Devil's Pass by Sigmund Brouwer

wood like a tripod. He returned to Webb.
    â€œGood,” he repeated. “I like that you kept the barrel down.”
    â€œThe target’s pretty close, isn’t it?” Webb asked.
    â€œI don’t need to teach you to shoot like a sniper. Just how to shoot and keep the rifle steady and get the confidence to hit a nearby target. We aren’t here to hunt grizzlies, but we need to be able to defend ourselves if one gets close. Now hold the butt of the rifle snug against your shoulder. It’s going to kick when you fire, and if you leave a gap, it will feel like a mule kicked you.”
    Webb lifted the rifle.
    â€œGet the bead at the front between the notches of the sight and line them up with the target. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”
    Webb took a breath. Squeezed the trigger. Heard nothing but a click .
    â€œToo bad,” George said. “The charging grizzly just ripped off your scalp.”
    â€œSafety,” Webb said. “I forgot.”
    He snapped the safety off. Aimed again. Squeezed the trigger.
    It felt like someone had punched him in the shoulder. The explosion echoed and re-echoed.
    â€œNot worried about waking the others?” Webb asked.
    â€œWanted to pour cold water on them while they were sleeping,” George said. “I don’t take lightly to people who litter the trail. I’m more worried about you actually hitting a piece of wood. Try again.”
    It took three shots for Webb to hit one of the pieces of wood. It popped up and landed a couple of steps farther away. The other two pieces fell from the tripod, and with his next two shots, he hit first one, then the other, scattering them.
    â€œGood,” George said. “Looks like you got it figured out. If we see a grizzly, you tell me if you think you can handle the warning shots.”
    He put the rifle away just as the Germans appeared. George waved them away. “Nothing to panic about. Pack up, we’re hitting the trail in twenty minutes.”
    Fritz and Wilhelm disappeared again.
    Webb and George spent a few minutes in friendly silence, sipping their coffee.
    â€œStorm’s coming in,” George said. “You’ll be glad you have good rain gear.”
    â€œYou telling me that so I’ll know you went through my backpack at some point?”
    â€œI went through everybody’s backpack. Right after the pilot loaded them on the chopper. I’m responsible for all of us. No drugs or alcohol allowed.”
    â€œAnd since I’m a skinny kid with long hair and a guitar, you thought you’d find drugs.”
    Good thing, Webb thought, that George didn’t know why Webb left high school. Good thing it wasn’t on his record. He would have been unable to cross the border to go to Phoenix.
    â€œCrossed my mind,” George answered. “Especially since you don’t seem like the type who goes looking for outdoor adventures. But if you don’t want people thinking that about you, cut your hair and find another T-shirt. People take you as they find you. Until they learn different. Heard Brent Melrose learned different.”
    There was nothing to say to that, so Webb just watched the approaching storm.
    â€œThose Germans were mad when they found out I left their expensive Scotch behind in Norman Wells,” George said. “They each had a bottle. I wasn’t worried about the excess gear though. I thought they’d at least be able to make it to Godlin Lakes before deciding it wasn’t worth carrying. Chuck, he loves all the good deals I bring him with each new group. I told him that you’d been picking up after those two, and he nearly peed himself laughing.”
    â€œThe fence thing,” Webb said. “Not an accident.”
    â€œNot an accident. A person’s got to treat this land right. I nearly pulled your iPod out back in Norman Wells but figured I’d give you a chance not to listen to it.”
    â€œNearly