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with you?
    Sheridan nodded again. Surely. About what?
    The young man coughed. My name is Pat Carroll. I was a student of Professor Smithson, you know, Duane Smithson. Sheridan nodded again, and Carroll continued, I studied history with him and I may go on and get a graduate degree at Boulder or somewhere in modern history and teach. Right now I’m interning at the Durango Herald, at least through the summer.
    Where you from? Sheridan asked.
    Well, my dad was involved in government, the young man said, and I’ve lived here, studied at Fort Lewis, for most of my life. He paused. I like it here. A lot.
    Sheridan nodded again. What exactly can I do for you, Mr. Carroll?
    Pat—Patrick, the young man said. I was wondering if I could talk to you about a story. For the paper. The Herald.
    What kind of story? Sheridan asked warily.
    It’s a kind of, I guess you’d say, a kind of profile, the young man said.
    Profile of what? Sheridan asked.
    The young man avoided Sheridan’s steady gaze. Well, it’s…it’s about…what I had in mind was to write something about…you.
    Sheridan shook his head. I don’t think so, but I appreciate the interest, he said. He turned to open the pickup door.
    The young man said, But Mr. Sheridan, I’ve read all the stories in our paper—
    Sheridan said, Well, as newspapers go, the Herald ’s not bad. But I’d encourage you not to believe everything you read. Ink and paper don’t make it so.
    I don’t mean to be pushy, Mr. Sheridan, the young man stuttered. But you’re interesting. You’ve had an interesting life. You’ve come up in conversations with Professor Smithson. You’ve had a really interesting life…but most people around here think you’re kind of a…a mystery of some kind. So, I thought—
    Let’s leave it a mystery, shall we? Sheridan said as he got in the truck. I like it that way.
    That Friday, he joined the group at the coffee shop, and after the usual survey of current gossip and world events, the professor took him aside. Dan, he said, I think you met my student, Patrick Carroll.
    I did indeed, Sheridan said. Was this “profile” idea his or yours?
    His, the professor said. All his. He’s very bright. Straight As. Besides, he’s actually the late Congressman Carroll’s son. And he’s quickly tired of covering the garden clubs and weddings and writing the obituaries. And he’s picked a few things up and—
    Sheridan shook his head vigorously. I liked old Congressman Carroll, and I was wondering if the young man might be junior. But even so, we don’t want to do that, Duane. Not now. Not never. You’ve got to tell him it’s just not going to happen. You understand. I know you understand.
    What if he stayed away from…you know…the bad part? the professor said.
    There’s no “bad part,” Sheridan said. There’s a complicated part. And for my money, it’ll stay complicated well after I’m six feet under up at the end of Florida Road. And then no one reading the Durango Herald or anything else is going to give a good damn. Matter of fact, they don’t give a good damn now. And you have to tell this young man, Mr. Carroll, that that’s a fact.
    He’s read all the old stories already, the professor said. You know, he went back into the Herald morgue—
    That’s the right name, Sheridan interrupted. Right where these old stories should stay.
    â€”and he says the stories at the time don’t make sense. He says that the whole thing stinks. Smithson studied Sheridan’s face. He says what happened was not right. It was unfair. I think Patrick even said it was unjust.
    Well, Duane—Sheridan looked away—stink or no stink, I’m not talking about it. That’s just the way it is…and that’s the way it’s gonna be. Why in the world would you or anyone else think I want to talk