Agent Rex Edgewater found the rest of his flight uneventful. He had gathered his bags at the airport and taken a taxi to a crummy motel on the highway. Therein he quickly showered and changed from his suit to a pair of faded jeans and a Colin Spring t-shirt that his last girlfriend had left in his apartment. He tousled his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. Scruffination appeared complete. Hopefully the folkies were too drunk or stoned to pay him much attention.

On his way out the door, Agent Edgewater pocketed his room key, his cell phone, and a handkerchief-wrapped bundle. Inside was his secret pride and joy Hohner Chrominica. The guys in the office would piss themselves laughing to know it, but Rex had loved the 'harps ever since he was 10 and his uncle had pressed one into his hand as he was rushed off to summer camp. Occasionally he would spend sunny weekend days noodling in the park. When passers-by threw him a buck, he'd take himself out for coffee. Such was the life of a secret agent.

He thumbed a ride from the highway and when the kindly strangers dropped him off at the end of a soggy rut-laden road to nowhere, he thanked them and started walking. The storms had passed and it was a sunny day, so he stuck to the quickly-drying median and made good time. He heard the water before he saw it, and reached the swollen creek well before noon. Lucky for him, but unluckily for some poor bastard, there was an enormous car parked and half-submerged in the creek. He scrambled a bit, then took a running jump to land on the expanse of trunk. He walked across the sturdy but groaning roof, and jumped too the hood. One wildly flailing jump later, he was in.

The camp was a hum of song and of lazy activity. A dog sauntered up from a nearby campsite to greet him. Rex squatted down and ruffed the dog's neck in greeting, but warily looked around the meadow. A few clumped cabins, a big main building, and a smattering of tents and outdoor showers hung from the trees. Shouldn't take to long to acquaint himself with the new territory.

He heard the dog's owner call from the camp trailer. A tallish man in a bush hat waved him over to follow the dog.
"I apologize," said the dog's owner. "He feels the need to make a nuisance of himself on a regular basis."

"No problem," replied Rex. "I like dogs. What's his name?"

"Bannock. And yours?"

"Oh, sorry. Rex." With this Rex stuck out his hand and shook the man's hand.

"Well, welcome, Rex. You are just in time for some grub." The man nodded toward the main building to where a line was forming. He got a whiff of something warm and spicy, enchiladas maybe, and then saw Red trotting towards the line. Definitely a hot tamale. "Go ahead," the man said. "I'll catch up with you in a minute."

Rex walked as fast as he could and managed to stumble and cut his way into the line right behind Red. She was talking to the man in front of her.
"You haven't seen Madison?" she asked.

"Naw. Not since I crawled into the cabin the other night. Maybe he just got lucky? Chicks dig the rumpled look."

Red chuckled and replied, "We do, do we?" She sobered a bit and continued: "Well, I hope you are right. Some people's friends, huh?

The big man grinned at Red and said, "You know…. Once upon a time, an anthropologist was cataloging South American folk remedies. A tribal medicine man told him that fronds of a certain fern are a sure cure for constipation. When the anthropologist expressed doubts, the shaman looked him in the eye and said, "With fronds like these, who needs enemas." Goes to show you just can't tell."

Red threw back her head and laughed. "You heard about the Tells, didn't you?" she replied. "Evidence has been found that William Tell and family were avid bowlers. However, all the league records were destroyed in a fire, so we'll never know for whom the Tells bowled."

Red and the big man dissolved into chuckles. The man saw Rex looking at them and said "This one doesn't miss a beat."

Rex seized the opportunity and said to the man: "You know, back in the 1800's, the Tate Watch Co. of Massachusetts wanted to start producing other products. They chose to make compasses for the pioneers traveling west. Their watches had been excellent, but the compasses were so unreliable that people often ended up in Mexico or Canada. Thus the expression, "He who has a Tate's is lost."

Red turned around to face him slack-jawed then erupted into giggles. She linked arms with the both of them and said: "I don't even care what's for lunch anymore, you two just need to sit by me."

At that moment, Rex knew he was exactly where he wanted to be.