"I've been on the go forty-seven hours a day and, at a conservative
estimate, I've walked nine million miles since deer season opened."
"Was it bad?"
"No worse than usual. Most of the hunters who came in were a pretty
decent lot. But there always is--and I suppose always will be--the wise
guy who thinks he can get away with anything. I caught one joker with
nine deer."
"Wow!"
"He was fined," Loring said happily, "a hundred dollars for each one and
suspension of hunting privileges for five years."
"Smoky Delbert give you any trouble?"
"You know better than that. Smoky can't walk a hundred yards from his
house and won't be able to for a long while to come."
"I feel kind of sorry for the poor cuss," Ted murmured.
Loring Blade looked at him sharply. "You didn't come here to ask me
about Smoky."
"Oh, yes I did. Who talked with him after he was shot?"
"I did, for one. Why?"
"What did he tell you?"
The warden shrugged. "You know that as well as I do. Smoky was walking
up Coon Valley when your dad rose from behind Glory Rock and shot him."
"Can you tell me the exact story?"