“And fine them for leaving footprints,” he said. “Speaking of which, what’s to stop Bult from getting a crush on you once I tell him I’m not a female?”
“He thinks I’m a male. You said yourself, half the time you can’t tell what sex I am.”
“And you’re never going to let me forget it, are you?”
“Nope,” I said.
I went over to where Bult was sitting, watching the pop-up of Carson holding Skimpy Skirt’s hand. “Come with me,” Carson said.
“Come on, Bult,” I said. “Let’s get going.”
Bult shut the pop-up and handed it to Carson.
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’re engaged.”
Bult got out his log. “Disturbance of land surface,” he said to me. “One-fifty.”
I climbed up on Useless. “Let’s go.”
Carson was looking at the falls again. “I still think we should’ve named it Tssarrrah Falls,” he said. He went over to his pony and started rummaging in his pack.
“What on hell are you doing now?” I said. “Let’s go!”
“Inappropriate tone and manner,” Bult said into his log.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I said. “What are you looking for?” I said to Carson.
“The binocs,” Carson said. “Have you got ’em?”
“I gave ’em to you,” I said. “Now, come on.”
He got on his pony and we started off down the slope after Bult. Out beyond the cliff the plain was turning purple in the late afternoon. The Wall curved down out of the Ponypiles and meandered across it, and beyond it you could see the mesas and rivers and cinder cones of uncharted territory, spread out before me like a present, like a bowerbird’s treasures.
“You did not give the binocs back to me,” Carson said. “If you lost ’em again—”