Confident that nothing had been disturbed, he continued on to the clearing and stepped down from the saddle. The only change he could see was the grass in the clearing, which was almost a foot high. He stood there for a few minutes, inspecting the outside of his cabin, thinking about any work that needed to be done to ready it for the coming winter. The cabin, itself, was sound. His main concern was the stone fireplace and chimney. There was some work to be done there to replace some of the chinking between the stones. At last, he had some time to work on it, thanks to Harvey Meade. He was going to have to do some hunting, too—lay in enough meat to last him a winter. He had coffee and flour in the packs he picked up, and salt and sugar, too. “I think we’re all right for a while,” he announced to Rascal, as he loosened the cinch and pulled his saddle off. “Okay, you’re home now, so start eatin’ some of this grass.” That reminded him that he would need to go to Big Timber and buy some grain for his horses. Rascal promptly walked back to the rough shed that served as his stable. After relieving the sorrel of his packs, he looked in his saddlebags to find the key to the padlock. “Now we’ll see what kinda critters are livin’ inside.” When he brought his saddle and packs in, he discovered that a raccoon had taken up residence inside. I knew I should have fixed that hole by the back door, he thought. It was on his list of things to do. Backed into a corner near the fireplace, the critter bared its teeth and hissed. “That ain’t very polite,” Hawk said, “when I’m fixin’ to invite you to breakfast.” He pulled his .44 handgun and shot the raccoon. That’ll be a change in my diet, he thought. Didn’t think I’d have breakfast waiting for me when I got here.

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