It was a home that nearly took his breath. The estate was bigger than anything he’d ever seen. It had stately columns, fat and white, towering over a brick patio. The house was surrounded by live oaks and azaleas. There were so many pink azaleas. It was beautiful.

Pete drove beneath the canopy of manicured trees and whistled to himself. Stringbean sensed their journey was coming to an end, and she sat straight in the seat.

“You seeing all this, Bean?” said Pete. “This fella must be awful important.”

Stringbean saw it.

Pete parked in front of the home. He leapt out and leaned back to get a view of the tall house. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Tall as a mountain and wide as a county.

He saw a man wearing a pale yellow suit with a cigar poking from beneath his thick brown mustache. The man was rocking in a chair, legs crossed, surveying the countryside that was behind the house.

Stringbean stepped out of the truck and followed closely.

“Evening,” said Pete.

“Evening,” said the man, rising onto long legs.

All of a sudden Pete felt very underdressed. His crumpled shirt and stained coveralls were rags compared to the man’s clothes. Pete removed his hat, though he wasn’t sure why. It was something he’d seen Paul do in the presence of important people and ladies.

“Evening,” said Pete again. “I’m looking for Mister Ryals.”

The man smiled. “Call me Ferris. The only folks who call me Ryals are men who owe a debt to society.”

“You mean like those men by the road?”

“The very ones.”

“You mean you’re their . . . their . . .”

“Their warden. The prison belongs to me.”

Ferris met Pete at the rear of his truck. He eyed the dogs and grinned at them, then stuck his finger through the chicken wire to touch their faces. He spoke to them in a high-pitched voice.

“These’re handsome dogs, son.”

“Yessir, I hate to see them go.”

“I know you do.”

“They’s sorta like my family, you know.”

“I know.”

Pete ran the dogs hard. He showed the man how the dogs could work in tall grass after laying trails. He demonstrated how unafraid the dogs were of gunfire by firing a scattergun beside them. He showed the man how the biggest bloodhound, Leroy, could track through standing water.

When the demonstrations were over, Ferris patted Pete’s back and said, “Your daddy was right about you, you know that?”

“Sir?” Pete said.

“When we made the deal, your daddy told me you were a good trainer, but I didn’t think you’d be this good. I didn’t think anyone could be this good.”

“He wasn’t my daddy. He was just a friend.”

“Really? Because he called you his son when I met him.”

“He did?”