her arms. She gently removed the sleeve of a pink, toddler-sized T-shirt emblazoned with ‘Mike’s Peak’ out of the baby’s mouth. “Did you guys find anything you wanted to buy?”

“I wanna get this for Wildcat,” Molly said, showing her mother the snow globe.

“That’s very thoughtful, Pumpkin. He’ll like that.” Rebecca turned to her husband. Seeing him wearing the expression that he usually had when proposing a screwball scheme, she said, “What about you, Baloo? You look guilty about something.”

Busted by the food police, Baloo thought miserably. Looking to the cubs for help, he mumbled, “Uh, I found the greatest souvenir in the world. Right, kids?”

“What is it?” Rebecca said with real interest.

“Well, it’s, uh...uh...” Baloo stammered, removing his cap and crushing it in his paws.

“Fudge,” Molly supplied with a grin.

Baloo sobered his daughter with a stern look. “Not just any fudge, Becky. It’s gore-met fudge.”

“I should have known,” Rebecca said with an amused smile. “How much?”

Baloo gulped. “Twenty bucks.”

Rebecca blinked once, twice in stunned amazement. “Twenty dollars worth offudge?”

“Not quite.” Baloo chuckled nervously. “It’s only $19.25.”

Quicker than a flash, Rebecca handed Cassie to Kit, tweaked her husband’s ear, and towed him through the gift shop to the rear exit.

“If Mom yells too loud, she’ll start an avalanche,” Kit remarked with a rueful shake of his head. He was glad that nobody he knew was there to witness his parents’ argument.

Meanwhile, Weazel had just arrived at the pinnacle of Mike’s Peak. After what he had been through earlier today, he was inclined to shoot first and ask questions about the map later. That was the mood he was in when he got out of his car and approached the gift shop/observatory. His ears perked up at a familiar sound; he’d know those annoying, arguing voices anywhere. Hand enfolded around the revolver in his pocket, he rounded the building on the icy sidewalk, following the sound of the voices.

Ankle deep in snow, Rebecca paced back and forth in front of her husband. “Baloo Augustus von Bruinwald, do you ever think about anythingbesides your stomach?”

“‘Course I do, Becky. I thought fudge would be nice for all of us, not just me.”

“Nice? Nice?” Rebecca was really ticked now. She poked her finger at his chest with every syllable. “We’re on a budget, mister! How are we supposed to get home if you spend all of our money on candy?”

“Notall of it. Just $19.25.” Sotto voce, Baloo added, “Technically, it wasn’t our money. It’s Kit’s.”

“And that’s another thing. How on earth did you manage to spend that much on fudge?”

“How was I s’posed ta know a little piece of every flavor was gonna be so heavy?”

“Speaking of heavy...” Rebecca poked a finger at his stomach. "Where are your manners, Baloo?"

"I don't want manners. I want chocolate." Before she could spit out a snappy comeback, Baloo wrapped an arm around Rebecca’s waist and spun her around to look over the fantastic view of the scenery. “Fix your brown eyes on that, sweetheart. Ain’t it worth $19.25?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Baloo! We’re not buying the scenery.” Rebecca shivered, gazing over the frozen, snow-topped landscape. The cold, thin air took her breath away. It also cooled her temper. She was glad for Baloo’s warm arm around her. It was freezing up on that ledge. She gazed down into the valley. In a verdant vale far below was a flock of grazing sheep. They looked like tiny white specks from their vantage. Relaxing against her husband, she reluctantly admitted to herself that Baloo had a point. She hated it when he was right! What was twenty dollars in the grand scheme of life? Why couldn’t they splurge a little on vacation? And a little fudge wouldn’t kill him. But five-and-a-half pounds!

Rebecca shrugged, saying testily, “It’s beautiful.”

“So are you, Beckers,” Baloo whispered into her ear, causing her heart to melt.

“Are you trying to butter me up?” Rebecca said as sternly as she could. Why did he have to insert compliments into their arguments?

“Is it workin’?”

Grudgingly, she admitted, “Maybe a little, Baloo.” She sighed, “You know, you can be the most exasperating bear sometimes!”

Baloo beamed with pleasure. “Thanks, Becky. You’re exasperatin’, too.”

Rebecca’s frown transformed into a smile; then a little giggle escaped from her. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it fondly. “Let’s go pay for your $19.25 fudge, but I want at least a taste of it.”

“All right. One taste.” He chuckled at her indignant frown. “Okay, two tastes. Call it my anniversary gift from me to you.”

Seeing the couple turning to go inside, Weazel knew that it was now or never. Shaking with fury, he drew out his revolver, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

“What the heck?” Weazel said angrily, pounding the gun against his palm. He aimed at the bears and tried the trigger again.

Click, click, click, click, click!

The revolver was empty, because Weazel had forgotten to reload it after shooting at the bats.

Baloo and Rebecca entered the observatory, unscathed.

“No! No! No!” Weazel shouted. Hearing a low, loud rumbling, he looked up. Before he could react, an avalanche of snow slid from the building’s roof and plopped on him with a dull thud.

Buried under a heavy blanket of cold, wet snow, Weazel moaned, “I gotta find a new job. Ah-ah-ah-ah-choo!"

End of part 5

A Map Made in Heaven
part 6

On the Road to Ester’s Park
Wednesday Morning
Day 5

Long lanes of sunlight pierced through the pine trees and sprawled across the road that the von Bruinwalds’ car was traversing as it made its way north. The bears’ bad tempers were running almost as high as the alpine highway itself.

“Ouch!” Baloo winced as his head slammed against the car roof. “This road’s got more bounce to the ounce than a trampoline. Do ya hafta hit every dang pothole there is, Becky?”

“I’m not trying to, Baloo,” Rebecca snapped. She nervously glanced in the rearview mirror at the large truck that had been riding their bumper for the past three miles. Because traffic was so heavy, it couldn’t pass.

Baloo crossed his arms and glowered at the scenery. “Seems like ya are.”

“I am not!”

“You are, too!”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!” The car hit another dip, sending Baloo soaring upwards. “Yeowch!” He rubbed his sore pate. “Maybe you should get more in the middle of the road.”

“And risk running into an oncoming car?” Rebecca scoffed. “That’snot a good driving practice.”

“Runnin’ into a car would do less hurt to my head,” Baloo snarled.

“But not to the car!”

Baloo turned to look at his son in the backseat; Kit was catacorner to him. “Why’d ya pick this rough ol’ road, partner?”

Kit, weary of his parents’ incessant bickering, replied, “Because this highway was the shortest route to Ester’s Park.” But it’s not short enough for me.

“They should call it Pothole Road. Hope they got a good hospital in Ester’s Park,” the pilot murmured none-too-quietly.

“Keep up the backseat driving, flyboy, and you will need a hospital!”

“Mom, can we go to Wild Will Hiccup’s Wild West Town?” Molly asked, perusing a bright brochure that had a picture of Wild Will himself on the front. “They got real horses and cowboys and shootouts and...”

“We’ll see, Molly,” Rebecca interrupted impatiently. “Mommy’s driving.”

“Is that what you call it?” Baloo said snidely.

“Ooo! Just...just stay out of this, Baloo! I’ll drive; youride.” Her angry reply was muffled by the blare of the truck’s horn behind them.

Just then, Cassie started to cry, because she needed to be changed. Wailing, the toddler climbed onto Kit’s knees and latched onto her mother’s neck from behind.

Startled by the sudden air restriction, Rebecca gasped out, “Cassie, don’t...gah!...choke Mommy, honey. Do something, Baloo!”

“Iam doin’ somethin’. I’m stayin’ out of this like you told me to.” The big bear’s devious smirk turned to one of agonizing pain when his head once again made contact with the car roof. “Ow!”

“Are you sure we’re going the right way, Mom?” Molly asked, pitching her voice so that it could be heard over Cassie’s crying. “I saw a sign that said the turn off to Ester’s Park was back there.”

Rebecca flashed a questioning look at Kit in the rearview mirror.

“Of course we’re going the right way,” Kit said peevishly. He frowned at his nine-year-old sister. “Molly probably misread the sign.”

“I did not! I know how to read. Let me see the map, Kit!” Molly grabbed onto the road map that Kit held in his hands. A fierce tug-of-war

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