He put Walker in the pen and found some corn for him in a wooden barrel beneath the shed. The trip had drawn the horse down some; he had traveled hard and had not had time to graze enough. Well, James had no plans now. He would stay here a few days to let the horse rest. Eli had been a good friend to the Lewises; he would have approved.

Wearily, James walked to the cabin, looking up at the chimney but seeing no sign of smoke. He had held onto the squirrels whose demise had attracted the soldiers. They would make him a good supper.

Rounding the corner of the cabin, he was startled to see a man standing there, waiting for him. James’s hands tightened on his rifle until he recognized the face and the voice.

Sly Shipman said sarcastically, “I thought you was fixin’ to bring them soldiers on over here. They ain’t quite the kind of company I need.”

James recovered quickly from his surprise. After all, this was Shipman’s cabin, informally inherited from Eli Pleasant. At least his claim on it was probably as good as anybody’s. He tried to match Shipman’s sarcasm. “I expect they’ve chased you across that river aplenty of times.”

Shipman did not try to answer the comment. “I never expected to see you again, James Lewis. I figured some-body’d've shot you before now.”

“You’re always figurin’, and figurin’ wrong.”

“What did you do to get the soldiers after you? Did you punch Sergeant Díaz in the face or somethin’?”

Shipman listened to the explanation with more sympathy than James had expected. The young smuggler asked, “What you goin’ to do now? Fugitive or not, a man has got to eat.”

“I brought two squirrels for supper.”

“I’m figurin’ farther down the road than just supper. I’m figurin’ next week and next winter and on past that.”

“I ain’t had time to sort things out. Gettin’ to this side of the river was my main worry. Now that I’m here, I’ll have to figure what my next step is goin’ to be.”

Shipman studied him until James became uneasy under the young man’s solemn gaze. He felt that Shipman was looking through him plumb to the gizzard.

Shipman said, “I know me and you didn’t get along very good when we met before. We may not get along good now, because it strikes me that you still jump first and think about it later. But I could use some help, if you’d like to join up with me.”

“Doin’ what?” James asked, though he knew well enough what Shipman’s business was.

“Handlin’ merchandise. Bein’ a merchant to the people. Whatever needs sellin’, we sell. Whatever needs buyin’, we buy.”

“Smugglin’, you mean?”

Shipman grimaced. “I was right. You ain’t changed a bit. If I had any sense I wouldn’t even ask you.”

“But you did ask me, and I’ve got nothin’ better to do.”

Shipman nodded, the matter settled. “Now, you said somethin’ about some squirrels?”