She’d fucked Shaw in a tent on a hunting trip with many people, a big tent, Dan on one side, Shaw on the other, or not fucking exactly, an animal act, her hand had dropped down inside some flannel or cotton print. These group trips were rare. Only most inclement weather drove them into cook tents. Grannie had been surprised by nothing. She had been ashamed of nothing. She was ashamed of the idea of shame. Humans are just animals, she said. Animals can be forgiven for anything.

“I’ll have my horse,” she said, no longer negotiating. “We’ll go separate ways.”

She stepped slow into the clearing. The stumps were round and gray with time and decline. Stop, she said to the thought. Stop it.

“Not too close,” he said. “Stop there, please.” Ten paces away. “I want to travel the world with you. The high seas, what have you. I’ve decided. I’m with you.”

Possibly six feet tall someday, that boy. But not yet. His cape was only stitched burlap to crochet. Ginny’s hands shook. Grannie did not believe in breaking down. Breakdown was another of those states of mind. Do not allow a breakdown. It’s weak. Grannie had said so to the sick cows, to folks dizzy with locoweed. Ginny stumbled and the boy saw. She’d shot a brown bear like a boy would. Bam. Bam. Bam. No mercy for the bear. Just an animal. No trouble with killing. No guilt, no blame.

“That dynamite’s fake,” Ginny said. “But take it off my cob. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t boss me,” said the kid.

Ginny never confided in Grannie. Never confided in anyone truly. Truths like: she loved adultery. Arrogance is probably why. This is a confession, Grannie, to save the cob from this boy. Since I am not ashamed. Ella got beauty and I got something else. Arrogance.

“Take the mask off my cob,” she said, knees weak for once. “That mask on his face is making me sick.”

“I don’t care if you’re sick,” said the kid. “I’ll take your rifle and pistol while we’re at it.” His face was a mess. His arm was in some kind of sling.

“That won’t work.”

He bent and lifted a pile of burlap she hadn’t noticed. He flung it over the cob’s back.

“What’s on that blanket.”

“You can smell it. I dribbled gas on it, an accelerant.”

“I know what gas is for.”

The cob yawned, opened up his already wide-open mouth, a hideous and undignified gesture.

“Blackmail,” she said.

“Blackmail, blood booty, scalawags, all of it,” said the kid. “The cob’s hostage for the pistol and rifle too. Easier to just let me come with you.”

“I’m not going anywhere you want to go.”

“Sad about the deputy.”

“What deputy?”

“The man in the tent. An officer of the law, yet.”