His arm felt numb and he must have closed his eyes. He didn’t see the club come at him again, he was guarding his head, and the goddamn thing whacked solid against his left knee. There was nothing to do then but rush the son of a bitch and he took another good one, stinging across his left shoulder, before he got in close and got both hands on the heavy tree branch and felt it hard and round and the bark coarse in his hands, straining against it to take it away from Ryan and then seeing Ryan’s face right in front of his, the face tight and straining, looking right into his eyes.

“You’re through now, boy,” Bob Jr. said, and barely finished saying it as Ryan’s left fist came off the tree branch and jabbed straight into his face.

For Ryan it was right now-as Bob Jr. went back and his face was raised and open-take it right now quick was all he could think of, now while he was pressing and had him, and he jabbed his left straight into the face again, staying with the guy as he went back, jabbing with the left and jabbing a right to the face, setting it up and now, right now, coming in with the long left hand from behind his shoulder, hitting solid, feeling it all the way up his arm and seeing the guy stumble back with blood coming out of his nose, but God-and it was an awful feeling, the worst feeling you can have-the guy didn’t go down.

He let go of the tree branch and stood there, his face bloody, looking at Ryan, breathing, getting his breath, wiping his hand across his mouth. Ryan brought up his guard as Bob Jr. came at him, his arms already heavy and tired.

Nancy took time to pour herself a little Cold Duck and she sipped it while she watched them hit each other. Bob Jr. was bigger, in fact Jackie looked sort of frail next to him, but he had drawn blood first and Bob Jr. was a mess, blood all over his mouth and down the front of his checkered shirt. He didn’t seem to care, though. She watched him move in, taking Ryan’s jabs on his shoulder, then another good one-wow-right in the mouth, but this time he didn’t stop, he came in swinging that big right fist and slammed it into Ryan’s face. It must have stunned him; he hesitated and Bob hit him again and again until Ryan dropped to his knees.

That’s it, Nancy thought. Pretty good while it lasted. She was surprised when Ryan came up, very slowly at first; then, before Bob Jr. knew it, Ryan was swinging at him. He got him hard in the face and for a moment they stood close, both swinging at each other with everything they had. Until Ryan dropped.

He went to his hands and knees, his head down, and this time he didn’t try to get up. God, his hands hurt, and his mouth. He wanted to touch his mouth and his jaw, but he was afraid if he raised either hand from the ground, he’d fall on his face. The guy could stand there if he wanted; Ryan decided he wasn’t getting up anymore.

But the guy wasn’t standing there. Ryan turned his head to the side and the guy was sitting down just a few feet away with his head back, looking up at the sky with his eyes closed and pressing a handkerchief to his nose.

Ryan rolled over to a sitting position. God, his shoulders hurt too. He sat there looking at the guy and finally he said, “That’s not the way to do it.”

Bob Jr. opened his eyes and looked over at Ryan.

“That doesn’t stop it,” Ryan said.

“Yeah,” Bob Jr. said in his handkerchief. “You put your head back.”

“That’s a lot of crap,” Ryan said. “You blow your nose and then hold it, pinch it, with your head forward.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Everybody thinks you put your head back,” Ryan said, “but you don’t, you put it forward. Go on.”

Bob Jr. leaned forward and the blood dripped out on the ground as he took his handkerchief away.

“Go on, blow it,” Ryan said. He watched him to see if he did it right.

After about a minute Bob Jr. said, “I never seen so much blood since I dressed a buck I shot right here last fall.” His voice was nasal and muffled in the handkerchief.

“There’s a lot of deer in the woods here?”

“A lot? You go look at the game trails going down to that lake where they water.”

“I never been hunting.”

“This buck I got, I walked up from the road and he was standing here waiting.”

“What’d you use?”

“I use different guns. That time I had me an old O-three, I mean old, but the son of a bitch’d shoot from here to Holden.”

“This guy Walter Majestyk,” Ryan said, “he was talking about a lodge up here.”

“You know him?”

“I work for him.”

“Hey,” Nancy said. She was still in the car. “Is this the intermission or what?”

Ryan looked at Bob Jr. “I’m going to get in that car and drive out of here. You got any objections?”

Bob Jr. said, “What do I care what you do?”

He was still sitting there when they left.

Neither of them spoke until they were down out of the woods and moving along the back road to the migrant camp. He could feel her watching him and finally he said, “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“That wasn’t very nice, trying to blame me.” Nancy sat against her door, watching him. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hit in the face.”

“You don’t look so bad. Here.” She handed him her glass and watched him finish it, holding the wine in his mouth and letting it burn before swallowing it. His teeth felt sore and loose in his jaw; when he worked it, he could hear a clicking sound close to his ear. His hands hurt and they looked awful from hitting the guy in the face after he’d started bleeding. Nancy took the glass from him and he held the steering wheel low with one hand. Up ahead he saw a group of pickers coming out of the field, several of them walking along the side of the road and looking back as they heard the car coming.

“It settles one thing,” Ryan said.

“What?”

“I’m not going in that hunting lodge. I don’t care how much is in there.”

Nancy stared straight ahead through the windshield; she was in no hurry. Looking at Ryan finally, she said, “I knew you were going to say that. I didn’t know when or how you’d say it, but I knew you would.”

“Well, you’re smarter than I am,” Ryan said, “because I just found out.”

“No, you didn’t. You might have thought you were going to rob the place,” Nancy said, “but you never would. I thought you might change, but you haven’t. You’re a small-time breaking and entering man, Jackie. That’s all you are. You can dream about taking fifty thousand, but you’d never do it.”

“Look,” Ryan said, “he saw us up there. The police say to him, ‘Did you see anybody around the place the last few days?’ And right away he remembers us. He remembers me and he starts to put things together.”

“You’re a little upset,” Nancy said.

“You bet I am.”

“You’re mad because you think I provoked the fight.”

“That’s something else,” Ryan said.

“But the point is, Bob seeing us doesn’t prove anything.”

“I’m not going to give it a chance to,” Ryan said.

“We’ll talk about it later, after I’ve cleaned you up. How does that sound?”

“I don’t see there’s anything to talk about.”

They were coming up on the pickers now, who were edging back from the shoulder of the road to let the car pass. As they approached them Ryan said, “Put the glass on the floor.”

Frank Pizarro came into the light of the shed doorway after the car had passed and stood looking at the dust hanging in the air. Billy Ruiz was on the other side of the road; he had come out of the field, crossed the ditch and stood at the edge of the road gazing after the car; now he crossed over to the shed.

“That looked like Jack,” he said.

“Sure it was,” Pizarro said. “Showing us his car and his little chickie.”

“I wave to him,” Billy Ruiz said, “but he was already by me.”

“He saw you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“He saw you,” Pizarro said. “He saw all of us.”