The sergeant chuckled. "Some tough bunch I brought with me. A little noise, and you boys start to panic."
"You're the one who mentioned those wild dogs."
"But think about it. Five of us. Our own dogs. Nothing's going to bother us."
"So you agree then that those wild dogs could be out there watching us?"
"No. I agree to nothing. Except that it's late and I'm tired. Let's get moving."
"That's exactly what I said. Let's get the hell out of here."
Someone snickered then, and they continued through the underbrush. They glanced from side to side, and when another noise came louder from the right, they increased speed.
"Heavy pine cones."
"No, the sky is falling. Don't you know that?"
"Just shut up."
At last they were in the open, staring at the murky ripples on the lake. They had a distance yet to go, about a hundred yards, but there were hardly any bushes, just a few trees by the lake, and even in the darkness, they were more at ease now, walking with less tension toward the lake.
They heard a branch snap behind them, and they turned but kept on walking. As they reached the lake, they sensed the glow before they saw the moon begin to show above the mountains.
Their inclination was to build a fire, but they had to stake the dogs first, to take care that their leashes were secure. Then they had to feed the dogs, but only one man was required for that, so they let the sergeant do that while they looked around for firewood.
There wasn't much. People often camped up here, and there weren't many trees by the lake, the dead wood long since gathered, so the men, despite their apprehension, had to go back to the forest. They used flashlights, scanning the trees and bushes first before they stepped in, gathering dead branches, pine cones, fallen leaves, going back, their arms full, toward the sergeant and the dogs beside the lake.
"Well, what's the matter?" one man asked the sergeant.
"They're not eating."
"No wonder. Look at what you gave them."
"Kibble. That's what they eat every night."
"They must want something else."
"They understand they have to eat what they're served."
"I wish my kids would understand that."
Another man walked over. "You don't mean to tell me I packed that dog food up here just so your damned pooches could turn their noses up."
"They look a little sick to me," the first man said.
"No, they're not sick. They're scared," the sergeant said, and since until now he hadn't acknowledged that there might be trouble, they were struck by his remark. They stood there facing him, then glancing at the dogs.
"Well, never mind. Let's get that fire started." But the second trooper said that very faintly, and he turned to where the last two men were working on the fire.
They fumbled with matches, trying to ignite the leaves. One hand shook a little, and a match went out. The other match kept burning, though, and soon the flames spread through the leaves and pine needles, crackling toward the branches, and the branches now were burning, their large flames spreading toward the logs above them.
The men grouped around the fire, holding their palms out, rubbing them together, then rubbing their arms and shoulders. They glanced at the shimmer on the lake, at the ripple of the fire's light across the trees. They looked at the dogs, then at the darkness around them. It was several seconds before one man said what everybody else was thinking.
"We don't have a lot of wood."
"For now it's plenty."
"But in an hour…"
"Damn it, then, let's get some more. I'm hungry."
Even with the crackling of the fire, they heard a noise back in the forest.
"You go do it. I'll stay here and fix the supper," one man said.
"Thanks a lot for volunteering."
The sergeant patted one of his dogs and told it, "That's all right. I'm with you." Then he moved toward his men at the fire. "So you want to do the cooking? That's just fine. You stay and help him. You and you come with me."
They surprised him when there wasn't any argument. The two men he had chosen were reluctant, that was true, but nonetheless they turned and followed where he led them toward a section of the forest where the noises hadn't been. They aimed their flashlights through the trees before they went in for more wood, and this time they came out with big chunks, stout and heavy branches that would last them. Just to guarantee that the job was done, they made three other trips, always to a different section of the forest, and they came back, dropping wood where they had put the rest, and they could smell the coffee boiling.
"Not too hot. I don't like coffee that's been burned."
"Well, you can do the cooking then."
"I wanted to, but you were too afraid to get the wood. I did it for you."
"That's the last I want to hear about that. Everybody did his job," the sergeant said. He gingerly drew the coffee pot a little farther from the fire. "Ow," he said and reached his fingers to his mouth.
"Here, use these gloves."
They heard three noises then, in three separate sections of the forest.
But the sergeant, although he stiffened, didn't look. "So what's for supper?"
They frowned toward the forest.
"I asked you what's for supper," the sergeant said.
"Oh… Spaghetti. Freeze-dried sauce."
"That sounds real fine."
The dogs were whimpering again, though, and the sergeant tried but couldn't hide his worry now. The moon was higher. He went over to the dogs and patted them again. "I let them drink some water from the lake. I wonder if they're still a little thirsty."
From the three separate places in the forest, they heard noises. Then, a distance to their left, they heard a fourth sound.
"This is stupid. This is just our imagination," one man said.
"Those noises? Hell, they're not my imagination."
"No, I mean what's causing them."
"Deer or maybe elk?"
"It's possible," the sergeant said. "They come down here at night to drink. They see us here and don't know what to do. Your water's boiling, by the way."
They looked down at the pot beside the fire.
"Right. I wasn't thinking." And the man in charge of cooking paused a moment before fumbling in his pack, then pouring noodles into the boiling water.
"Hey, you said spaghetti."
"What's the problem? Noodles are the same."
"Well, maybe they're the same to you. But-"
"Quiet."
And they listened to the noises from the forest.
"That's not deer, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you."
"You're all crazy," someone said. "I've camped here a dozen times. I even brought my wife and kid once. You hear noises like that from the forest all the time."
"So how come you picked up your rifle?"
"I'm just checking that I didn't get some dirt in it."
"Good idea. I think I'll check mine as well."
"Now I've had just about enough," the sergeant said.
They turned to him.
"First of all, those noodles need some stirring. Second, if you wave those guns around, you're going to end up shooting somebody. Take it easy. What Jack says is true. You hear those noises in the forest all the time."
They stared at him.
"I'll help you with the sauce," the sergeant said. "Here, someone fill that plastic sack with water. Put more wood on the fire."
It was obvious what he was doing, trying to distract them, but they did what they were told, and everything was better for a moment, although the man who went down to the water's edge made sure he didn't stay too long. They heard him splashing by the lakeshore, and he came up toward them, water dripping from the plastic sack.