Deer season was ended and the village of Lorton brooded moodily between
the snowclad hills that flanked it. From now until arriving fishermen
brought new excitement, Lorton would know only that which arose from
within itself. Ted, who had put John Wilson and his great buck on
yesterday's outgoing train, steered his pickup down the street with its
plow-thrown heaps of snow on either side and drew up in front of Loring
Blade's house. He said, "Stay here, Tammie."
The collie settled back into the seat. Ted walked to the front door,
knocked and was admitted by the game warden's attractive wife.
"Hello, Ted."
"Hello, Helen. Is Loring home?"
"Yes, he is. Come on in."
She escorted the boy into the living room, where, pajama-clad and with a
pile of magazines beside him, Loring Blade lay on a davenport and sipped
lazily from a cup of coffee. He looked up and grimaced.
"Whatever you want, I'm ag'in' it. I aim to stay here for the next
nineteen years."