About a half mile up, he paused to catch his breath. When he looked up, a tall, skinny woman of indeterminate age was standing in front of him with a squirrel rifle aimed straight for his head. Her long, messy hair was closer to gray than what bit of blond there was left. It had been braided into one big plait hanging over her shoulder, and she was wearing a raggedy red-plaid shirt and a pair of torn and baggy overalls.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he cried, and held up his hands.

“Are you the one responsible for that chopper flyin’ over my ’sang?” she asked.

Hoover groaned. People killed to keep their ginseng patches secret. All he could do was nod.

“What did you do?”

“Escaped from the state prison.”

“Did you kill anybody to get there?” she asked.

“No, no! I swear. I got caught with stolen property.”

She frowned. “The state police are after you?”

Hoover nodded.

“I don’t take to the state always bein’ in people’s business. See that path?”

Hoover peered into the brush and finally saw a faint trail.

“Yeah.”

“So you go ahead of me. I’ll be right behind you.”

Hoover started forward, then turned around to see what she was doing, and saw her shaking a few droplets on the path behind her as they went.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Deer urine. If the hounds are trailing your scent, this will confuse them. Now shut up and run.”

Hoover leaped forward, slashing through brush, pushing tree limbs aside to keep from getting hit in the face, and didn’t once look back until he ran out of tree cover and stopped.

“Stay in the trees as you circle the clearing. There’s a root cellar on the side of the house about ten feet from the brush. Open the door and go down. I’ll meet you from inside,” the woman said.

Hoover breathed a quick sigh of relief.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. I sure appreciate this,” he said and kept moving.

The moment he saw the cellar door, he darted out of the trees and raised the door, only to walk down into the darkest hole he’d ever seen. When he let the door back down, he began to freak.

“Oh shit. Something smells dead in here. What have I just gotten myself into?” he muttered.

He was at the point of going back up the stairs and running like hell, when a door opened. It was then he saw the stairs below it that led up into the house. He could see light and then the woman’s silhouette as she came downstairs with a flashlight and a glass of water.

“It smells a little rank down here, but I’m curing pelts and got a fresh one I’m still scraping on. Thought you might be thirsty,” she said.

“Oh, thanks,” Hoover said, and drank until the glass was empty.

She took the glass, then pointed the flashlight toward a dusty cot against the wall piled high with furs.