He’d been gone roughly an hour when she heard a shot in the distance, and the report made her start. It shouldn’t have been an unexpected sound, she reasoned, pausing in the midst of rolling out biscuit dough, given the fact that Scully had gone hunting. Still, guns were deadly implements; she’d seen what they could do to human flesh.

He could have encountered the wolf pack again, for instance, or run into a desperado, or a band of renegade Indians . . .

She rushed to a window, following the sound as best she could, but there was nothing to see. Just the timber, the scraps of melting snow, the mud.

Abigail, untroubled, was sitting on the hearth rug, trying to tie one of Evangeline’s handkerchiefs around the kitten’s middle, for a skirt. Hortense proved illusive. Eventually, she crawled into the pocket of Abigail’s pinafore and stayed there, either sleeping or hiding out.

As dusk came on, the wind rose, rattling the outside shutters and making the fire dance in the grate. Abigail lay on her side on the rug, watching the blaze, while Hortense, now wakeful, stood awkwardly on the little girl’s head. It reminded Evangeline a little of a circus tiger balancing on a ball, and despite her growing uneasiness, she had to smile.

The sound of a nickering horse sent Evangeline dashing back to the window, and there was Scully, hatless in the chill, bending low on the Appaloosa’s back. With a little cry, Evangeline rushed to the door and threw up the latch. The brisk wind hurled the door open, sending it crashing against the inside wall.

She ran across the narrow porch, the slippery brown grass, toward the shadow of man and horse. As she drew nearer, she saw the arrow protruding from Scully’s right shoulder. He managed to lever himself upright in the saddle, but even in the gloom Evangeline could see that his flesh was virtually colorless and his mouth was set in a grimace of pain.

“I got the turkey,” he said, and flung a sizable bird down at Evangeline’s feet.

“Damn the turkey,” she gasped. “You’re hurt. Get off the horse if you can, and I’ll help you inside the house.”

“Got to put the Appaloosa away for the night,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re barely conscious. For heaven’s sake, get down before you fall and make matters worse!”

He chuckled grimly. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”

“It’s perfectly obvious what happened,” Evangeline snapped.

“Me and this Indian, we had a disagreement over who ought to have this fool bird,” he said, as though she hadn’t spoken. “He was downright contrary about it, especially when you consider that he already had three of them.” He got down from the horse as requested, however, and staggered slightly when his feet made contact with the soft ground. The arrow protruded at a sickening angle against a sky shot through with darkness, and Evangeline could see the blood then, all over the back of his coat, drenching the saddle and the Appaloosa.