“We paid good money,” Russ Lindahl said, his voice climbing sharply in the still air.

“Four thousand cash in hand, same as the past two years.”

“You paid a man who doesn’t own this ground,” Dale said, coming out of the woods to stand shoulder to shoulder with me.

Kurt looked at Dale, then let his eyes drop to the yellow steel posted signs nailed to the white oak behind us.

“Who’s this?” Russ Lindahl asked Kurt, waving a gloved hand at Dale.

“This is Dale,” I said, looking Kurt right in the eye.