The man was down on his hands and knees； his brown…gloved fingers （brown gloves； another mistake； this guy almost could have gone out with a sign reading SHOOT ME taped to his back； Jonesy thought） spread on the ground； which had already begun to whiten。 As the man got up again； he began to speak aloud in a fretful； wondering voice。 Jonesy didn't realize at first that he was also weeping。
'Oh dear； oh dear；' the man said as he worked his way back to a standing position。 He swayed on his feet as if drunk。 Jonesy knew that men in the woods； men away from their families for a week or a weekend； got up to all sorts of small wickedness … drinking at ten in the morning was one of the most mon。 But Jonesy didn't think this guy was drunk。 No reason； just a vibe。
'Oh dear； oh dear； oh dear。' And then； as he began to walk again： 'Snow。 Now it's snow。 Please God； oh God； now it's snow； oh dear。'
His first couple of steps were lurching and unsure。 Jonesy had about decided that his vibe was incorrect； the guy was loaded； and then the fellow's gait smoothed out and he began to walk a little more evenly。 He was scratching at his right cheek。
He passed directly beneath the stand； for a moment he wasn't a man at all but only a round circle of orange cap with brown shoulders to either side of it。 His voice drifted up； liquid and full of tears； mostly Oh dear with the occasional Oh God or Now it's snow thrown in for salt。
Jonesy stood where he was； watching as the guy first disappeared directly beneath the stand； then came out on the other side。 He pivoted without being aware of it to keep the plodding man in view … nor was he aware that he had lowered his rifle to his side； even pausing long enough to put the safety back on。
Jonesy didn't call out； and he supposed he knew why： simple guilt。 He was afraid that the man down there would take one look at him and see the truth in Jonesy's eyes … even through his tears and the thickening snow； the man would see that Jonesy had been up there with his gun pointed； that Jonesy had almost shot him。
Twenty paces beyond the tree； the man stopped and only stood there； his gloved right hand raised to his brow； shielding his eyes from the snow。 Jonesy realized he had seen Hole in the Wall。 Had probably realized he was on an actual path； too。 Oh dear and Oh God stopped； and the guy began to run toward the sound of the generator； rocking from side to side like a man on the deck of a ship。 Jonesy could hear the stranger's short； sharp gasps for breath as he pounded toward the roomy cabin with the lazy curl of smoke rising from the chimney and fading almost at once into the snow。
Jonesy began to work his way down the rungs nailed to the trunk of the maple with his gun slung over his shoulder （the thought that the man might present some sort of danger did not occur to him； not then； he simply didn't want to leave the Garand； which was a fine gun； out in the snow）。 His hip had stiffened； and by the time he got to the foot of the tree； the man he'd almost shot had made it nearly all the way to the cabin door 。 。 。 which was unlocked； of course。 No one locked up； not way out here。
5
About ten feet from the granite slab that served as Hole in the Wall's front stoop； the man in the brown coat and orange hat fell down again。 His hat tumbled off； revealing a sweaty clump of thinning brown hair。 He stayed on one knee for a moment； head lowered。 Jonesy could hear his harsh； fast breathing。
The man picked up his cap； and just as he set it back on his head； Jonesy hailed him。
The man staggered to his feet and turned tipsily。 Jonesy's first impression was that the man's face was very long … that he was almost what people meant when they called someone 'horsefaced'。 Then； as Jonesy got closer； hitching a little but not really limping （and that was good； because the ground underfoot was getting slippery fast）； he realized the guy's face wasn't particularly long at all … he was just very scared and very very pale。 The red patch on his cheek where he had been scratching stood out brightly。 The relief that came over him when he saw Jonesy hurrying toward him was large and immediate。 Jonesy almost laughed at himself； standing up there on the platform in the tree and worrying about the guy reading his eyes。 This man wasn't into reading faces； and he clearly had no interest in where Jonesy had e from or what he might have been doing。 This man looked like he wanted to throw his arms around Jonesy's neck and cover him with big gooey kisses。
'Thank God！' the man cried。 He held out one hand toward Jonesy and shuffled toward him through the thin icing of new snow。 'Oh gee； thank God； I'm lost； I've been lost in the woods since yesterday； I thought I was going to die out here。 I 。 。 。 I 。 。 。'
His feet slipped and Jonesy grabbed his upper arms。 He was a big man； taller than Jonesy； who stood six…two； and broader； as well。 Nevertheless； Jonesy's first impression was of insubstantialness； as if the man's fear had somehow scooped him out and left him light as a milkweed pod。
'Easy； fella；' Jonesy said。 'Easy； you're all right now； you're okay。 Let's just get you inside and get you warm； how would that be？'
As if the word warm had been his cue； the man's teeth began to chatter。 'S…S…Sure。' He tried to smile； without much success。 Jonesy was again struck by his extreme pallor。 It was cold out here this morning； upper twenties at best； but the guy's cheeks were all ashes and lead。 The only color in his face； other than the red patch； was the brown crescents under his eyes。
Jonesy got an arm around the man's shoulders； suddenly swept by an absurd and sappy tenderness for this stranger； an emotion so strong it was like his first junior high school crush … Mary Jo Martineau in a sleeveless white blouse and straight knee…length denim skirt。 He was now absolutely sure the man hadn't been drinking … it was fear （and maybe exhaustion） rather than booze that had made him unsteady on his feet。 Yet there was a smell on his breath … something like bananas。 It reminded Jonesy of the ether he'd sprayed into the carburetor of his first car； a Vietnam…era Ford； to get it to crank over on cold mornings。
'Get you inside； right？'
'Yeah。 C…Cold。 Thank God you came along。 Is this…'
'My place？ No； a friend's。' Jonesy opened the varnished oak door and helped the man over the threshold。 The stranger gasped at the feel of the warm air； and a flush began to rise in his cheeks。 Jonesy was relieved to see there was some blood in him； after all。
6
Hole in the Wall was pretty grand by deep woods standards。 You came in on the single big downstairs room … kitchen； dining room； and living room； all in one … but there were two bedrooms behind it and another upstairs； under the single eave。 The big room was filled with the scent of pine and its mellow； varnished glow。 There was a Navajo rug on the floor and a Micmac hanging on one wall which depicted brave little stick…hunters surrounding an enormous bear。 A plain oak table； long enough to acmodate eight places； defined the dining area。 There was a woodstove in the kitchen and a fireplace in the living area； when both were going； the place made you feel stupid with the heat even if it was twenty below outside。 The west wall was all window； giving a view of the long； steep slope which fell off to the west。 There had been a fire there in the seventies； and the dead trees stood black and twisted in the thickening snow。 Jonesy； Pete； Henry and the Beav called this slope The Gulch； because that's what the Beav's Dad and his friends had called it。
'Oh God； thank God； and thank you； too；' the man in the orange hat said to Jonesy； and when Jonesy grinned … that was a lot of thank…yous … the man laughed shrilly as if to say yes； he knew it； it was a funny thing to say but he couldn't help it。 He began to take deep breaths； for a few moments looking like one of those exercise gurus you saw on high…number cable。 On every exhale； he talked。
'God； I really thought I was done…for last night 。 。 。 it was so cold 。 。 。 and the damp air； I remember that 。 。 。 remember thinking Oh boy； oh dear； what if there's snow ing after all 。 。 。 I got coughing and couldn't stop 。 。 。 something came and I thought I have to stop coughing； if that's a bear or something I'll 。 。 。 you know 。 。 。 provoke it or something only I couldn't and after awhile it just 。 。 。 you know； went away on its own…'
'You saw a bear in the night'；' Jonesy was both fascinated and appalled。 He had heard there were bears up here … Old Man Gosselin and his pickle…barrel buddies at the store loved to tell bear stories； particularly to the out…of…staters … but the idea that this man； lost and on his own； had been menaced by one in the night； was keenly horrible。 It was like hearing a sailor talk about a sea monster。
'I don't know that it was；' the man said； and suddenly shot Jonesy a sidewards look of cunning that Jonesy didn't like and couldn't read。 'I can't say for sure； by then there was no more lightning。'
'Lightning； too？ Man！' If not for the guy's obviously genuine distress； Jonesy would have wondered if he wasn't getting his leg pulled。 In truth；