Callahan's voice was hard as ice and as brittle. "You didn't answer my question." "So I didn't, but I will. I know nothin' 'bout who might've shot Smoky, but I can think of lots of reasons why." "Is this yours?" Callahan's hand dipped into his pocket and came up bearing Al's distinctive tobacco pouch. Ted gasped. His father was unmoved. "Yep. But I haven't seen it for two weeks or more." "That's true!" Ted asserted. "He hasn't had it for at least that long!" Al said quietly, "Stay out of this, boy." "You needn't stay out." Callahan swung toward Ted. "Was your father with you today?" "Well--no." "Where was he?" "He was out hunting a coyote." A note of triumph in his voice, Callahan turned again to Al. "By any chance, a two-legged coyote?" Al said disgustedly, "Don't be a fool!" "Did you have your rifle with you?" "What would you carry if you was huntin' a coyote? A pocketful of pebbles?" "Can you account for your actions of today?" "Yep. Crossed the nose of Hawkbill, went into Coon Valley, climbed that to its head, swung behind Burned Mountain, crossed the Fordham Road and come back by way of Fiddlefoot Crick." "Can you prove all this?" "Sure!" Al snorted. "I'll get you an affy-davit from a couple of crows that saw me." "That is your tobacco pouch?" "I've already said it is." "That pouch," and again Callahan's voice rose in triumph, "was found not six feet from where Smoky fell!" "So?" "Al, I'd hate to have to get tough with you." "Don't think you'd better try it." "Loring heard you threaten to shoot Delbert." "And I also," Loring Blade broke in, "heard Smoky threaten to shoot Al. There's more than one side to this, Jack, and suppose you simmer down?" "I'm in charge here!" "But you're getting nowhere. Al, will you talk to me?" "I'll tell you what I can, Lorin'." "If you had anything to do with this, tell your story now. I don't hold with shooting, but certainly I never held with Smoky Delbert. I, for one, am willing to believe that, no matter how it happened or who he met, Smoky raised his rifle first. I've known him a long while." "But you never jailed him." "Only because," the warden said, "I could never catch him. He was crafty as he was mean. But he's still a human being." "Could be some argument 'bout that," Al murmured. "Lorin', where was Smoky shot?" "Coon Valley," the warden answered reluctantly. "Almost beside those three big sycamores near Glory Rock." "Is he dead?" "No, but he probably would be if he hadn't dragged himself to the Fordham Road. Bill Layton, passing in his logging truck, found him and took him into the hospital at Lorton." "Is he goin' to die?" "He's in a bad way." "Has he talked?" "Not yet." "How about the bullet?" "It went right through him; we couldn't find it." "How do you know he was shot near them three sycamores in Coon Valley?"