We went out the front doors of the building into the parking lot.

The November air was sharp and dry and carried the smell of woodsmoke from the houses along the riverbank.

Kurt walked over to his pickup, pulled off his right work glove a finger at a time, and looked out across the asphalt.

“I felt like a total fool when you showed me that signature up on the ridge Saturday morning,” Kurt said.

“You weren’t the fool, Kurt,” I said.