The Aldens’ car climbed even higher into the mountains leading to Yellowstone National Park. The road was narrow now, and traffic moved slowly.
“Are we almost there?” Benny asked when the Aldens’ rented car got slowed down behind a big trailer.
“Not yet,” Mr. Alden answered. “Just one last stop for gas and last-minute supplies. There’s a general store in this town that you won’t want to miss.”
“If they have lunch there, then I know I won’t want to miss it!” Benny said.
The Aldens were used to hearing about Benny’s appetite. No matter where he traveled or how much food the Aldens’ housekeeper, Mrs. McGregor, sent along, Benny was always thinking about the next meal.
“Elkhorn’s General Store hasn’t changed a bit,” Mr. Alden said when he spotted a large log building near the Yellowstone gates.
Mr. Alden pulled up to an old-fashioned gas pump. “Except for these gas prices, everything looks almost the same as when I was a boy. We’ll get gas here.”
“What I need is one of those famous ice-cream sodas you told us about, Grandfather,” Benny announced.
Jessie began reading from the back of an old postcard Grandfather had given her:
“Before entering Yellowstone, be sure to stop for an ice-cream soda at Elkhorn’s famous soda fountain built in 1912. Many tourists travel miles out of their way to visit this old-fashioned general store with its tiled soda fountain and swivel stools.”
Inside, Elkhorn’s was filled with tourists. Hikers were trying on hiking boots and backpacks. Other visitors were checking out fly-fishing rods.
Henry and Benny stood in front of a display of handy pocketknives.
A friendly white-haired man behind the counter looked at Benny. “Where are you boys going hiking?”
Benny’s head barely reached the top of the counter. “How did you know we were going hiking?”
The older man’s tanned, leathery face crinkled just a bit when he saw Benny waiting for an answer. “I noticed your brand-new hiking boots. And I see you have a water bottle hanging from your backpack. That’s a good pack for a hike, young man. Do you need any supplies to put in it? You never want to go hiking in Yellowstone without a few things— a trail guide, a rain poncho, water, some bear bells, and—”
“Food!” Benny cried out.
“Exactly right,” the man behind the counter said. “I recommend trail mix. It fills you up, and it gives you energy, too. I can make up a special batch for you.”
The man stepped from behind the counter. He waved the children over to a row of bins, each one filled with nuts, dried fruit, or small candies. “Grab a bag, and I’ll scoop in a few days’ worth of trail mix. By the way, I’m Oz Elkhorn. I was practically born in Yellowstone National Park. Now tell me who you folks are and where you’re from.”
Jessie answered first. “We’re the Aldens. This is my younger sister, Violet. She’s ten. We’re only two years apart. This is Benny, who just turned six. And that’s Henry, our fourteen-year-old brother. We’re from Greenfield, back east.”
The man put down the scoop for a minute. “Alden? Greenfield? Hmmm. I had a boyhood friend named Jimmy Alden, younger than I am. Used to come out here with his grandfather every summer for the trout fishing. We lost touch, but I’m pretty sure he was from Greenfield. Any relation of yours?”
Benny nearly dropped his bag of trail mix. “Our grandfather’s name is Alden, too! And he lives in Greenfield! And . . . and . . .” Benny gulped some air. “And he used to come here trout fishing, and he saw grizzly bears! Only his name isn’t Jimmy. It’s James.”
The children heard a person clearing his throat behind them. “Did I just hear my name?” Mr. Alden asked.
“Why, Jimmy Alden!” Mr. Elkhorn said, holding out his right hand. “You’re white on top like me, but I know you just like yesterday.”
Mr. Alden shook the older man’s hand. “Ozzie Elkhorn?” he asked finally.
Mr. Elkhorn broke into a grin. “One and the same. Only I haven’t been called Ozzie for quite a few years.”
“And I haven’t been called Jimmy since I was a boy.”
“Those were good summer days, Jimmy,” Oz Elkhorn said.
“The best,” Mr. Alden agreed. “I’ve brought my four grandchildren out here so they can have some good summer days, too. They’re going to do some hiking while I go fishing. My grandchildren know all about the woods.”
“We used to live in a boxcar in the woods after our parents died,” Violet told Oz Elkhorn in a soft voice. “Then Grandfather found us. Now we live with him in a real house.”
“But we still like the outdoors,” Henry added.
“You’ll get plenty of outdoors in Yellowstone,” Oz Elkhorn told the children. “But first I want to outfit you with everything you need.”
Benny tugged Mr. Alden’s arm. “I need lunch,” he whispered.
Mr. Alden laughed. “All the way through Wyoming, I told my children about this store, Oz, and your famous soda fountain. Can you still get a grilled cheese sandwich and an ice-cream soda?”
Mr. Elkhorn waved everyone to the other side of the store. “You sure can, but not for a quarter anymore.”
The Aldens followed Oz to a long marble counter that stretched out before a long mirror. Old-fashioned ice-cream dishes and colored plates filled the shelves next to the mirror.
“You haven’t changed much in all these years,” Mr. Alden told Oz.
In no time, Oz set down five foamy chocolate ice-cream sodas in front of the Aldens. “These haven’t changed, either. Give me five minutes, and you’ll have grilled cheese sandwiches to go with your sodas. Now let’s catch up on the last fifty years.”
The Aldens finished lunch quickly. Then Mr. Alden checked his watch. “I could sit here all day talking to you, Oz, but I see how busy you are. And it’s time for us to get started on our vacation.”
Oz removed his white apron. “Before you leave, I want to show you Aldens some beautiful new flies I made for trout fishing,” he said. “With the store so busy, I don’t get much of a chance to tie many flies anymore. Still, I’d like to give you a couple of new ones I just finished. Follow me to the back of the store.”
Benny looked up at Oz. “You keep flies in the back of the store? Why don’t you shoo them out or try to smack them with a fly swatter?”
Oz grinned. “See these?” He pointed into a drawer under the counter in back of the store. “These are handmade flies. They look like real flies, don’t they? The trout think so, anyway. We just tie them to the end of our fishing line. Then all we have to do is hope that the fish bite. The better the fly the better the fishing.”
Benny laughed. “Now I get it,” he said. “They’re pretend flies, not real ones.”
Violet was even more interested in Oz’s handmade flies than Benny was. “They’re so beautiful and realistic. I can’t believe you made these.”
“If you get a rainy day on your vacation,” Oz told Violet, “I’ll teach you how to tie flies.”
After giving Mr. Alden two of the flies as a present, Oz unlocked another drawer. “Here’s something else that might interest you,” he told the Aldens. He unrolled a yellowed sheet of paper. “It’s an old hand-drawn trapper’s map my granddad kept under lock and key until he died. Remember, Jimmy how he used to bring you and your grandfather up to the Lost Cabin Trails, but he’d never let anybody see this map?”
Mr. Alden put on his reading glasses. “He drove my grandfather wild holding onto that map. Did anything special turn up after you finally got to see it?”
Oz laughed. “Believe it or not, I just got my hands on it. Granddad left a lot of old things to my cousin, who left them to me after he died last year. Lo and behold, Granddad’s old trapper map was mixed in with some of my cousin’s papers. I haven’t had a minute to check out some of the places on the map, not even the lost cabin. See this arrow? It shows the area where the cabin might be. Some of my old guidebooks show the trails. But, far as I know, this is the only map that shows any sign of that old miner’s hut.”
Mr. Alden and Oz bent over the map. They couldn’t stop talking about their boyhood hikes searching for the old cabin.
“You know, by the looks of this map, your grandfather steered us away from the lost cabin,” Mr. Alden said. “The cabin seems to be toward the far end of the trails on a different branch.”
Oz smiled. “Granddad had a lot of secrets. He knew about places in Yellowstone only wild animals have seen. Anyway, as far as I know, he never found the cabin, either. Otherwise, he might’ve died a rich man instead of a store owner.”
“Tell you what,” Oz said to the Aldens. “Not too many folks hike the Lost Cabin Trails anymore. They’re not shown in most of the new guidebooks. How about if I make you Aldens a copy so you can go exploring? Maybe on my day off we can all go searching for the lost cabin together.”
Benny looked up at Oz. “Know what?” he asked. “We met a man who said there’s no cabin. He was hiking all by himself with no bear bells, either.”
“Was he, now?” Oz said. “Well, I’d wonder how much a fellow hiking alone would know about lost cabins and such. Just because nobody’s ever found it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
Benny’s face lit up when he heard this. “I bet we can find it. We have brand-new hiking boots and your map and lots of trail mix. And we’re going to get bear bells, too!”
“Then you’re in good shape for the Lost Cabin Trails,” Oz said.
“There is one thing,” Mr. Alden began. “I stopped to take a few pictures of my grandchildren in front of the Continental Divide sign—you know the one? Anyway, while we were looking around, we saw a sign that said the Lost Cabin Trails were closed.”
“Nonsense!” Oz Elkhorn cried. “Parts of the trails need work—fallen-down trees and such. You just climb over them.”
Mr. Alden nodded at his old friend. “I thought as much. Anyway, that hiker Benny mentioned said the trails were closed because of bear activity.”
“Bear activity? Yellowstone’s nothing but bear activity! This time of year, though, most of the bears are up on the other side of the park. Besides, any smart hiker knows how to keep the bears away—lots of noise and lots of companions. The chances of seeing a bear are pretty slim. There you go, Aldens.” Oz handed Jessie a crisp copy of his grandfather’s old map. “You kids stick together and wear some bear bells. Here’s a basket of them. Take your pick.”
The Aldens sorted through the basket. They selected four jingle-bell bracelets in different colors.
“What if these bells don’t work?” Henry asked, trying not to sound nervous. “I mean, in case we come across a bear, what’s the best thing to do?”
Oz stepped from behind the counter into the aisle. He took a few large, slow steps backward. “Step back slowly, like this. Whatever you do, don’t run. Just back up slowly and make a wide turn away from the bear. With four of you, you’re not likely to get into trouble with bears. Very few people ever see a single one nowadays, not like the old days. Anyway, you’re all set with your bear bells, and you have a copy of my old map.”
Suddenly, the Aldens heard an unfamiliar voice behind them. “Did I hear you say something about old maps? Do you sell any old maps?”
A young man in hiking clothes looked over Oz’s shoulder. “All you have are some of these new guides and maps. I . . . uh . . . collect old documents. I thought an old place like this store might sell old . . . letters and . . . uh . . . you know, maps.”
“Sorry, young man, I don’t sell old maps. You might try the Bear’s Paw Antiques down the street.”
Before Oz finished his sentence, the young man was gone.
“He sure went off in a hurry, didn’t he?” Oz said. “Kind of strange for a young fella like that to be interested in old stuff like maps. We sure get all kinds in here.”
“Including the Alden kind,” Benny said. |