As he limped to the spot where the pheasant lay, Jed heard voices from two young boys. They skipped back and forth toward him. He picked up the dead bird, stuck it into his jacket, ducked into the dried-up slough’s tall brush, and laid his gun down. After the boys passed, Jed reached down to pick up his ten-gauge. He saw two sneakers next to the gun. Somebody musta threw those away. When he touched them, he recoiled. Damn! There’s feet in ‘em. Old Jed pushed the leaves aside, uncovered a young boy’s body.

“By God, that shore looks like Danny Clayton.”

The body felt cold and the boy’s eyes stared straight up. Jed put his ear to the boy’s chest, listened for a heart beat. He heard nothing, then piled the leaves back on the body, hobbled back home, and picked up the telephone.

“Sheriff, I just found a body . . .”

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