When the 10 of us sit down to chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy back in camp, we go around the table reporting on the day's events. My account—three shots, three misses, standing does, close range, no obstructions—induces a profound silence around the Formica. Having just met, we do not yet know one another well enough to offer the insults and abuse by which men traditionally bestow comfort upon one another. But Marum sees this situation routinely and knows what to do. He clears his throat and says, "Could you pass the gravy, dead-eye? I mean, if you think you can do it and chew your chicken at the same time."