THE SOUND OF the drops hitting my rain jacket seemed to echo in my ears as I sat against the soggy oak tree, the lightweight sycamore-and-marblewood recurve resting in my lap, my arrow fletchings ...
That morning had started out unremarkable like so many others. In the predawn, 79-year-old I.W. (Bill) Hearn drove his truck from his home in Daisy, a tiny town on the outskirts of Claxton in Evans ...
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