“Ignorant,” Daddy said, and shook his head. He said it again, the same way a child at a spelling bee repeats a word. “My daddy made me quit school at fifteen. Hired me out to Harley Winchester’s daddy like I was no more than a mule or draft horse. Old Man Winchester worked me like one too, ten hours a day, and every dime I made went in my daddy’s pocket. I’ve given you more than my daddy ever gave me. If I’m ignorant it’s because I never got the chances you got.”

We didn’t say anything else. Everything we could hurt each other with we’d said. So Daddy and I just stood there, silent, like boxers who have thrown their best punches and found their opponent still standing.

“I GOT AN ANSWER TO WHY THE FATHER DIDN’T DIVE IN,” BILLY said, pointing to the far wall where Sheriff Cantrell and his deputy, Hubert McClure, watched the crowd. “Our esteemed deputy came by the store as I was closing up. Turns out Herb Kowalsky had about as good a reason not to get into a river as you can have.”

“And what’s that?”

“He can’t swim.”

“Yes, that explains it,” Allen said, more to himself than Billy and me. I hadn’t even known he was listening. He turned his attention back to rewinding the tape in his pocket recorder.

“His wife and kids had been after him for years to learn. His daughter was Red Cross certified and wanted to teach him herself. How’s that for irony?”

Billy looked across the rows of chairs to the front, where a young man I didn’t recognize placed a lectern on a metal foldout table. The man at the lectern pulled some papers from his pockets. He wore a Forest Service uniform, on his pocket a silver name tag I couldn’t read.

“Who is that?” I asked Billy.

“Walter Phillips. He’s the new district ranger.”

“What happened to Will McDowell?”

“Retired in February.”

“Where’s Phillips from?”

“Louisiana.”

Two other men, both dressed in suits, walked over to Phillips. Phillips listened as the men spoke.

“Lucky guy, ain’t he?” Billy said. “Your first head ranger assignment and right off you’re dealing with something like this. I bet he’s already wishing he was back on a bayou chasing gator poachers.”

I looked at Phillips more closely. He wasn’t nearly as big as Will McDowell, probably no more than five-eight and with a slim build. That would make his job harder up here, perhaps already had. There would be men, especially the loggers, who would test him more than they had McDowell. They would want to see how quickly Phillips would show weakness by falling back on his gun and badge for protection. When he did, they would know he was afraid and they would have no respect for him after that.