“Jackie,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“Alex,” he said. He stepped past me and looked around the place. I think Jackie was sixty-five that summer. Over the years, his face had felt a lot of cold wind off the lake. He had a certain sparkle in his eyes, though, that told you he could take whatever the lake gave him. When the snow melted, he’d be there smiling.

“Is everything okay?” I said.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Just dandy.” He picked up the book on my kitchen table and turned it over to read the back.

I stood there watching him. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Okay,” he said, putting the book down. “Here’s the deal. I brought a tent with me. It’s practically brand new, one of those space-age nylon things. Doesn’t weigh more than thirty pounds, but it’s plenty big and it keeps the wind and the rain out. It’s beautiful. Along with that, I’ve got a good portable propane stove. A sleeping bag that’ll keep you warm to forty below. A backpack. You know, the kind with the frame that keeps the weight on your hips instead of your shoulders. A lot of other little stuff. Water purification kit, first aid kit, some mosquito netting. Oh, and I almost forgot, a couple of great fishing rods. I mean the best.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I said. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You are.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll need a good rifle,” he said, “You’ll have to get that yourself.”

“Jackie…”

“I’ll draw you a map of this place. It’s up in the Yukon Territory. If you drive, it’ll take you a hell of a long time to get up there. I hope your truck is up for it.”

“Jackie…”

“If I were you, I’d sell the truck and fly up there. Tell you what, since I’m giving you all this equipment, just leave the truck with me. It’s what, about twelve years old?”