Pete.

"No way," answered Brad. "Every one of us has boots with vibram soles. It's required camp equipment - remember? This print is smooth and I've never seen feet that big around here. I mean, how could you miss noticing a foot like that? It’s gotta come from, like, a two hundred pound guy."

"It's the criminal!" whined Willie. But Brad noticed he was smiling, Willie was baiting the bully.

Maynard's face went pure white.

"Oh, heck," Petes laughed and slapped Brad on the back. "Anybody could have made that track. After all, there's a road to this stupid place. Let's get the water."

"Yea," said Maynard. "Yea, that's it. Ha, criminals! Boy, if it was a criminal he'd be sorry he met me. Yea, I'd rub his face in the dirt." Maynard grabbed the handle of the pump and started pumping fast. He glanced over his shoulder every second or two. By the time they were done the color had returned to the bullies' face. He grabbed his buckets and swaggered towards the cabin, sloshing water down Willie's legs in the process.

Willie laughed as the bully disappeared around the corner of the cabin. "This is turning out to be a pretty wet campout." he remarked as he lifted his bucket.

Brad laughed too. The fun seemed to knock some of the grayness from his bones. "Imagine! One foot print and we see monsters." He grabbed his buckets and headed for the door.