“Aw, quit yer yappin’, Mackey,” the gruff voice rumbled against the patter of rain on the tin roof.

“Jolly, I’m just sayin’ that she was…” whined a response from behind a sweeping spotlight.

Mackey checked his scope for the umpteenth time, “I gotta bat you on the nose or somethin’? She’s Eli’s girl, end of story.”

Thunder boomed from behind thick clouds causing both men to flinch. Mackey backed from his light and paced a small circle in their rickety guard tower, “But I know what I seen. Jolly, she was bird-doggin’ you, sure as shootin’.”

“Yer wrong. Now get back on the light and hit that Poplar where the road bends, would ya.”

“Fine,” he muttered returning to his duty, “but shee-oot, she’s got the looks to make a man howl. And those legs…”

“Mackey,” Jolly scolded definitively, “All these trees out here, ya know, and why you gotta be barkin’ up the wrong one all night?”

The rain consumed their silence. Mackey’s beam of light returned to its swaying course, but the trees yielded no answers.