It was at just that moment that Tim burst in, shouting: “A boat!” then stopped aghast. He backed out quickly. I dried off and threw on my clothes and went to the window.

Yes, there was a boat—far out. But it did not seem to be coming in our direction. That was strange.

I called Tim in and we both watched out the window. The distant boat appeared to have one man in it, and he was rowing from left to right, perhaps half a mile out. Just as he was about to pass out of sight, he paused in his course, then slowly the boat turned toward the cabin.

“That is very odd,” I said. “It was as if he were going somewhere else and only at the last moment saw this cabin.”

“Or maybe the smoke from the fire.”

“Well, anyway help is on the way,” I said. “Quick, fetch some more water. We must have some hot coffee waiting for our visitor.”

There was plenty of time to brew the coffee, for it took the distant boat some twenty minutes to make shore. He was a large man, wearing a black overcoat which did not seem to be very well suited for the woods. He had a hard time tying up the boat. Obviously he didn’t know this landing.

“Tim,” I said, clutching his arm, “I don’t like this. Listen to what I say and agree with everything, no matter how strange it sounds.”

“But I don’t—”

“Don’t argue!”

I rushed to the door and threw it open just as the man was reaching for the latch.

“Oh,” I said, putting disappointment into my voice. “We thought you were our daddy.”

Close up, our visitor was not an appealing sight. His face was covered with a thick beard. It was not a neat, trimmed beard, but the kind a hobo lets run rampant.

The man looked around the cabin. “Where is your daddy?” he asked.

“He went out this morning to run the trap line,” I said.

Without another word, the man stepped inside, tracking wet snow on my clean floor. “Alone?” he asked.

I improvised. “Oh, no. My Uncle Pete was with him. They ought to be back pretty soon if you want to wait.”

He saw the shotgun hanging on the wall and went right over to it. “Where is the ammunition for this scattergun?”

“There isn’t any,” I said.

He scowled. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”

“You shut up talking like that to her!” Tim yelled.

Without even turning, the big man backhanded Tim up against the wall. It hurt, I could tell, but he blinked back the tears.

“What have you got to eat around here?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“You lie to me once more, little lady,” he warned, “and I’ll make you sorry.”

“I meant there’s nothing cooked. I had it in mind to fix something up for my father and Uncle Pete. Do you want to wait?”