“You’re a peach to invite us, Mr. Steele,” Jerry said.
Russell Steele walked over to the front window of the station wagon and put one big hand on the driver’s shoulder. “How’s it going, John?”
John McClintock removed his straw hat and blew the dust off the crown. “Not bad, Russ. But I could use some rain like everybody else around here.”
Russ frowned. “It’s bad. Very bad. The ground is like cement and everything is dry as parchment. I don’t mind telling you I’m worried, John.”
The driver shrugged. “Like living in a tinder-box. I hear you’re takin’ these young fellers out into the deep woods. Better not go too far. We’re just about due for a forest fire.”
“We’ll be careful,” Russ promised. He reached into his pocket and took out a folded ten-dollar bill. “Thanks for bringing the boys out, John. Here, let me take care of their taxi fare.”
John McClintock pushed the extended bill away firmly. “Not on your life, Russ. This one’s on me. I owe you a favor after what you did for my family last year.”
He looked up at Sandy. “Last winter when your uncle was up hunting around my place, my youngest cut hisself bad on a band saw. Russ hiked nine miles through a raging blizzard to fetch the doc.”
Russ laughed easily. “I needed the exercise, John. Now you take this money—” But before he could finish, the old man had gunned the motor and the station wagon leaped forward. It turned into the drive, backed around in the road, then headed off in the direction of town.
Russ helped the boys carry their luggage into the lodge and upstairs to their rooms. “The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. After you shower, come down to the porch. I’ll have the cook fix you some lemonade and sandwiches.”