The grizzled stranger romped the aged Rover over a rise, the road only a faint memory and all four wheels powered to grip the rolling grass hillside. He looked down on an unusual sight -- a grove, evidently the natural outgrowth of a spring, with a long, rustic log cabin in it. He stopped the Rover on protesting springs and resentful brakes, and clambered out to take a better look at the vale. The dog leapt happily out the door and galloped around him, making large circles of snuffy delight. The two of them studied the scene below.

Around the cabin were scattered a handful of smaller ones -- perhaps just bunkhouses for two or four. The main cabin, though, was remarkably long, as though itheld a large community kitchen, an array of meeting rooms, and what looked from the distance like a bar or perhaps a delicatessen at the far end. Another unusual thing was that, at that particular early afternoon hour, the only place that had people walking in and out of it was the bar extension on the eastend of the main structure. He could make out folks leaving the bar, and heading for the smaller cabins or one of a handful of scattered tents. He could make out other folks coming in toward the bar and ducking into it. It didn't look formal. The folks going in seemed to be wearing jeans and flannel shirts or tee shirts, nothing fancy, and workboots, running shoes or cowboy boots.

The only other odd thing is that the ones leaving seemed to be carrying all their clothes instead of wearing them.

The stranger pushed his bush hat back on his brow and reached down to pat his dog thoughtfully.

"I dunno for sure, Bannock. But I think this is the place."