Everyone in town loves the old senile man who's in office. I guess the small town's residents feel sympathetic or something. That or this just proves that Mayoral elections are just a popularity contest for a small city. He's been mayor for almost forty-five years now... No one wants to oppose him. Probably it was some stupid thing half a century ago that these hicks hold of value. Maybe he pulled a cat out of a tree or something.
Point is, when I see him looking at me through the bars, all I can think about is "Why is he holding a map, compass and backpack? Does he want to go hiking to "reassess" my values as some old traditional way of handling delinquents?" Who knows how these Indian reservationists work.
"Go away, old man." But he doesn't. He takes a seat on a nearby bench and looks right at me.
"You know, River, I was hoping you'd help an old man out."
"I ain't doin' no spirit walk with you, Tucker," I said, sitting up. "And," I say, "You can go to whatever hell the Dakota or Cherokeeor whatever you people have, because I'm in the right. I had a licence for that bow. I have a hunting licence-"
"But not on Indian grounds, you don't," he interrupted. "And you didn't leave a proper offering for the spirits that wander through our mountains, either."