They got under way once more, rounding the bend into town. In the distance they saw the diminishing ball of spray from the Larousses’ boat. To their left, over the levee, the iron roofs of the old houses and three slate-covered steeples threw back the morning sun. When they got opposite the overgrown landing at LeBlanc’s Machine Shop, a blast from a three-chime air horn caught their attention. Colette watched a sizable red-and-gray tugboat angle from the landing, and she would have looked away again except for something odd about a crewman standing at the railing on the third deck. He was wearing white bucks. She picked up the field glasses and saw that it was her uncle Lester, waving with as much energy as he had. She reached over and grabbed Emile’s arm. “Turn back,” she yelled over the noise. “Someone on that tug is flagging us.” The crew boat looped and sped to the shore side of the tug, sending a big wave lapping against its hemp fenders.

“What do they want?” Emile cut the engine to drift alongside. He and Colette went out again. Watching them from the wheelhouse was the owner of LeBlanc’s Machine Shop. He pulled a wet cigar from his mouth and yelled down at them.

“We been drifting around for a bit, waiting for y’all. We coming along.” He pointed the cigar south.

Colette looked at all the fresh red and gray enamel. “Where’d you get the tug?”

LeBlanc hitched his pleated slacks up over his paunch. “The Lirette Towing Company owes me for some work. Hell, everybody owes me for some work.” He waved his cigar at the town. In the engine room’s door was Larry, Paul’s brother; on the main towing bitts sat LeBlanc’s redneck, wearing a new set of overalls. They waved but did not smile. Colette’s brother came out of the galley, stared at her, and shook his head.

“Oh, Mark,” she cried, waving.

“You have a radio on your boat?” her brother called.

“Yeah,” Emile told him.

“Well, turn it on and go ahead. We’ll hit the Gulf maybe an hour after you.”

“Emile,” Mr. LeBlanc hollered. “You got any idea where to look?” He bent down and adjusted his glasses so Emile would not be in the lower part of his bifocals.

“We gonna start west, along the marsh. You saw the Larousse boys go by a minute ago?”

“We saw something bounce by look like a wing fell off a jet plane.”

“That’s them. They gonna go east, but they got a lot of territory to cover with all those inlets. You want to go out fifteen mile and turn east, make a ten-mile pass, then turn around west and keep working in, like you mowing a lawn?”

Mr. LeBlanc threw his cigar overboard. “Let’s go.”