Elijandro clutched himself and stepped gingerly across the dirt yard until he stood shivering beside the Range Rover. The hills and the thick clouds above glowed in the orange flare from some distant lightning. Damp ozone floated on the small breeze. The new leaves on the lone willow tree shifted restlessly and the window hummed down, muffled now by the rumble of the approaching front. White teeth shone out at Elijandro, but the spade-cut smile and the familiar face of not the wife, but her husband and his boss, staggered him.

"You come good to the call," his boss said, grinning like a mask.

"The call?" Elijandro said.

"Like a tom turkey," the boss said, grinning, then clucking like a hen with a puck, puck, puck. "The sound of this Range Rover. The sound of my wife."

Elijandro stuttered until the boss interrupted.

"Screw her. Get your camo on, Ellie," he said. "Kurt said you put a flock to bed in the oaks out on Jessup's Knob and there was a big bird in with them. That right?"

Elijandro nodded eagerly and could see now that the boss wore camouflage from the neck down.

"Then let's go get his ass," the boss said. From the passenger seat he raised a bottle of Jack Daniel's and took a good slug before smacking the cork home with the palm of his hand.

Elijandro peered at the western sky. "Rain coming."

"So we'll get wet," the boss said. "Bird'll come to the call rain or shine. Lightning gets ' em excited. Go on."

Elijandro turned for the tenant house, scratching the stubble on his head, hopping barefoot through the stones, picking his way until he reached the porch.

The house had been built along with two dozen other shacks for migrant workers some sixty years ago.