The log splitter was a Swisher brand twenty-two-ton model with a Briggs and Stratton engine. One of the tires on the splitter had a chronic slow leak, but the machine was otherwise reliable and it cycled fairly quickly.

Ray spent a lot of time showing them his old-fashioned logging tools. Some of these had been acquired while he was living in Michigan, including a large assortment of axes, sledges, mauls, and wedges; a bark spud; a “Swede” bow saw and extra blades; and a pair of cant hooks for rolling and moving large logs.

Ray also had a well-stocked steel tool chest and a handmade plywood carry chest for his assortment of Ryobi eighteen-volt DC battery-powered tools. His father used the same brand, so they could share batteries.

In his pickup, there wasn’t much to show for his “career” work as a historian, just two cardboard boxes, mostly containing back issues of history magazines. Claire was surprised to see that he had very few photocopied documents for his research; in recent years he’d used a scanner rather than make hard copies. All of his actual writings since high school fit on just one memory stick. He pulled out a compass and an altimeter that had been salvaged from a B-24 in a Kingman, Arizona, boneyard back in the 1950s.

Ray quickly recounted an inventory of his guns: In addition to a Remington Nylon 66 .22 rifle and a Winchester Model 70 .30-06 that he’d left at the ranch, Ray had the shotgun and the Inglis Hi-Power that he’d retrieved on his trip home. Phil was fascinated by the Inglis pistol. This was Canada’s military-issue version of the venerable Browning P35 Hi-Power. Ray demonstrated how to attach and detach the shoulder stock, and the operation of its tangent rear sight, which was graduated out to an astoundingly optimistic five hundred meters.

At this point, Claire said, “I’ll leave you to carry on with the Big Boy Toys, so that I can get dinner on the table. “

Laying out all of the ammo that he carried in from the pickup, plus the ammo that he’d left stored at the ranch, he counted fourteen ammo cans, more than half of which were filled with various shotgun shells.

As Ray was closing all of his ammo cans, Alan asked, “What about you, Phil? I guess we need to know what gear you have available to help us keep the place secure. I just saw you tote in your gun cases with hardly a word.”

Phil nodded. “Yeah, I suppose you should know.”

They walked down the hall to Phil’s bedroom—which had once been occupied by Ray’s sisters—and he opened the closet. The top shelf of the closet was sagging under the weight of the tidy phalanx of nineteen ammo cans.

He pulled out the two black plastic Pelican waterproof cases and set them on the bed. He flipped the latches on the smaller one and swung it open.

Alan let out a whistle and said, “That’s enough to get Jean Chrétien rolling in his grave.”

Resting in the gray foam of the gun case was a DPMS clone of the Colt M4 Carbine and one detached green plastic magazine.

“This one is semiautomatic only, and has a sixteen-inch barrel instead of the military-issue fourteen-and-a-half-inch barrel. But it’s otherwise functionally much like the U.S. M4 or the Canadian C7.”

Ray corrected him. “C8, Phil. The C7 is our service rifle, but the C8 is the carbine.”

“Right. Thanks for the reminder.”

Looking back down at the rifle case, Phil went on. “The scope on the Picatinny rail is a Trijicon TA01 with a ‘donut of death’ reticle. That’s tritium-lit, so it’s a day/night scope. I also have both a Bushnell red dot and a PVS-14 ‘Gen Three’ night vision scope for it, packed in foam in one of the taller ammo cans. That scope can be used three ways: mounted on my M4, as a handheld monocular, or with a head mount. It may turn out to be the single most important piece of gear for securing the ranch.”

Tapping the carbine’s buttstock, Phil said, “I’m sure this is über illegal here in Canada, so I suppose we’d better find a good hiding place for it.”

Ray chimed in, “The magazines, too. They’re banned here, as well. We can’t have anything larger than five rounds for a rifle, or ten rounds for a pistol.”

“That law stinks. I’ve got about thirty-five spare magazines, ranging in capacity from five rounds to forty rounds. But a dozen of them are my designated ‘go to war’ magazines—just like that loaded one, there in the case: thirty-round PMAGs. I like the foliage-green ones.”

He swung the first case closed, and then opened up the larger one. In it was a Savage Axis stainless steel bolt-action chambered in .223 with a 3–9X scope, a takedown stainless steel Ruger 10/22 rifle with standard sights, and a stainless steel Ruger Mark II .22 target pistol.

Alan clucked his tongue and said, “We’ll have to make that Ruger .22 pistol disappear, too.”

“Is that a .308?” Alan asked, pointing at the larger rifle.

“No. It’s only a .223. Basically a varmint rifle, but it is insanely accurate. I suppose it would do for deer if I aim for the head.”

“If you want to pot a deer, then you can borrow Claire’s .243 Winchester. Her gun is a little Remington Model 7, about the size of that Savage.”

Pointing up at the green-painted steel ammo cans, Phil said, “As for the ammo, there’s quite a mix: 5.56mm, mostly ball, some match grade, about two hundred rounds of tracer, and a half dozen boxes of .223 Remington hollowpoint varmint loads that I can shoot in both my bolt action and my M4. But the 5.56mm NATO ammo I can shoot only in the M4 because of a mismatch in chamber dimensions, which can cause pressure problems in the bolt action. By the way, just the opposite is true in .308s, where you can shoot 7.62mm NATO in a .308 Winchester, but not vice versa.”

Gesturing farther down the shelf, he said: “Then there’s 9mm. You name it, and I’ve got it: ball, eight or nine different types of hollowpoints, some special low-lead ammo for indoor ranges, some tracers, and even one box of Arcane armor piercing. I also have two cans of .22 long rifle ammo, mostly hollowpoints.”

After a moment, he added, “Oh, I also have one .50-caliber can there with some odd boxes of ammo that I’ve somehow accumulated over the years, for guns that I don’t currently own. There’s .45 ACP, .40 S&W, and some .22 Magnum, a couple of boxes of .30-30, and a box of .30-40 Krag. That ammo should all be good for bartering.”

“Any .243 Winchester?” Alan asked.

“No.”

“That’s a pity, because we only have thirty-seven rounds of .243 on hand for Claire’s rifle.”

“And your deer rifle?” Phil asked.

“Mine’s a .300 Winchester Magnum. That’ll do for elk, moose, and caribou, as well. Thankfully, I have nearly fourteen boxes of cartridges for that. I once found it on sale at a hardware store in Lytton that was going out of business for just twenty-four dollars a box. So I bought every box that they had.”

After a moment, Alan added, “We have several other guns here at the ranch, all off-registry: an Ithaca Model 37 pump shotgun, a Webley .455 revolver, two .22 bolt actions, a .22 Remington pump, a .300 Savage lever action, a Winchester .45-70 lever action, and even an old Snider .577 single-shot carbine that my grandfather brought over from Scotland. There’s not much ammo on hand for most of those guns, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps we can do some trading with your neighbors.”

“Possibly. But people have gotten very shy about discussing their guns in recent years. It’s as if the Montreal crowd has muzzled the entire nation. Most people in Canada of course refuse to even consider registering or giving up their ‘restricted’ guns, but they certainly have become circumspect about mentioning any guns—of all categories—that they own in casual conversation.”

Phil nodded in understanding. He turned and flipped the large case closed and then said, “Last, but not least.”

He then reached up under his shirt to the small of his back and pulled out his SIG P228 pistol and pointed it at the ceiling.