Charlie led us back the way we came and then turned left along a tiny path lined with sour grass, bunch berry plants, and trilliums. Under the tree canopy we tramped in a steady rhythm up the lower, western flank of Carbon Hill for about a hundred yards until the trail opened into a sizeable, sub-alpine meadow.

          On the other side stood a rectangular shed wedged against a rock outcropping. It measured about twenty feet in length and ten feet in width. With a rusty, metal shed roof that slanted from the rocks behind, it was big enough for one person, but I figured two or more people would end up bumping into each other before long. The walls, built of weathered barn board, were lined with many-paned windows in the middle. Three steps on one end led up to a small porch in front of the door.

          Ben hung back with Brian who limped his way along the trail. Although he’d banged his knee pretty hard, I wasn’t worried. We’d put up with a lot of bruises, nicks, and scrapes climbing Heap Hill. By the time we cleared the trees, Ben caught up and took the lead, reaching his cabin first.

          “As you can see, there’s my cabin – home, sweet shack." He chuckled deep in his throat. "That little building to the left is the privy – when nature's a callin'. And I got the most beautiful front yard in the world. Don’t even have to mow it.” He cackled at his joke, and, since I mowed the lawn at home, I agreed with him. The early summer green grass and various wild flowers sure added to the view.

          When Charlie reached the top of the stairs, she pressed the handle and creaked open the door.

          “Just a moment, Charlotte. Before I invite guests inside, I need to know their names. Of course, I’ve seen young Mr. Erdman around town before.”

          “Please excuse me, you two, for being soo rude.” She smirked at Jason and me.

          Charlie first introduced Jason. The old man rubbed his beard between his thumb and forefinger. “Hastings, Hastings. Isn’t your father the night watchman out at Simpson’s lumber yard?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

          “Yes, he is. Do you know him, Mr. . . Mr. . . .”

          “Ben, remember? Well, I don’t know him social-like, but I had a run in with him last year. I don’t like to travel out here at night, so last year when I was helpin’ Mr. Kelley stock shelves and it got dark, I pitched my bedroll on the mill loading dock to spend the night. He up and run me off even though he knew I wouldn’t hurt nothin'. I guess he was just doin’ his job.”

          “I’m sorry, Ben. My dad sorta likes giving orders.”

          “Well, son, I ain't blamin’ you.”

          Then Charlie introduced me. “So, we meet again, young man. You was the one that foiled the shoplifter at Kelley’s store, right.”

          “Yes, sir. I’m Nathan Carr. My dad is the manager of the Buckley Thriftway,” I reminded him.

          “Well, of course. Now, I remember. Charlotte’s told me a little about you, too. This place is gettin’ too populated already without you Californians takin’ over.” He frowned like I was breaking the law, but then he softened. “But, if you’re a friend of hers, I guess I’ll let you stay.” His guffaw seemed too high-pitched for his rough voice.

          When he laughed, I knew he was making a joke, and I grinned at him.     

          Then Ben slipped to the front and opened his door wider. “Forgive any mess you might find. Please make yourselves at home in my humble abode.” He stuck out his right arm, spread the palm of his hand, and motioned inside.

          We filed through the door into a neat, well-lit room, the afternoon sun flooding through the west-facing window. Behind the door, propped against the wall, glinted a polished, chrome fender of his heavy duty Schwinn bicycle. Straight ahead near the far wall stood an old-fashioned wood stove complete with iron burner plates. The stove pipe vented through the back wall after forming an elbow near the ceiling. On the left side Ben had built his own shelves and cubby holes to stack cups, dishes, bowls, and canned and boxed food. A wooden pedestal stood below that held a wash basin with a plywood counter next to it.

          As our eyes lingered, Ben explained, “Since I don’t have runnin’ water, I haul buckets of water from a spring up the hill. I use the basin to wash dishes and myself. There’s no excuse for bein’ dirty just because you don’t have indoor plumbing.”

          At the far end of the room, he’d built a bunk out of wood with a foam rubber mattress covered by sheets and a patchwork quilt of many colors. A double-barreled shotgun for hunting hung on pegs over the bed. An open closet also lined the end wall with two shelves to store clothes and a wooden rod to hang them.

          A crude dining table with round, sapling legs and a kerosene lantern standing in the middle sat in direct sunlight in front of the window. Two metal folding chairs framed each side. The crowning feature of the room was Ben's oversized chair. Located in the middle of the cabin, it consisted of a large framework with arms, slightly reclined, and made of wood. A vinyl, foam pad from a chaise lounge tied to the chair’s contour covered the sitting area.

          My eyes stopped on the huge lounger. "I call that my "lazy chair", Ben offered. "When I'm done with chores, I can just sit back and stare out the window." His gaze then focused on Brian. “Let’s take a look at that knee." He motioned to Bear to have a seat at the table. Jason took the other chair. Ben grabbed a first aid kit from one of the shelves and had Brian roll up his pant leg. The skin was cut and a little swollen. “Not too bad. I’ll need to put a little iodine on it.”

          Charlie and me settled on the bunk, the only place left. While sitting there, I noticed the windows were outfitted with huge, inside shutters pierced with two metal hooks used to bar them shut. A couple of two by sixes -- probably to bar the windows -- leaned against the wall to one side.

          “Wow! This is a great place,” declared Brian, taking in the entire room. “How long have you lived here? Ouch, that stings.”

          “Sorry, I should have warned ya. Let’s cover it up with this.” Ben unsheathed a supersized, square band aid and smoothed it into place. “To answer your question . . . well, I guess it’ll be about five years in August. That’s when I finished the cabin. It took me more'n four months to put it together.”

          The whole project made me curious. I’d never built anything in my life except for plastic models. “A lot of this stuff looks old. Where did you get everything?”

          Ben settled in his lazy chair, glancing now and then at his audience. “Oh, I salvaged most the wood from the outbuildings at the old mine. It’s just up the hill a ways. The roof came from the mine shacks, too. One of the buildings Carbon Hill Coal left behind was the cook shed. That’s where I got the stove. Took the better part of a day to put that sucker on some metal roofing and slide it down here. Of course, it’s a lot easier haulin’ something when you’re pullin’ or heavin’ it downhill.

          “For the rest of it, I either made a mule outta my bike or a mule outta myself.”

          “What do you mean ‘mule’?” Jason broke in.

          “I mounted a platform on my bike and packed the new pieces of lumber I needed, up to six boards a carry, from Carbonado. It took a while, but everything worthwhile takes time. I packed the rest on my back like a mule. I lugged both of the window sliders, all the dishes, even the new, iron burner plates that way. I guess the moral to the story is the first pack animal God made was man.”

          Jason continued, “How much land do you own out here?”

          “Own?” Old Ben chortled. “I really don’t own no land. All this belongs to the Forest Service. I just live here. I’m what they call a squatter.”

          “But if you don’t own the land, aren’t you living here illegal?” I perked up at the word "illegal".

          “Well, it’s kinda complicated, but I can tell you for certain I’m not breakin’ the law. I’m a law abidin’ person, and I wouldn’t break no law on purpose. The Forest Service knows I live out here. They can evict me and tear down the cabin any time they want, but they know I’m a good custodian of the land. The fuel I burn is all dead wood – either from diseased trees or wind falls from winter storms.

          “See there!” He nodded at his table. “Even the legs on that table come from dead saplings. The Forest Service uses me as their eyes and ears. I let them know when folks come out here to hunt outta season and when woodcutters bring in their chain saws to cut down trees illegally. They kinda leave me alone. They don’t kick me out, right now, because they consider me too valuable. Treat me like an unofficial Forest Ranger.” He shook his head and snickered at the thought.

          Ben noticed Brian start to fidget, crossing one leg, then the other. “If any of you feels nature callin’, you can use the outhouse we passed just down the hill and toward the trees.”

          Getting up and moving toward the door, Bear pointed and asked, “That way. Right?”

          “Yep, you can’t miss it. It’s the little, square buildin’ with a half-moon over the door.” Then, with a straight-faced stare, he said, “Don’t forget to flush it when you’re done. Draws flies, you know.”

          Brian nodded and walked out the door. When he left, the rest of us exploded in laughter. We couldn't believe Bear had never heard of an outhouse.

          Charlie shook her head and said, “That wasn’t very nice, Ben. He’s probably never seen an outdoor toilet.”

          “Oh, he’ll get over it. Besides, I just couldn’t resist. An old man’s gotta have some fun, you know.”

          As Ben's words trailed off, one final question still remained for me. “Some folks back in town call you a hermit, but I thought hermits didn’t like people. Charlie calls you her friend, and you invite us in and treat us like neighbors. Why do you live out here all alone?”

          Pausing for a moment, he took a deep breath and then began his rambling answer to a captive audience. “It’s not that I don’t like people. I like people just fine – John Kelley, you kids, and Charlotte’s dad. I met him when I traveled into town for his Saturday clinic. My arthritis sometimes acts up. He gave me prescription medicine at first, but when he found out where I lived, he suggested certain plants growin’ out this way that eased pain. That’s when I first started researchin’ plants and herbs and their medicinal uses. Maybe you don’t know this, but Doc Kowalski’s dad, Charlotte’s granddad, was a coal miner. Doc was the first in his family to go to college. The first one to become a real professional. If you think about it, he could live almost anywhere – especially with his office way up in Enumclaw. But he wanted to build a home in the place he grew up, open a once a week clinic, and give something back to the folks of Carbonado.”

          Then he motioned to Charlie, Jason, and me. “Let’s go outside. I want to show all of ya something.” We trooped behind him down the steps into the meadow as Brian rejoined us from his outhouse adventure.

          “No, it’s not that I don’t like people. It’s just that I don’t like livin’ in little houses stuck right up next to each other – little boxes made of ticky tacky.” My eyes lit up. Those are words from that old song Dad used to sing when we lived in California. I realized then that Ben and Dad had something in common. “I like my privacy; I don’t want to hear the family arguments from next door or the pickups roarin’ up and down the street.”

          Then, he aimed his gaze up the hill where the meadow disappeared around a bend and raised his finger to point at the forest that surrounded the clearing.

          “There’s a peace and beauty from bein’ close to nature. Even when it’s pourin’ down rain, I love to listen to its drummin’ on the roof and look out at the meadow through a veil of rainwater cascadin’ in front of the window. Other times there’s a quiet you can get lost in. Sometimes it’s so still the gentle coo of a wood dove near shatters the silence. The hootin’ owl and the coyotes’ howl bring the mystery of nature to my ears ‘most every night. The deer browsin’ in the tree line and even a rare mountain lion checkin’ out the spring remind me that the world is bigger, wilder, and more mysterious than livin’ with folks in a town.” He stopped talking and the rustling grass blended with the silence.

          Charlie, breaking the spell, announced. “Well, guys, I don’t know about you, but I’ve got some unfinished work. You heard about my sweet, dear father. I walked out here to pick a bucket of blackberries so my mom could make him his favorite dessert – wild blackberry pie.”

          Ben turned toward Charlie showing his even teeth as he grinned. “Sounds like your mom ain’t so bad either if she can make a mouth-waterin’ berry pie.”

          “You’re right, Ben,” she sighed. “My mom's got some good qualities too.”

          “Do you want some help? I think we’ve had enough excitement for the day,” I asked. Charlie nodded.

          “Excitement, eh?" Ben observed, "You boys came out to take a gander at Pardou’s Pit, didn’t you.”

          “Yeah,” Brian answered. “Nathan and me never saw it before. It’s real creepy.”

          Ben stiffened. “Yes, but Pardou’s Pit is more than creepy. It’s dangerous. Kids and even adults have fallen in and disappeared. It’s no place to trifle with. You’ve gotta respect dangerous places and keep your distance.”

          Once again we fell in behind Charlie since she was our guide. Brian, last in line, stopped for a moment and pulled a Snicker’s bar from his backpack. “Here, Ben. I thought you might like to have this for dessert tonight. We bought a whole bunch at Kelley’s today. I’d like you to have it.” Then he paused and whispered, "By the way, I couldn’t find the flush handle.”

          Ben chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about it none, and thanks for the candy bar, Brian.” Ben held out his hand. “That’s mighty thoughtful of you.” Then he cleared his throat to get our attention and knitted his brows. “Feel free to visit me any time you’re out this way. And, one more thing, don’t take your time pickin’ berries. Night falls real quick in these woods. It ain’t a good idea to get caught out here after dark.”

          Charlie led the way to the berry patch, but Ben’s parting reminder caused me to wonder what was on his mind.