THE SMALL RANGERS

The first campers of the season had gone home the day before.

Walt was already at the east dock. A few white pine cones floated beside WATCHFUL. He ran the stern rope through one paw. “Dry.”

Ellis came down the path carrying the ranger log. “Campsite Three.” He opened the notebook and wrote: Campsite Three. Post-occupancy inspection. He closed it.

Walt pulled the starter cord. WATCHFUL’s motor caught on the second pull. “Good.” Ellis climbed aboard. They headed east.

The lake was quiet again. The weekend voices were gone. Only a red-winged blackbird called from the reeds as WATCHFUL crossed the channel. Near the landing, a dragonfly skimmed the water for a moment before disappearing into the sunlight.

They tied up at the east landing and followed the pine path to Campsite Three.

The tent was gone. The picnic table was empty. A rectangle of flattened grass still marked where the tent had stood. The fire ring remained.

Walt walked straight to it. He held the back of his paw above the ashes. “Warm.”

Ellis knelt beside the fire ring and opened the ranger log. Fire ring still warm. Before closing the notebook, he noticed the stones around the ring. Someone had stacked them back into a careful circle before leaving. He looked at the page for a moment. Then he closed the notebook without writing anything more.

Walt carried the camp bucket down to the lake. On the way back he paused beside the picnic table. One bench had drifted slightly crooked in the soft ground. He set it straight with one hand and continued to the fire ring.

The first bucket sent a thin ribbon of steam into the morning air. The second made less. The third settled quietly into the ashes.

They waited.

Walt held his paw above the fire ring again. “Cool.”

Ellis drew one line beneath the first note. Fire extinguished. He closed the notebook.

Neither of them spoke. There wasn’t much to add.

They walked once around the campsite. Nothing else needed their attention.

Back at the east dock, Walt tied WATCHFUL to the second cleat and checked the stern rope one last time. Ellis brushed a little ash from the notebook before slipping it into its canvas case.

The lake was quiet again.

At Campsite Three, a pine needle drifted into the wet ash…