“You three know the map of the south ridge,” I said, spreading a simple hand-drawn sketch of the property lines on the wooden tabletop.

“Keep north of the yellow signs we put up on the white oaks yesterday.”

Dale got slowly to his feet and adjusted the thick webbing strap on his rifle case.

The First Cav patch on his shoulder had faded to gray along the outer stitching.

“No one shoots toward the south fence line,” Dale told Sam and Mike.

“Amy gave us the run of the ridge free of charge, and we keep her land clean and quiet.”

Sam nodded and pulled his blaze-orange cap down over his ears.