heavy bale, hoisted it to his chest, and shoved it high into the dark barn opening.
“Yes, sir,” Travis called back.
I stepped off the bottom porch plank and walked across the drive to the corner of the hay wagon.
Travis paused for two seconds, holding a heavy alfalfa bale by the cord, his face red from the frost and the heavy work.
His lower jaw did not shift side to side. He looked straight into my eyes without flinching.
“I called Attorney Vance at seven this morning,” Travis said.
“You called him at home?” I asked.
“Told him to mail all original discharge agreements directly to your name,” Travis said. “Not to my seed office. Nothing stays hidden under a brass paperweight.”
“That is a start,” I said.
“I have thirty steel fence posts to set along the creek bottom,” Travis said. “The ground is not frozen too deep
