Lonny hesitated. "I Dunno, Handlebar." He glanced at the taxidermist. "Old Frank’s been right before."
"Old Frank don’t own that seven tine rack you admire so much." He tweaked the kid's nose.
The kid seemed to think about it.
Frank laughed; he couldn’t help it. "Handlebar, it isn’t hunting season. Now what do you think a game warden’s gonna say when he sees us outfitted like brigands?"
Handlebar stared at him. He was huge on staring. "Don' t worry about it, Frank." He headed for his truck.
Frank took a step after him. "We’re poaching, for god’s sake!"
Handlebar ignored him, kept walking. Lonny hesitated. He shifted from foot to foot.
"They're scarin’ up their own trouble, boy," said Frank. "Let 'em go.
But Lonny ran after them.
They gathered where the trucks were parked—Handlebar
