head. When he saw Pederson wave at me, he threw a panicked look into the woods but didn't stop talking. Pederson seemed to be ignoring him. He gunned the snowmobile's engine, then said something short to Jacob and pointed down at the snow in front of them.
What happened next happened very quickly.
Jacob took a step toward the old man, reared back, and gave him a wide, swinging blow to the side of his head. Pederson fell sideways, his body collapsing onto the edge of the road, absolutely lifeless, his left leg still draped partway over the seat, his rifle slipping from his shoulder. Jacob lost his footing on the follow-through, tumbled over the back of the snowmobile, and landed directly on top of the old man.
Mary Beth started to bark.
Jacob struggled to raise himself off Pederson's body. His gloves slipped in the snow; he couldn't seem to regain his feet. He'd lost his glasses when he fell, and, still lying there, he patted his hands around him in the snow until he found them. Then he put them on and started struggling upward again. When he finally made it to his knees, he paused, resting for a moment before, with what looked like a superhuman effort, he rose to his feet.
The snowmobile's engine continued to idle, a deep, steady rumble. The dog cautiously approached Jacob from the center of the road. He gave his tail a slow, hesitant wag.
Jacob stood there, motionless. He touched his face with his glove, took his hand away to stare at it, then put it back.
All this time, I hadn't moved. I'd stood there frozen, watching in horror. Even now I only partly shook myself free. I took a single step toward the road.
Jacob leaned back and kicked the old man. He kicked him twice, with all his strength, once in the chest and once in the head. After that he stopped. He put his hand up to his face and turned to look toward me.
Mary Beth started to bark again.
'Oh, Jacob,' I said, very quietly, as though speaking to myself. Then I began to run, moving quickly through the snow toward my brother.
JACOB stood there, his glove covering his mouth and nose, watching me approach.
The snowmobile's engine was making a coughing sound, threatening to stall, and the first thing I did when I reached the road was bend down and turn it off.
Jacob was crying. This was something I hadn't seen since we were children, and it took me a second to accept that it was actually happening. He wasn't sobbing, wasn't weeping, there was nothing violent or dramatic about it, he was simply seeping tears; they moved slowly down his cheeks, his breath coming a little more quickly than usual, coming with a certain shakiness to it, a trembling and hesitation. His nose was bleeding -- he'd banged it falling on top of Pederson -- and now he was pinching his nostrils shut between two of his fingers.
I glanced down at the old man. He was lying on his side, his left leg still propped up on the snowmobile's seat. He was dressed in jeans and black rubber boots. His orange jacket was hitched up around his waist; I could see his belt, thick and dark brown, and above it an inch of thermal underwear. Jacob had knocked off his hat when he hit him, revealing a sparse head of long, gray hair, dirty looking, oily. An orange wool scarf covered most of his face. I could see where Jacob had kicked him, right above the left ear. There was a dull red scrape there, around which his skin was already beginning to darken into a bruise.
Mary Beth stopped barking finally. He came up and sniffed at Jacob's boots for a second, then moved off into the center of the road.
I crouched over Pederson's body. I took off my glove and held my hand against his mouth. He didn't seem to be breathing. I put my glove back on and stood up.
'He's dead, Jacob,' I said. 'You've killed him.'
'He was tracking the fox,' Jacob said, stuttering a bit. 'It's been stealing his chickens.'
I rubbed my face with my hand. I wasn't sure what I ought to do. 'Jesus, Jacob. How could you do this?'
'He would've gone right by the plane. He would've found it.'
'It's all over now,' I said, feeling my chest begin to tighten in anger. 'You've ruined it for us.'
We both stared down at Pederson.
'They're going to send you to jail for this,' I said.
He gave me a panicked look. His glasses were wet from the snow. 'I had to do it.' He sobbed. 'We would've been caught.'
His eyes glittered, small and wild in the white, doughy expanse of his face; his cheeks were damp with tears. He was terrified, bewildered, and, seeing him like that, my anger collapsed, immediately replacing itself with a rush of pity. I could save him, I realized, my older brother, I could reach down and pluck him out of this trouble, and in the process I'd save myself, too.
I glanced quickly up and down the road. It was empty.
'Have any cars gone by?' I asked.
He didn't seem to understand. He took his hand away from his nose, wiped at the tears on his cheeks. Blood was smeared across the skin above his upper lip, giving him a comical appearance, as if he were wearing a fake mustache.
'Cars?' he said.
I gestured impatiently at the road. 'Have any passed? While I was in the park?'
He stared off into the distance. He thought for a second, then shook his head. 'No. Nothing.' He put his hand back over his nose.
I glanced across the road, toward Pederson's farm. The house was very small and far away. I thought I could see smoke rising from its chimney, but I couldn't tell for sure. The snowmobile's tracks headed off straight down the center of the field, running parallel to the fox's.
'What do we do now?' Jacob asked. He was still crying a little, and he turned away from me, pretending to stare at Mary Beth, to hide it. The dog was sitting in the middle of the road.
'We'll make it look like an accident,' I said. 'We'll drive him away from here and make it look like a snowmobile accident.'
Jacob gave me a frightened look.
'It's all right,' I said. 'We can get away with this.' For some reason seeing him panic made me all the more calm. I felt confident, completely in control.
'They'll follow the tracks,' he said. 'They'll come here and they'll see our tracks and they'll follow them to the plane.'
'No. A storm's coming.' I waved at the sky, which, despite what I was saying, was continuing to clear. I ignored this, bullying my way forward. 'Any minute now it'll start snowing, and all of this'll be covered up.'
Jacob frowned, as if ready to disagree, but he didn't say anything. He brought his hand back up to his face, and I saw the blood smeared on his glove.
'You didn't get blood on him, did you?'
'Blood?'
I crouched beside Pederson, inspecting his clothes. There was a dark brown smear on the shoulder of his jacket. I scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed at the stain. Only a little bit came off.
Jacob watched me, a look of resignation on his face. 'It's not going to work, Hank,' he said. 'We're going to get caught.'
I continued to rub at the blood. 'This isn't a big deal. It's not something people'll notice.'
He held his hand out in front of him, stared down at his glove. 'You said it's worse than fingerprints,' he said, his voice taking on a quickness, a jagged quality.
'Jacob,' I said firmly. 'Calm down.' I stood up and touched him on his arm. 'All right? We can do this if we stay calm.'
'I killed him, Hank.'
'That's right,' I said, 'but it's done. Now we have to deal with it. We have to cover it up so you don't get caught.'
He shut his eyes. He put his hand back over his nose.
I realized that I had to get him away. I pulled the car keys out of my pocket. 'You're going to take Mary Beth
