“I see, but what I want to know is what’s that thing in your other hand.”

He lifted it up by the long thin curling tail.  Whatever it was woke from its stupor and began hissing wildly, snapping at the air with sharp pointy teeth.

“Possum.  I found him in a tree.  Do you cook them?”

“Some do, but not me.  They’re strange.”

“I’ll throw him back then.”  He went out into the brush and did just that.

The day grew hotter as the sun rose.  Chace took it upon himself to pluck and singe the ducks, gut them, cut off their heads and feet.  She found it almost hard to watch how expertly he handled a knife.

Charlotte sat under a tree with her book.  When her skin became dewy with perspiration and the hair next to her scalp grew damp, she couldn’t take it any longer.

“I have to,” she said.  She unbuttoned her shirt, took it off and wiped her face with it.  The camisole was cover enough, just regrettably an undergarment rather than an outer garment.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it before.  He made no comment.

“Two days, I think,” he said, “and then we should be moving on.”  She glanced up in surprise.

“Why?  Are you restless?  Have you had enough?”  She wondered what he did when he was alone.  Did he keep on the move all day every day?  And if he did, then why?  What was he heading toward, or away from?

“No.  That’s not it.”  He had piled the feathers on the chopping board.

“Can I have one?”

“You can have all of them.”

“Just one.  To keep.”

“We’ve been here a while now,” he said.

She put down the book.  “That’s not the answer.”

“Somebody went by yesterday.  Across the creek and up north some.  Not close, but close enough.”

“More members of the tribes wanting to buy women?”

“No, I’d say someone white, the horse had shoes.  And more careful than those.  Someone going slow and thinking about things.  Just not thinking right yet.”

“You have an opinion as to who this person might be, I’m guessing.”

“The wagon train should be past Fort Randall and up into the mountains by now.”

She tried to track where he was going, and then she knew.  “Tobias would’ve got the letter.”

“How well do you know him?”

“Not at all.  I can hardly remember anything.  That’s why my going to him is so strange.”

“Would he come looking for you?”