It takes me an hour to get ready—towel bath, force down some breakfast jerky with tea, change into my least dirty outfit of blue jeans and a red sweater with a white snowflake pattern. The temperature dropped overnight, but the sky is clear and bracingly blue.

Preston holds his jacket up for me to slip my arms in, and he slings my backpack over his shoulders. It’s fuller than usual.

“Where are we going?”

He nods north, toward Salt Mountain.

“Are we going far?”

“Further than yesterday, but not too far. We’ll rest. I packed food.”

“Stew?”

His lips curve. “No. Canned salmon.”

I guess that’s all right. I let...