March 1903: I woke up at Oakcliff Pond, near the camp, and that night Stridge, who was in charge of the sentry, found me drunk in alfalfa—something she had been laughing at for a long time. Scotch whisky made me sleep for a day and a night, and in all this time, I don't know how Maria got me here. One thing is for sure, she couldn't have dragged me that far on her own, someone must have helped her, and I don't think it matters if I know who it is or not.

When the gang asked me about the reason for my coma, I couldn't help but hide Maria from her and the trivia about her. The whiskey was like a magic potion that made me forget everything that happened in the cave, and I only remembered the warning to stay away from the Indians. When I remember everything about Maria, my mind is full of these words, as if this is the only memory I have of a woman in a secluded cave.

As time went on, doubts and suspicions were inevitable, and I began to ponder the deeper meaning of this warning, to consider whether our neighbours were about to befall something, and after much reflection and consideration, I decided to temporarily relocate the camp to a hill near Oakreef Pond, not far from the reservation......

Self-consciously told me that Maria Milley could be trusted, but the mystery she showed always gave me chills.

March 15, Oakreef Pond Temporary Camp:

The Pine Cone Trail is as quiet as ever, with the occasional crushing of branches by raccoons and marmots and the clatter of pine cones falling on leaves near the Veteran's Farm.

Unusual for the usual aroma, a strong scent fills the surrounding space, following the smell through the woods to a higher ground, where you can see a group of people sitting on a horseshoe-shaped terrace, surrounded by edible weeds...... The aroma eventually converges on a pot of truffle soup boiled over a charcoal fire, which William Kingson notes is delicious and fresh and non-toxic, but Mr. Fowler throws down his chopsticks and casts a disdainful look at the yellow foam tumbling in the iron pot.

"I can't promise that all of you will miss the days with bluegill sunfish, but I've never resisted the juicy flesh. There's a lake right here, so catching some fish shouldn't be a problem. ”

As soon as this remark came out, many gang members nodded in agreement, they had eaten a lot of venison with a bad taste with the Indians in the past, and everyone's taste needed to be improved, and John knew this.

After receiving the approval of the majority, Mr. Fowler looked at John, and at the same time brought the eyes of the gang members to John, as if to ask for the latter's consent, even if it was not necessary at all. John looked in the direction of the pool and nodded reluctantly, a little embarrassed.

After a short break for lunch, John got up and walked to Mr. Fowler's tent, and saw that he was busy putting the folding rod and metal lure in his fanny pack, and it seemed that the old fellow had caught a fish, but John did not think that Mr. Fowler had come up with the idea of fishing for the sake of delicious fish—he was not that kind of person.

"I guess you didn't call me fishing to improve my food."

Mr. Fowler stopped what he was doing, the wrinkles on his forehead moved, and the corners of his mouth showed relief: "Of course not, I have heard that this waterhole is inhabited by a very precious fish, but don't be frightened by its name—the Great Tyrant Fish." ”

"When did you become so interested in rare fish, this is not the Mr. Fowler I know."

"I was looking for an answer to this question, and at first I thought that taking up a hobby would mask the reality of aging, but then I realized that I might as well find something like fishing that would make me happy."

"I thought you were depressed lately." John smacked his lips.

"I don't deny that, one can find the opportunity to relax in one's hustleness, and I can also find pleasure in depression. Right now...... Fishing is a good medicine for depression, and you are the doctor. ”

"Then I'd like to find a reason for refusing to heal you."

Liam Fowler didn't say anything more, but clenched his fists and pounded his thin waist lightly, and then took an incredible step forward, and John seemed to vaguely see the healthy and strong Mr. Fowler.

John and the others descended the trail, past dense fir forests on both sides of the dirt road. The sound of insects from the depths of the forest drew bursts of joy in John's ears, as if bathed in a grand symphony.

Soon, they came to the vicinity of the Veterans' Farm, where they did not know the owner of the farm, and were not even sure if it was inhabited. They recognized the name by a scorched earth-colored plaque hanging from the beams of the house.

"If we can ...... with that boat," said Mr. Fowler, noticing a canoe by the Oaklief Pool, and then finding the door of the veteran's house open, he smiled wickedly at John, "but while there is no one...... Let's take a look in the house. ”

Mr. Fowler looked at the colorful fish specimens hanging on the wall, like a connoisseur admiring a long-lost painting in an ancient castle, and did not forget to say a few nice words from time to time. John was not interested in the stuffing of his body, and he saw a few pendants hanging from the window, and on the hooks at the end of the threads hung crystal-like lumps of red and yellow, like wind chimes shining in the sun.

"It's a bait made from diced vegetables, which is much more delicate than ours." Mr. Fowler turned his face at some point.

John whistled and reached out to take them off.

"Don't touch those things, boy!"

A deep voice suddenly came from outside the house, and then a man with long gray hair jumped into the house at a rapid pace.

The man was about the same age as Mr. Fowler, and John saw that his right leg was empty, with a knot at the knee. The strange man stood sideways in the doorway, as if he didn't want to let John and Fowler go easily, but John was not worried. The blue hoodie on the man's body had several holes, and it was still obvious that it was the militia uniform of a certain state, and with his one-legged legs, John could vaguely guess the man's identity.

The veteran leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded in front of his chest: "It's really not polite to take other people's things casually. ”

John couldn't find the words to respond for a moment: "I thought there was no master here." ”

The old soldier stiffened his face, and the beard under his nose parted his lips like a broom: "My prosthetic limb was taken away by a fox, and two strangers came and turned my house upside down. ”

This time Mr. Fowler preempted John and said, "We just saw diced carrots hanging on the wall, the great tyrant fish in the vicinity...... It seems to prefer this bait. ”

Although it was not so obvious, the tense flesh on the veteran's face relaxed a little: "So you want to catch that big fish, I have seen many people come with all kinds of fishing rods, and in the end they all come back in a huff. I'll correct you, these dried baits are not diced carrots, but fake bait coated with a layer of resin, and I'm the only one who can catch a fish...... Unfortunately, my prosthetic leg is still in the mouth of some brute. ”

Hearing this, Mr. Fowler looked at the bait in front of the window and lifted his chin, as if planning a big event, "If that's the case, give us the bait, and we can catch this fish for you, and ......" Mr. Fowler continued without avoiding the questioning gaze of his companions...... This fish belongs to you as compensation for trespassing in your private house. ”

"You said it yourself." The veteran's tone was both surprised and delighted.

"In a word, I am fortunate to have met someone with the same hobby, my name is Liam Fowler, can you tell me your name?"

"This paradise has a lot of enthusiasts, just call me Hamish."

After the three met, Hamish showed a very different enthusiasm than before, he removed the fake bait hanging from the door and stuffed it into John's hand, and then turned and pulled out a snakeskin bag from the window, pointing out that it contained fishing gear that could be used at will. In the end, Hamish agreed to the two using his boat.

The trio pushed the stranded canoe into the water together, and John jumped on board and sat down in the oars. Mr. Fowler winked at Hamish, and then sat down on the beam in the bow of the boat.

John held the oars and pushed the water away, the shafts of the wooden oars creaking because they had not been turned for a long time, and the two triangular white waves receded.

"Alright, let's stop."

Mr. Fowler took the rod in his right hand and tossed it lightly, and the spider-silk line spilled out and landed exactly where he had predetermined, around a weed in the middle of the lake.

"My bait is only used as bait to attract trash fish, and the congregated schools of fish will lead to the big tyrantfish, but what really deserves the attention of this big guy is the special lure that looks like a diced carrot not far away - that is, your bait, which will bite you if nothing else."

Before Mr. Fowler's command could be given, John swung his rod and threw it forward. Unfortunately, the float landed in the middle of a staggered clump of algae, and Mr. Fowler frowned at this.

"Learn to cast the rod a few more times before the bait bites."

Bit his lip, John carefully recycled the line, trying to avoid a fight between the line and the aquatic weeds.

"John, we've been hiding for a while."

"I know, but the fish hasn't bitten yet."

"I don't mean that, I'm saying we've been hiding in the mountains and forests long enough."

"But the gang can't get out of the way. We are like fish in this pond, and we don't know how many detectives are eyeing us outside. ”

John ...... You know, we're in the driver's seat, and I'm not worried about you're getting upset, but as a gang leader, you can't see the situation just as dangerous. ”

"I'm just skeptical......"

John was about to explain when the rod in his hand was suddenly jerked......