The man shook his head. “I’ve no need and no interest in those things.”
“Do you know where I could find someone else who might have one?” Sam asked, his tone set in a mixture of sheepishness and urgency. “We weren’t planning on camping here at all tonight. We took our little motor boat out onto the lake and the engine gave out all the way down the southern end. We spent the better half of the afternoon paddling to shore and have hiked here in the dark. We didn’t have flashlights with us, so we ended up using our cell phones for flashlights, but now…”
“They’ve gone flat and you need to let your wife know about why you’re not coming home for dinner?”
Sam smiled. “My girlfriend actually, but I’m sure she’s worried sick.”
“Look. There’s a satellite phone inside — meant to be used for emergencies, but you’re welcome to use it to let her know you’re all right.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” He offered his hand. “My name’s Sam Reilly by the way, and this is Tom Bower.”
The Ranger took it. His handshake was firm. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Reilly and Mr. Bower. Come inside, I’ll throw the pot of stew back on the fire and warm it up for you. That and fresh coffee — black is all I have.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Sam said.
“My name’s Yago. I’ve been coming out to these woods a few weeks each summer since I was a boy and my father used to drag me out here for weeks on end.”
Sam wondered if Yago was their new friend’s first or last name, but as the man intentionally omitted it, he decided to let the question slide. He met the Ranger’s eyes. “I bet you could tell some interesting stories about the area.”
“That I can. That I can.” The Ranger reached into his backpack, which rested on the floor next to the entrance of the cabin, and retrieved the satellite phone. He handed it to Sam. “You know how to use it?”
“Yes, sir I do.”
“Good.” Yago turned to put more wood in the Franklin Stove. To Tom, he said, “Come warm yourself by the fire.”
Sam set up the external antenna, stepped outside and waited for the phone to locate its satellites. He dialed Elise’s number by memory.
Elise picked up on the first ring. “I see you found your way to Lake Marie Louise in Canada without getting yourselves killed.”
Sam was about to ask how she knew where they were, and then smiled. “Glad our tracking system’s working.”
“Did you work out who’s transferring the contraband across the border?”
“Not yet, but I have some ideas. At least now we know how they’re shipping it. We’ll set up some surveillance and find out soon enough who’s behind this operation. They’ll also be responsible for murdering the Senator and his son, and kidnapping Virginia’s father.”
Elise asked, “Do you want me to tell Virginia to come get you?”
“No. We can make our own way back tomorrow when the diver makes his return trip. Unless we get into trouble, we should be able to come up on the shore of Isle Royale.”
“All right. I’ll pass the message on to Virginia. You need anything else?”
“Yeah. A warm bath and some good food.”
“Afraid I can’t help you there.”
“Good night, Elise.”
Sam ended the call, dropped the antenna, went back into the cabin, and handed the satellite phone back to Yago. The heat from the fire spread quickly, warming every muscle of his body. The Ranger handed him and Tom each a bowl of warm stew.
“Want sugar in your coffee?” Yago asked.
“Sure. Two, please, for both of us,” Tom replied.
Yago brought coffee. Sam thanked him and asked, “You said before that you grew up visiting these parts of the world over the summer months and your father was a Ranger before you, is that right?”
“Yeah. But my dad was never a Ranger, just an outdoorsman who wanted to pass on some of his knowledge. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Dad spent time here during the twenties, extensively mapping out the region throughout the summer months — then, when the Great Depression hit in 1930, he returned to the land more permanently.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“He needed to eat, and he needed some place to live. At the time, he could achieve both of those necessities without too much trouble out here. The gambling side of him, the side that saw his fortune destroyed by the Great Depression, also drove him out this way.”
“Why is that?”
“Back then, there was many a prospector who swore they would find their fortune in these mountains.”
Sam smiled. “Any of them succeed?”
“A few. Not many.” Yago smiled like it was a familiar story when it came to gold and the human race. “Truth was, it didn’t matter to my father. He could feed and house himself out here, which was better than most could say during those hard days. And then there was always hope, wasn’t there, that someday he’d get lucky and strike it rich with gold.”
“Interesting.” Sam took a mouthful of the stew. It was warm and surprisingly full of taste. “I bet you and your father could tell a few interesting tales about the place.”
“You wouldn’t believe some of the stories he used to tell.”
Sam smiled at the loquacious old Ranger. “Like what?”
“Once, my father said he was playing poker with some other vagrants. Mostly trappers, prospectors, or fur traders. A stranger asked to join the game. My dad says sure, but we’re playing for gold. The stranger smiled and put down a single gold coin. Says, what will you give me for this?”
Sam and Tom listened with wide eyes at the anecdote, their interest piqued by the allure of a gold coin, but both remained silent.
Yago stoked the fire. “So my father picks up the coin. On one side is the image of an old iron warship — you know the type that were used throughout the Mississippi River during the Civil War? And on the other side, the face of Jefferson Davis.”
Sam grinned. “You’re talking about Confederate gold. What did your father do?”
“He let him play of course.”
“Did your father win?”
“No. Lost everything he owned trying to get that damned coin. That loss just about killed him over the course of winter.” Yago shrugged. “But that’s the life of a gambler, isn’t it?”
Sam nodded. He liked a challenge, and he took risks if he had to, but he never understood the addictive mindset of a high-rolling risk taker. “Did your father discover where the man found that coin?”
“Yeah, but I’ve often wondered if the stranger’s story about where he’d found the coin was even true. I mean, it was more likely that the man had bought the coin and used it to entice gamblers to risk more than they could afford to lose in an attempt to win it.”
“What was the guy’s story?”
Yago smiled and shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
To Tom, Yago said, “What about you? Do you want to hear another wild and unbelievable tale from long ago?”
“Sure. Why not?” Tom replied. “After all, traditionally people tell ghost stories around campfires, but Sam and I here, have nothing against trading those for stories of treasure. You’d be surprised what we’ve found over the years.”
“All right,” Yago said, stretching backward on the wooden chair, putting his feet up, and getting comfortable. “The stranger tells my father that he flies a float plane on a regular trip from Moose Jaw across to Thunder Bay. Normally, he flies a mostly direct route, only a few months earlier a severe snow storm caused him to head much farther south taking him into North Dakota to refuel.”
“Right,” Sam said. “Not really sure how a pilot could end up so far south from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.”
As though he recognized Sam’s incredulity, Yago said, “You have to understand this was in the late 1920s or early 1930s. Aviation wasn’t the thing it is today. Pilots were true adventurers and bush pilots the greatest of them all.”