Donald Goodfellow tossed an embroidered napkin onto his mother’s table and finally spoke. “There were many bands of Caddos from this part of the country. The Kadohadacho around the Red River in northern Texas and Arkansas, some in southeastern Oklahoma, and the Natchitoches in Louisiana. This family, we’re Hasinai, and East Texas is our true home. The legend of this family is that a small band of Hasinai, led by a stubborn caddi, or chief, simply never left Texas. No treaty, no plans by other Caddos to surrender land, no murderous white folks could make them go. We are the last of that band of Hasinai Caddo Indians.”

“I’ll tell you one thing about this badge,” Darren said, feeling the weight of it tugging uncomfortably on the thin fabric of his shirt. “The Rangers were used by landowners and government officials to clear out Indians from so-called white land,” he said, willing to tell the truth about the Texas Rangers’ racist past in a way he never would if he weren’t among people nearly as brown as he was. “How did your family, your ancestors, avoid being captured and sent up north?”

Donald looked at his mother. She puffed on her pipe and said, “Oh, there are ways of hiding in plain sight.” The wrinkles around her eyes seemed to wink at Darren as she smiled. He waited for her to say more, but then he heard the squeak of what sounded like a barn door but was really the door to the boat shed behind Margaret’s house. She set down her pipe suddenly and stood, the hem of her dress rushing to the floor like a waterfall. It was blue, woven through with red strips of cloth, studded with yellow beads. “Leroy is back.”

Darren stood, thanked Margaret for the food, and even nodded a polite goodbye to the mostly mute men around the table who hadn’t exactly been warm to him. He was sliding his Stetson back on his head when Margaret told him what she needed him to know. “You understand he didn’t hurt that boy, don’t you? Leroy is my friend for sixty years. I know him. He would never do this.”

Darren was waiting on the old man’s front porch when Mr. Page came up from the boat shed lugging fishing gear without a cooler or a single catfish in sight. Darren asked the man point-blank why he had lied about seeing Levi Friday night. “They’re going to use that against you now,” he said. “Look, I don’t know what you did, but if you were serious before about getting a lawyer, now’s the time.”

“Aw, I just said that shit to get you out of my house.”

Darren raised his hands in exasperation. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “They’re getting a warrant on you. They’re going to search your place.”