Mysteries in Our National Parks: The Hunted: A Mystery in Glacier National Park

“OK, OK. A baby deer. The weirdest baby deer I’ve ever seen, but whatever you say, Ashley.”

“Jack, we need to crank up the top now,” Steven called. “Make sure none of the canvas gets caught on the edges at your end.”

Still muttering to himself, Jack rotated the handle that raised the roof of the camping trailer. Fully opened, it stretched tall and spacious: metal roof, canvas sides, metal base. There were two pull-out queen-size beds, one at either end, plus a smaller bench with a mattress providing comfortable sleeping for all the Landons. Steven joked that compared with real, rough-out camping, staying in their trailer was like renting a suite at a five-star hotel.

Olivia had already gone inside to set up the sink and stove top. She stacked plates into the cabinets, then unrolled all their sleeping bags onto the beds. Steven and Olivia would share one of the queens, and Jack and Ashley would take turns sleeping on the other queen and the bench.

“Hello, anybody home?” It was a woman’s voice, but all Jack could see was a flashlight beam dancing against the dirt path. “Thought I’d check in to find out if you need anything.”

Olivia came to the door holding an oil lantern that gave enough light to reveal their visitor—a park ranger in her twenties, dressed in the Park Service uniform: a Smokey Bear hat, gray shirt with badge and name tag, and dark green pants. Even in that dim light, Jack couldn’t help noticing how pretty the ranger was. Beneath the hat brim, brown hair barely skimmed her shoulders. Her eyes were friendly and her smile bright.

“You must be Olivia,” she said. “I’m Ali. I’m at the Logging Creek Ranger Station just a few miles south of here. The plan says that I’m supposed to pick you up tomorrow morning to drive you to park headquarters. So….” She looked up at Olivia, who was standing in the doorway of the trailer. “Is there anything I can do right now to help you set up?”

“Thanks, but I think we’ve got things under control,” Olivia answered and introduced Ali to Steven and Jack. A look of concern passed over her face as she said, “Steven, where’s Ashley?”

“I don’t know. I thought she was with you, setting up the inside stuff.”

“And I thought she was helping you and Jack. Ashley!” Olivia cried, then again, louder, “Ashley!”

“I’m right here, Mom. Don’t worry, I’m coming. I was down there by the creek, looking at the water.” Ashley emerged from behind a stand of pines, acting sheepish that she’d been caught loafing when there was work to be done.

“Ali, this is my daughter, Ashley, who knows better than to go off alone in the woods. Ashley, meet Ali. I was about to say that we’re going to build a campfire so we can toast a few marshmallows. Can you stay awhile, Ali?”

“Sure. I never turn down marshmallows.” Ali joined the Landons as they scouted for firewood by flashlight, moving noisily through the underbrush, snapping branches and twigs beneath their feet, trying not to trip over roots. Jack was surprised that Ashley didn’t stick close to any of them; actually, for a few moments, he didn’t see her at all. Then she turned up and dumped a meager armload of firewood on the ground.

When they got a small, steady blaze going and Olivia brought out the toasting forks, Ashley speared the soft, white marshmallows, one after the other, onto the prongs of the forks, and handed them around.

All of them settled on fallen logs close to the campfire, Jack between Ashley and the ranger. “My sister always burns marshmallows,” Jack told Ali.

“I do not!” Ashley cried.

“Maybe you just like the outsides all black and crusty,” Jack teased. “Cremated marshmallows, Ashley’s favorite kind. You ought to get some tiny little urns for them so they can rest in peace.”

“Jack, let up,” Steven warned, shooting him a look. “We have a guest. Ashley, you’re such a great storyteller, why don’t you tell us a campfire story?”

Ashley’s expression was innocent enough, but Jack could hear the bite in her voice as she answered, “Let’s let Jack do it. My brother, Jack, just loves to tell tales, especially to Mom and Dad.”

“Really?” Ali asked. “I’d love to hear you tell a story, Jack. It’s a perfect night for it, dark and quiet, with this nice campfire. Before Glacier became a national park, Native Americans probably sat around a campfire just like this one—maybe right on this same spot—telling tales about animals and hunting and brave deeds.”