An old school bus, more rust than yellow, was parked at one end. A pickup truck, older and in worse shape than the bus, stood at the other. In between the two was a cluster of tents, older and newer, and mostly misshapen. “You’d be surprised what folks throw out,” Samuel told him on the ride. “Pole breaks, toss the tent. Sleeping bag gets a tear, toss that, too. Saw a couple once had a knockdown, drag-out fight. Up and left the whole kit-n-caboodle behind and never came back.” While Samuel had never seen the place, he assured Bull that it would be a good one. Cora had chosen it and she knew what she was doing. Bull guessed that she did. This late in the year, there were few campers in the park and those were near the entrance to the campground where they had access to electricity, water and bathroom facilities. The upper area, called primitive, was deserted, which suited the wolvers’ needs, and as long as they paid the off-season rate, no one cared how long they stayed. How they paid for it was questionable.
