Published by Yearling
an imprint of
Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York

———— Chapter Three ———

“Ahh, see here, Dubs, what fate has provided for us …,” a deep, professorial-sounding voice boomed.

It was a dream, Francis was sure of it. It simply wasn’t possible that a human voice could be speaking and for a full five seconds he refused to open his eyes and lose the relaxing comfort of sleep.

“Come now, lad. Don’t be lazy. We have business afoot. Wake up.”

Francis opened his eyes.

At first it didn’t matter. The sun was full up and when his lids opened the brightness blinded him.

He blinked, let his eyes adjust, turned away from the sun and opened them again.

He was staring at the dead fire, or more accurately across the fire. There was a man sitting, squatting back on his haunches. He looked old to Francis, over forty, and was so heavily bearded Francis could not see his face for the hair.

But the clothing was more startling. The man was short, almost fat, and dressed in a black suit including a black vest, black boots, black trousers and black frock coat, and a full top hat on his head.

“See, Dubs, the lad awakens.” The man smiled—his teeth broken and jagged; a bit of tobacco juice oozed out the side of the lip into the beard and the lines around his black eyes did not match the smile.

Francis slid his hand toward the rifle. Or where the rifle had been. He could not find it.

“See, Dubs, even now he reaches for his weapon. A true child of the frontier.” The man spoke to somebody else—Francis couldn’t see anybody at first—but kept looking at Francis. The smile widened. Like a snake getting ready to hiss. A hair snake. “I have your rifle—and a nice piece it is, too.”

“What … who are you?” Francis at last found words. “What are you doing here?”

“Exactly!” The man nodded, waved a filthy finger. “That’s exactly what I said, wasn’t it, Dubs—when we came upon the lad, didn’t I say just that? We came over the hill at dawn and I saw you sleeping there and saw your horse and I turned to Dubs and whispered—so as not to disturb your slumbers—and I said: Who is this, and what is he doing here?”

Francis sat up, or tried to. Something heavy, like warm iron, descended on his head and shoulders and pressed him back down. He swiveled his head back and saw that he was looking at a giant—a true giant. It was a man in crude buckskins, so large he seemed to blot out the sun, and Francis saw that the giant had put a hand down to keep him on the blanket.