“Anin, Corcoran O’Connor,” Meloux said.

“Anin, Henry.” Cork moved around the fire nearer to Meloux. “You know there’s a ban on open fires, even on rez land.”

The old man stared at him as calmly as did the dog. “You are a born policeman, Corcoran O’Connor. Even when you are no longer paid for it, you tend to the law. If you want to arrest me, I won’t resist. If not, then how about you hand me that cedar branch there.” He nodded toward a pile of cut wood and branches nestled against the rock outcropping.

Cork handed Meloux the cedar branch. Stevie stayed near his father, shadowing Cork’s every move.

The old mide added the branch to the fire and followed the embers upward with his watchful eyes. “I see that you have brought with you a little Corcoran O’Connor.”

“This is Stephen. You probably saw him last when he was just about the size of a muskrat. Stevie, this is Henry Meloux.”

“Come, Stephen O’Connor. Sit with me.” Meloux patted the ground between him and the old hound.

Stevie looked up at Cork, who nodded his okay. The boy sat, and the hound lifted his head and nuzzled Stevie’s hand. His tail swept the dirt behind him.

“Can I pet him?” Stevie asked.

“I think he would like that.”

“What’s his name?”

“I have always called him Walleye.”

“Hi, Walleye,” Stevie said, stroking the dog’s yellow fur. “Hi, boy.”

Meloux watched the boy, and a broad smile added creases to his face as he spoke to Cork. “The blood of the People is strong in this one.”