“The wind’s swinging north off the marsh.

You men should hunt.”

Kurt looked up at the oak ridge climbing into the pink morning sky, then back at Dale.

“We don’t have permission to be on your group’s ridge.”

“My grandfather’s ledger has three open lines this season,” I said.

“You don’t have to pay a dime to stand on Arvid’s land.

You only have to be honest.”

Russ took a mug of coffee from Dale and had a long, steaming swallow.