“Hey, what are you guys doin' trespassin' on my property!?”

          When we jerked around, our hearts pounding like tom-toms, grease ball Reno Clark stood smirking at us with his arms folded. He reminded me of a stick figure; he looked all knees and elbows standing there at the end of the little trail to Pardou’s Pit. Besides his head, the biggest part of him was his mouth.

          Next to him slouched a big kid. Taller than any of us, he was built like a brick from his neck down with a jowly, lump of dough face and two brown beads shoved in for eyes.

          “Who’s that kid?” I whispered to Jason, my heart settling back into a steady rhythm. “I think I’ve seen him around. He must be in high school.”

          “That’s Rocky Allasina . . . and he’s not in high school.”

          “Not in high school!” I hissed. “But he’s huge!”

          Jason leaned in closer, as Reno and Rocky closed the distance between us. “He was held back twice in school. He’s only in seventh grade.”

          A surge of shock and fear ran through me at the same time. I shifted my stance to face the approaching twosome. I try to stay away from fighting, but if forced into a corner, I could throw a punch. I only wished the person we faced wasn't Goliath. “Is he dangerous?”

          “He didn’t used to be,” Jason murmured, “but he’s been hanging around with Reno recently. So, I couldn't say for sure now."

          My God! I thought. He's even got facial hair. A prickly shadow of stubble grew between his upper lip and his nose.

          Then I looked at Bear. He squinted at Reno, balling his hands into fists. He looked downright menacing – ready for battle. I figured I’d better say something. Tapping him on the arm with my knuckles, I spoke real soft, “Keep your cool, Bear. We don’t want any trouble.” He relaxed his hands a little, but he kept his narrowed eyes focused on the bully.

          The last thing we needed way out here was a fight with no adults around. Reno was a big-mouthed nuisance, a bully, and wimp, but he was mostly mouth. Jason, the smallest of us three, might even stand a chance against him. But the big kid was something else.

          Reno and Rocky stopped a few paces from us. “Well, well, well! What do we got here . . . The Three Mouseketeers?” Reno guffawed at his clever remark and elbowed Rocky. He was putting on a show for his oversized friend. Rocky, hands in pockets and slumped shoulders, just stood there -- a big, human paper weight with a blank stare.

          Jason spoke first. “What are you doin’ way out here, Reno? Followin' us?”

          “Followin’ ya? Why would we waste our precious time followin’ ya? Just checkin’ on my property.”

          When I heard his stupid remark, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Besides, watching him strut around with his own private body guard got my temperature rising. “You don’t own anything out here. This is Forest Service land.” My research on Carbonado gave me plenty of information about this area.

          “You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’, new kid.” Reno pranced back and forth and threw out his arms while turning in a full circle. “This land’s been in my family for ages.”

          “My nosing around at the library says that this has been Forest Service land ever since the mine closed.”

          “Well, you got your nose outta joint, new boy.” He snarled out the words “new boy”, and then his whole posture changed as he stopped his swagger and relaxed his shoulders. “Excuse my manners.” His voice sounded insolent, and his puckered lips made him look a bit like Mick Jagger. “I forgot to introduce my right hand man. This is my friend Rocky. Rocky, I want you to meet Huey, Dewey, and Louie,” Reno whooped and slapped his sides. Rocky just grinned at the cartoon reference. “He’s my enforcer.” The skinny kid’s lip raised on one side in a snarl.

          I couldn’t figure out the purpose of his show, but by now he was really getting into it. He strutted over to the edge of The Pit and announced, “This is where we keep our pet, Old Ned. We feed him table scraps, and once in a while we throw in a dead animal. But do you really know what he likes to eat best?” He paused for a long time and sneered at us with his arms folded.

          “No, what?” Jason got tired of waiting.

          “Kids.” He nodded in a herky-jerky way. “He’d probably looove to eat you guys. Nice, young meat.” Then he turned and yelled into the hole. “Hey, Old Ned, baby – I got some young, tender trespassers for ya!”

          At this, Jason and I couldn’t help it; we almost broke down laughing. We rolled our eyes and shook our heads in disbelief. He looked like a Looney Tunes character straight out of the Saturday morning cartoons. Brian just stood there, waiting for Reno to say the wrong thing. It didn’t take long.

          Reno bent over and picked up a fist-sized rock and flung it into the hole. We could hear it clanging off the sides of The Pit as it fell. Staring down into shaft, he yelled, “Hey, Ned, you ugly, buck-toothed son of a Sasquatch, you belong to me don’tcha!” Then, pinching his nostrils shut, he moved away from the opening. “Pee-yoo, what’s that weird stink?” Even I could detect the sweet, decaying odor, floating above The Pit's mouth.

          He twisted around and turned on Brian, flapping a hand up and down in front of his nose. “Man, it kinda smells as strong as your mom’s armpits.” A sneer creased his face. Oh, crap! I knew the crack would get Brian’s attention.

          Bear couldn’t take it any more. He took two steps forward. “You’re full of it, Reno.” I grabbed Brian by the arm to keep him from going after his tormentor. He pulled away from me and advanced another step. “Take it back, Reno! Take it back! You ain’t nothin’ but a skinny-brained, big-mouthed liar.”

          Reno’s eyes got big, and he took a step closer to Rocky. “Me, a liar? If you’re callin’ me a liar, you’re callin’ my mom a liar. She got a hair trim at your old lady’s shop once. Said the B.O. was somethin’ awful. Never went back again. So, you must be callin’ my mom a liar.”

          I was shocked. I thought Brian would be all over Reno like a fly on a piece of garbage – I certainly would – but I was wrong. Instead, he leveled a stare at Reno that would have shriveled a smarter person and said real calm, “Nah, your mom ain’t the liar, but her little baby boy sure is.”

          Reno was ready to go ballistic. The pimples on his face turned red, and he was sputtering so much we couldn’t understand a word. When he got control of his speech, he elbowed Rocky who was taking in everything with his arms crossed.

          Then, with a hateful fire in his eyes, he glared at Bear and spat out the words, “He’s the one!”

          Rocky looked confused and, with a flat sounding voice, scratched his head and asked, “What d’ya mean, Reno?”

          “He’s the one that called your dad a Neanderthal.”

          “A what?” Rocky wasn’t getting the picture.

          “A cave man, Rocky! He called your dad STUPID!”

          When Rocky heard those words, his entire appearance changed. As his face turned crimson, he drew himself straight as a board to his full six feet, put his hands together, and cracked his knuckles with a crunch. “Hear that!” he aimed a glare at our friend. “No one calls my dad stupid and gets away with it.”

          “No, he didn’t, Rocky,” Jason protested. “I’ve never even heard him talk about your dad.” I froze, not knowing what to do.

          “Ain’t no one says nothin’ bad about my dad.” Rocky wasn’t listening, his hulking body plodding toward Brian. Then, bull-like, he charged.

          Before Project Bear, Brian would have been instant dead meat, but he side-stepped Rocky just enough. Then again. For a while it reminded me of one of those television wrestling matches where one of the guys keeps dodging while the other flies past.

          On the fourth charge, Bear’s foot caught on one of the maple tree’s roots, and he went down. Rocky had him covered. I imagined our friend a  bloody pulp, but Jason and I tried our best. Every time the big kid raised a meaty hand to pound him in the face, we grabbed it. He shook us off like a Brahma bull bucking off a couple of rodeo riders. My God, the big kid is strong. I was scared he was going to hurt all of us. Brian tried to scramble away, but Rocky had him pinned.

          I pretty much gave up hope until a blue and gray denim figure streaked out of the woods and tackled Reno, laid him out flat on the ground. It was Charlie. She sat on him and, claw-like, gripped his shirt collar with her left hand. She twisted, while he gasped for breath, and cocked her right fist. “Leave Bear alone, Rocky, or I’ll turn your friend's face into a smashed pumpkin.”

          Rocky turned his head and gave Charlie and his friend a confused look.

          Her eyes were inches away from Reno’s face. “What do you say, jerk? Do you want me to start carvin’ your ugly puss?”

          He waved a free hand in front of his face and whined, “Pull her off me, Rocky! Whatcha waitin’ for? Pull her off me!”

          The big guy pushed himself off of Brian, narrowed his eyes, and shook his head. “But, Reno, she’s a girl.” Then, looking at Brian and relaxing his fists, he shrugged and said, “Maybe he never called my dad dumb.”

          “Get her off me!” Reno blubbered.

          Rocky stood up with his arms at his sides. “Can’t. My dad told me never to fight girls.”

          “Let go, Charlie! Let go!” the bully whined.

          “Not so fast, dirtball,” she hissed. “Tell him you made a mistake. Tell him . . . tell him someone else said his dad was dumb. Say it!”

          “Charlie . . !” he moaned. She raised her fist higher.

          “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I made a mistake. He’s not the one.”

          For good measure, Charlie dropped a knee on Reno’s left shoulder, and we heard a yelp of pain. Then she let him go, and he wriggled away.

          Standing again, a good twenty feet away, he bellowed, “Charlie Kowalski, I’m gonna get you. This is the last time you make a fool of me.”

          From right behind him, a big, scary-looking figure had slipped up the trail through the shadows. “I’ll bet it ain’t the last time you make a fool outta yourself though,” boomed the gravelly voice.

          Reno flew backward off the path in panic. There stood Old Ben, the grizzled, wild-haired old man, holding a thick walking staff that rose up to his shoulders. Wearing worn, blue denim, bib overalls with no cap, his hair stuck out Afro-style, salt and pepper in color.

          Ben shook his stick at Reno and Rocky. They flinched and started retreating down the path. Then he rumbled, “Maybe some day you’ll understand this. Fools are like chickens. They always come home to roost.” He smacked the ground hard with his stick. “Now, get outta here. You’re ruinin’ the neighborhood.”

          He took one step in their direction, and they scurried away toward Carbonado. “I’d be mighty surprised if we see those two out this way again soon,” he said, lips turned up at the corners.

          “Well,” snickered Charlie, “what took you so long, Ben?”

          “Miss Charlotte, now don’t go givin’ me a bad time. You know I’m too old to go runnin’ through the woods like you. I stuck to the path like God intended.” By this time the old man’s face wore a full smile.

          I was confused. “Wait just a minute, Charlie. What brings you out here . . . and how did you know we needed help?”

          “For your information, I’m out here visiting my friend Ben.” She grabbed the old man by the arm. “Ben is a very smart and knowledgeable person. He’s been teaching me all about the local plants and their medicinal uses. Plus, he showed me his secret spots for picking native blackberries and huckleberries.”

           The old man continued, “As for knowin’ someone needed help? We heard a whole bunch of caterwaulin’ down here from my cabin up the hill, and Charlotte figured she recognized some of those voices. I guess you can call it a mercy mission.”

          “You keep calling her Charlotte. How do you get away with that?” I wondered aloud. “I swear, if we called her anything but Charlie, she’d punch us in the nose.”

          He looked at all of us and grinned, showing his even set of teeth. “I guess I’m just old-fashioned, and bein’ older, I can get away with more. I think a pretty, young lady’s name should reflect her appearance. A good-lookin’ girl should go by a girl’s name. Don’t you guys think so, too?”

          Brian and Jason’s eyes widened as silly smiles spread across their faces. Until that moment I don’t believe they thought of Charlie as a “pretty girl”. She was just one of the gang to them. I'd already figured out that she was pretty in an unconventional sort of way.

          Bear took a couple of limping steps. “I owe you another one, Charlie.” Then he turned to Ben. “And Mr. . . . Mr.”

          “Just can me Ben, young man. In fact, all of you can.”

          “I guess I owe a thanks to you, too.”

          “You don’t owe me nothin’. I figure God put us on earth to take care of each other. I’m not countin’ or keepin’ score. By the way, aside from that limp, you’re lookin’ pretty trim since the last time I saw you around town. Your mom owns the beauty parlor, don’t she?”

          Brian nodded. "You know my mom?"

          ”Well, I did some handy work for your mom a while back. I replaced that broken step." He paused for a moment. "Yep, you’re lookin’ fit as a fiddle. Hmm, I’ll bet you’ve been on an exercise program.” He winked at Charlie while Brian blushed and looked around the clearing, not knowing quite how to react to the compliment. “Well, there’s no use standin’ around here. Besides, we’d better take a look at your leg. You’re all invited to my cabin. Why don’t you lead the way, Charlotte?”

          Then, Charlie’s eyes danced and she turned on her heel. We pulled into a tight line behind her with Ben bringing up the rear as we headed for the old man's cabin.