Dewitt had the patrol gear laid out in two rows on the table, and he had counted the flashlights twice before I finished my coffee.

“One short,” he said.

“The aluminum one off the north post.”

“Write it in the ledger.”

He did, with the blue pen, slow and square.

His boots scraped the gravel outside the door, back and forth.

“Sergeant, a man from garrison came by the shack on Wednesday.”

I set the cup down.