“Reckon I caught the tail end of that one. I was in a boxcar at the time. Kind of scared me. Thought the damn thing was gonna turn over. You hunting? A pistol ain’t the best for squirrels.”

“No. I’m not hunting.”

“Well, nice to meet you. If your daughter was awake I’d say nice to meet her. Storm bang you up like that?”

“It was a storm, all right.”

“My name’s Hillbilly.”

“Mine’s Sunset. Daughter’s name is Karen.”

“You sure got pretty hair. Your daughter’s got pretty hair too, but it ain’t the same as yours. Yours is fire, hers is a raven’s wing.”

“She got her daddy’s hair,” Sunset said.

“Reckon I’ll go on now, see if I can get that job.”

“You don’t look like a sawmill hand.”

“Ain’t. Just need work. I’m a musician. I sing and play guitar.”

“Where’s your guitar?”

“Got broken. I’m trying to make enough to buy me one.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. See you around?”

Sunset thought a moment. She really wasn’t sure about anything, but she said, “Yeah. I’ll be around. See me again, hope I’ll look better than I look now. I’m not normally this ugly.”

“And I’m not normally this dirty. But I’m always this ugly.”

She thought: False modesty. He knows he looks good.

Hillbilly tipped his hat. “Well, you take care now.”

And away he went.

The sun grew large and yellow as the yolk of a fresh egg, turned the air hot as a gasoline fire. The heat stuck in the woods like glue, became gummy, and the gum got all over God and creation.