Free Alaska Adventure by Cynthia Baxter Page A

realized he wasn’t looking at them, but rather past them, off into the distance. It was as if as far as he was concerned, they didn’t even exist.
    “That must be Jim Whitehorse,” said Russ, shielding his eyes with his hand. “The man John Torvold told us about.”
    “For heaven’s sake, Mariah,” Trip said coldly. “He’s wearing a red-plaid jacket. How could you ever have mistaken him for a bear?”
    “I can’t help it if I thought he was an animal!” Mariah insisted. “The way he suddenly came rushing toward us—”
    “That man doesn’t look as if he’s rushed toward anything in a couple of decades,” Russ grumbled.
    “Well, it was a mistake anybody could have made.” Mariah was now pouting. “Besides, if it really had turned out to be a bear, you’d all be glad I’d been such a good scout.”
    “If it really was a bear,” Trip muttered, “we’d all be lunch meat.”
    Dr. Wells said nothing. Instead, he concentrated on paddling the canoe he and Trip shared in Jim White-horse’s direction.
    “Hello!” he called.
    The expression on the man’s face didn’t change. Instead, he continued staring out across the lake.
    “I’m Ethan Wells. This is my field crew. We’re up here from Vermont for the summer, studying the natural history of the area.” When he still got no response, Dr. Wells added, “You must be Jim Whitehorse.”
    Slowly the man’s eyes moved in their direction. “I’m Whitehorse,” the man replied.
    “John Torvold told us we might be running into you. We’ll pretty much be keeping to ourselves, but if you find that we’re getting in your way, please feel free—”
    He never did finish his sentence. Whitehorse had already turned and headed back toward the woods.
    “He’s friendly,” Mariah muttered.
    “As far as I’m concerned,” Cassie retorted, “the further away he stays from me, the better. That guy gives me the creeps!”
    Laurel just stared. She couldn’t help wondering about him. What kind of man chose to live by himself, having so little contact with the rest of the human race? How had he come to live here on the edge of Wolf Lake? Was he ever lonely, or was it possible for someone to live in nearly complete isolation?
    Despite her curiosity, she had a feeling she’d never find out the answers to any of her questions. Jim Whitehorse was forgotten as she turned her attention to the task at hand: maneuvering her canoe through the tall grass, into a tiny inlet that Dr. Wells had just identified as the ideal place to start setting fish traps.
    For the rest of the day, she and the others worked steadily. They dropped metal minnow traps to the bottom of the lake, then fastened their long strings to the shore by tying them to the branches of sturdy bushes or thick clumps of grass with fluorescent tape. Their cone-shaped interiors made it easy for fish to swim in, but virtually impossible for them to find their way out. In twenty-four hours, Dr. Wells informed them, the group would come back and check the traps to see what kind of fish were living in the different sections of the lake.
    Collecting water samples was a little more complicated. Still, it wasn’t long before Laurel and the others had mastered the technique. First they estimated the depth of the lake at various spots, using a rope that was marked at one-meter intervals and had a rock attached to the end. Then they used a mechanism called a Van Doren sampler to collect water at different depths.
    The hours flew by. Laurel was astonished when Dr. Wells suddenly announced, “It’s almost nine. We’d better head back and start thinking about dinner.”
    “Nine?” Laurel gasped. “Nine o’clock?”
    Cassie cast her an odd look. “For goodness’ sake, Laurel. I’ve been watching the clock for hours. I thought we’d never get around to eating.”
    Laurel wasn’t about to comment on the four candy bars she’d watched her put away over the course of the afternoon—or the handful of cookies