A few hours later, snow began to fall against the day's last light. The boys were still in town, struggling to get a new tire when most men were in the hills deer hunting. The camp was warm, the woodstove gulping air and popping like a two-cylinder engine. Ed fumbled with an AM radio, settling on an oldies station, and soon faraway voices crackled through tiny speakers. When the groceries were in and the water gathered and the onions and the chicken livers fried and the coffee perked and the stew set to simmer, Ed began to tell stories about Werner and Sam Sanbourne, Bear Cub Don, and Ray Crosier, all of his old hunting buddies. Above each bunk still hung a placard adorned with these men's names, even though some had been gone for 20 years, even though all were ghosts relegated to -existence through tall tales.