A long silence settled over the little room while the ice machine behind the empty bar hummed and dropped a load into the bin.

“We know what Brad is,” Dale finally said.

“Some of the boys heard him running his mouth down at the feed mill back in June.”

He slowly unfolded his hands and laid his wide palms flat on the table.

“Your grandpa gave us peace on that hill, Amy,” he said quietly.

“We haven’t forgotten.”

“The season opens at dawn Saturday,” I said.

“We’ll be up on the ridge by five a.m.,” Dale said.