Ted picked up the suitcase, escorted John Wilson to the pickup and put the luggage in the rear. About to open the door for his guest, he was forestalled when John Wilson opened it himself and climbed in. Ted settled in the driver's seat. "Mind if I smoke?" John Wilson asked. "Not at all." He lighted a pipe and sat puffing on it while Ted steered expertly through Lorton's hunting season traffic. A happy warmth enveloped him. He liked most people, but very few times in his life had he been drawn so close to one on such short acquaintance. John Wilson was probably ten years older than Al, but far from doddering. He was that rare person whom age has made mellow rather than caustic. Then they were on the Lorton Road and started into the Mahela. John Wilson spoke for the first time since leaving the station. "They crowd in." "For deer season they do," Ted agreed. "The day after it ends, you could shoot a cannon down Main Street and never hit a person." They passed a tent set up beside the road, and a gasoline lantern burning inside gave its walls a ghostly translucence. There was a neat pile of wood beside it and wood smoke drifted from a tin pipe that curled through the wall. The car in which the campers had come was backed off the road. It was a good camp and as they passed Ted was aware that John Wilson knew it was good. But he said nothing, and Ted had the impression that he did not talk unless he had something worthwhile to say. A quarter mile beyond the camp, the truck's probing lights reflected from the startlingly bright eyes of a deer. Ted slowed. Deer were always running back and forth across the road and, since bright lights dazzled them, they would not always get out of the way. They came closer and the lights revealed very clearly a magnificent buck. So alert that every muscle was tense, he stood broadside. One rear leg was a bit ahead of the other, the animal was poised for instant flight. His antlers were big and branching, and in the car lights they looked perfectly symmetrical. It was a splendid creature, one that would command attention anywhere. After ten seconds, it leaped into the forest and disappeared. John Wilson said, "A nice head." He spoke as though the buck had delighted and warmed him, but there was in his voice none of the babbling enthusiasm which some hunters, upon seeing such a buck, might express. Obviously, he had seen big bucks before. Ted commented, "He was a darn' big buck." "As big," and a smile lurked in John Wilson's voice, "as your Damon and Pythias?" Ted answered firmly, "No sir. He was not." "Then I am in the right place?" "I hope so, Mr. Wilson." "It'd be just as simple to call me John." Ted grinned. "All right, John."