From his shirt pocket, Cork took a pack of Lucky Strikes and handed them to the old man. Meloux accepted, opened the pack, and drew out a cigarette. He held the others toward Cork, who took one for himself. Meloux thrust the end of a stick into the fire and when it was burning, he held the flame to the tip of his cigarette. He passed the stick to Cork, who did the same. For a few minutes, they smoked in silence. Stevie had been right. Cork had given up cigarettes. But the smoking now had nothing to do with an old habit.

“Why the illegal fire, Henry?” Cork finally asked. “It’s hot enough already I can fry burgers on the pavement.”

“Cedar fire,” Meloux pointed out. “There’s anger in the air.”

“And you think one cedar fire will clear it away?”

“Can it do any harm?”

“It could burn down what’s left of the forest.”

“I have been a tender of fires for nearly two of your lifetimes, Corcoran O’Connor. Fire and me, we are old allies. Stephen.” The old man leaned toward the boy. “Do you know your father has another name?”

“Liam,” Stevie replied, looking pleased that he knew the answer.

“His father and mother gave him that name. But I gave him another when he was no bigger than you.”

“What?”

“Ickode. It means fire. He tried to burn down his grandfather’s school on the reservation.”

“It was an accident, Henry,” Cork said.

“Do I have another name?” Stevie looked at the old man eagerly.

“If you were given one, it was not by me.”

Stevie’s eyes swung to his father.

“No, buddy,” Cork said. He could see the disappointment on his son’s face.

“Let me sleep on it,” Meloux offered. “Let me see what comes to me in dreams, Stephen. When next we meet, I will have a name for you.”

Stevie brightened and returned his attention to Walleye.

Cork sat on the ground to the right of Meloux. “Henry, I came to ask you about Charlie Warren. You know what happened at Lindstrom’s mill.”