AN ACT OF FAITH

with a bang. At least as much of a bang as a .22 pistol can make in a canyon smothered by fog. Of the gun I recall nothing beyond its barrel. Nor, oddly enough, do I recall the fish, except that it was a winter run. Seven pounds, a bit more in the telling. But the executioner, that man I remember. He had sandy hair, a pencil mustache, and a right cheek that twitched. He was the friend of a friend and