Houndstooth looked at them sidelong. He dipped his hand into his saddlebag and scooped out a little pouch of the white saddle-resin all hoppers used to keep their kneeling saddles from sliding around on the slippery, hairless backs of their hippos. He dipped his finger into it and drew a long oval with open, fluting ends on Ruby’s inky shoulder, where Hero could see it. He drew a thick line across the top third of the oval, where the narrowed end flared open again—the dam that had turned the Mississippi into the Harriet. Not quite a lake and not quite a marsh, the Harriet was a triumph of engineering, but the ferals trapped within it rendered it a national embarrassment. The riverboat casinos that dominated its surface did little to alleviate the distaste with which most of the country considered the entire region.

“So, if this is the Harriet, then this is the Gate.” Houndstooth drew another line across the bottom third of the oval. Hero snorted.

“You’re not much of an artist, are you?”

Houndstooth glowered at them. “This is the Gate,” he continued. “It keeps the ferals inside of the Harriet, so they can’t get out into the Gulf. The Gate at the bottom of the Harriet and the dam at the top keep the ferals penned.” He smudged white on each side of the circle. “Unbroken land to the east and west for a few miles in all directions keeps the ferals from traveling to other waters.”

“So, it’s . . . what? Twenty miles overland in every direction?”

“Give or take,” Houndstooth said with a shrug. “It’s enough land that the ferals can’t make it across. I’m sure a few try every year, and die in the process. Either way, the Gate extends far enough inland to discourage them from making a serious attempt at migration.”

“Do they want to leave?”

Houndstooth chewed on this. “I doubt it,” he said after a minute. “They’ve been there for a few breeding generations. It’s all they know. And other than the riverboats, it belongs to them.”

Hero nodded. “Alright. So this plan that you’re expecting me to come up with is supposed to motivate these dangerous, well-entrenched animals to migrate south.”

Houndstooth grinned at them. “That’s right. Per the federal agent who hired us, all we have to do is get them through the Gate,” he said, drawing a line from the middle of the oval out through the bottom line on the crude map. “And then they’re in the Gulf, and they’re not our problem anymore.” He drew the white line of resin all the way down Ruby’s flank and into the water, making Hero laugh. Their laugh was infectious, and Houndstooth found himself laughing too as he splashed marsh water onto Ruby’s back, rinsing the map away.

“What does the Coast Guard think of this plan?”