It was Saturday, late morning, when Charlie began coaxing Maria to begin packing the grocery box. So far, there were two

jars of jam, one of apple, one of pear; eggs; some of Maria's rolls; and potatoes.

When Charlie requested a ham, or a slab of bacon, Maria shook her head, and said, "Pregunte al Sr Murdoch primero." 'Ask Mr. Murdoch first'.

Charlie had to wait until later, but when she finally had a chance to put forth her request to Murdoch, he was in the

midst of a conversation with Scott and a neighboring rancher. A wildcat had been spotted, several times, in the vicinity, and

the ranchers were becoming nervous about it.

Charlie listened with interest to the conversation, momentarily forgetting about her quest for meat for the box.

Scott was asking how near it was to the neighboring rancher's cattle, and how many spottings of it there had been.

The other man, (Charlie couldn't remember his name), was all for setting up a hunt for the cat immediately.

Scott seemed to want to take a more 'wait and see' type of outlook.

The other man commented that the penalty for waiting as Scott suggested would be the loss of cattle.

When the other man did eventually take his leave, obviously disgruntled, Charlie kept still for a few minutes, listening to

the conversation between Murdoch, Cip, Scott and Johnny, who by now had joined the group as well.

When the conversation had a lull, Scott looked to Charlie, who very obviously had something on her mind.

"What is it, kiddo?" he asked.

"We're packing the box, the food box," she specified, "And is it alright if we put a ham in?"

Cip left, walking back across towards the corrals, and Charlie waited for an answer.

Scott looked at Murdoch in question, and the older man said, "I think we can spare a ham."

"And some bacon?" Charlie added.

"Let's do with just the ham this time," Scott told her.

"Alright. Can we take it today? This afternoon?" Charlie asked.

"I imagine one of us can manage it this afternoon," Murdoch said. He looked towards his youngest son. "Johnny?"

"Yeah. I can do it," Johnny said, and Charlie gave a little bounce.

As the men began walking towards the house, intent on their lunch, Charlie had a sudden thought.

"Murdoch, can I put some of your newspapers in, too?"

When all three of them gave her quizzical looks, she added, "I know he reads. I saw a book on the table. Maybe he'd like

to have some newspapers to read. I won't take any of your newer ones, that you haven't read yet," she assured him.

"That's fine," Murdoch said.

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Once she and Johnny were nearly to the shack, and then pulling up into the yard, there was a stillness about

the place. No dogs lay sleeping on the crooked porch. No old man was in sight.

"The dogs are gone," Charlie said, speaking her thoughts aloud.

"So?" Johnny asked her, as he pulled the buggy to a halt.

"They're just always there, that's all," she said, in explanation.

There was a scuffling noise to the side of the house, and then Charlie felt something sharp-feeling hit her on the shoulder.

"Ow!" she said, in reaction, reaching to rub at it.

"What?" Johnny asked, looking at her in surprise.

"Something hit me," she said, pushing her sleeve up to peer at the injury.

"Stung? A wasp, maybe?" Johnny asked, taking her arm and turning her so that he could see.

"I don't know. I don't think so," she said.

When he'd succeeded in getting her sleeve raised, he peered at the angry, red mark left on her upper arm.

"It is a sting?" Charlie asked him, trying not to wince as he poked about on it.

"Looks as though you were hit with somethin', alright," he said, frowning. He released her arm, and raised his head,

looking around the yard, and shack.

"Here," he said, and handed off the reins to her to hold. He got down from the buggy in one easy movement. He began to

walk around the front of the buggy.

"Stay there a minute," he said, quietly, to her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and in response, he only held a finger to his lips in a sign to be quiet.

Charlie held the reins, waiting, and watching as he walked up closer to the porch, but then, ducked around the side

of the shack, and vanished from her view.

It seemed like quite some time, but was in reality only a few minutes, likely, and Johnny reappeared from the same direction

that he'd gone. He walked up and went to the rear of the buggy, reaching in to pick up the box. Charlie hopped down, and

said, "What were you looking for?"

"Lookin' for whatever it was that gave ya that mark on your arm," Johnny said.

"Huh?" she asked, confused.

"I'm thinkin' it was the boys you got into a scuffle with before," he said.

"You mean Monte?" Charlie asked, as they began walking towards the porch.

"If he has red hair, then yeah, that's him."

"He was probably using a sling shot," Charlie said, and rubbed at her arm again. "Did he see you, looking for him?"

"Naw, he was tearing over the top of the hill already."

"Oooo," Charlie said, in frustration. "I'm going to get him, when he doesn't expect it-"

"I'll take care of it," Johnny said, and Charlie only had time to wonder what he meant by that, before they were at the

front door of the shack.

Johnny, his arms full of the heavy box, said, "Go on and knock. Let him know we're here."

So, Charlie did knock. And then knocked again, louder. She peered into tiny space at one corner of the window.

"I can't see anything-" she said.

"Well, we'll leave the box here, on the porch," Johnny said.

"Aw, Johnny, do we have to?" she pleaded, looking up at him.

"What do you suggest that we do, pequeno?" he pointed out. "He's not home, it doesn't look like, and I don't have time to

come back out here again today."

"Well," Charlie considered, "What if we leave it here, on the porch, and then an animal comes along and eats it? Or one of the dogs?"

"Then we'll take it home and come back another day," he said.

"Maybe if I knock louder?" she suggested, and Johnny raised his eyebrows, with a sigh.

"If you knock any louder, you'll cause the door to fall, from the looks of it," he said, dryly.

"Let me try," Charlie said, and proceeded to virtually pound on the door.

There was a bark. Just one.

"See? The dogs are inside!" Charlie said, triumphantly.

"That doesn't mean he's in there. Let's call it a day, and try again some other time," Johnny said, and began to step down

off the porch.

Charlie took the sleeve of her shirt, rubbing at the small, dirty circle of window and peering inside again. When Johnny had reached

the buggy, and reinstalled the box of groceries, he straightened up, and saw Charlie, still peering into the bit of window.

"Come on," he ordered.

"Johnny, I see one of the dogs-and I think the old man's sitting on the floor-" She squinted, peering in again. "Yes!" She turned

to look at Johnny, motioning with her hand. "Johnny, he is! He's sitting there! Maybe he's sick or something, and that's why he didn't answer

the door!"

Johnny walked the short distance back over and came up onto the porch. He leaned down and tried to see into the same spot that

Charlie had been looking.

"I can't seem a darn thing," he said.

"I do! I see him, sitting there," Charlie insisted.

"Well," Johnny straightened up to his full height, and looked as though he was thinking.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked, looking up at him.

Johnny reached out and tried the door, twisting the doorknob. "Locked," he said.

"Can't you bust the door in?" Charlie asked him, impatiently.

"I'd rather not," he said, giving her a quieting glance. "I'll go around to the back door, and try it."

Charlie nodded, and, though she didn't want anything to really be wrong with the old man, she couldn't help the

feeling of excitement at all the goings on.

She was still looking in the dirty window, trying to see if the man was moving, when Johnny reappeared from

the back of the shack. "Back door's locked, too," he said.

He was standing there, looking as though he was thinking hard about something, and Charlie said, "We're not just

gonna leave, are we? Without seeing if he's okay?"

Instead of answering directly, Johnny took out his pocketknife, and, opening the blade, he bent down, and began

inserting it in the space between the doorknob, and the frame. Fascinated, Charlie watched, as he had the door open

lickety-split. As he put his pocketknife back into his pants pocket, Charlie made a resolve to remember to ask him about

that later. How he'd learned to do that.

He pushed the door ajar, just slightly, and, without stepping over the entry into the room, he seemed to be looking

the room over. Charlie peered around him, and saw that the man was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the wall,

and that all three dogs lay near him. A rifle lay just beside him, as well.

He was so still that Charlie felt alarm set in. "He's dead," she whispered, in horror.

"He's not dead," Johnny said, and stepped on inside.

"Hey, old man," he said, pausing. And then, again, louder, "Hey!"

There was just the very slightest of movements, a twitch of the man's hand, and then he was still again.

Johnny walked slowly over, and first stretched his hand out, letting the dogs sniff at him. He crouched down then, and

spoke again, "Hey, old timer," as he shook the old man's shoulder.

The eyelids fluttered, and opened, fastening blearily on Johnny. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone gravelly.

Instead of answering, Johnny said, "You alright?"

The man seemed to try to move, as if to stand, but then sank back against the wall.

"Been better," he said, in answer. And then, he began to cough. A hacking sort of cough.

"See if ya can find a cup, and some water, pequeno," Johnny told Charlie.

Charlie immediately scrambled into action, opening cabinets, and searching for a cup. She found one that still had

something in it, and then realized there was no pump inside the house.

"There's no pump," she said, confused.

"It's 'round the side," Johnny told her.

Charlie ran outside, and around to the side of the shack, where a rusty pump sat. She had to pump the handle up and down

several times, until she got a stream of water to start. She filled the cup, and then went as quickly as she could back inside,

trying not to jostle the water as she walked.

"Here," she said, handing the cup off to Johnny, who was still crouched there, next to the man.

Johnny held the cup up to the man's lips, and the old man seemed to take a sip or two, then he pushed Johnny's hand

away. "That's enough," he snapped. "No call to drown me."

Johnny set the cup aside, as the old man's eyes focused on Charlie, in recognition.

"It's you, is it," he said.

"Yes. It's me," Charlie said.

The man put a hand up to his head, and it was then, when he brushed aside the black hair tinged with gray, that the lump

on his temple became visible.

"You've got a good-sized knot on your head there," Johnny said.

The old man made as if to attempt standing again, but, sank down, defeated.

"Just sit," Johnny told him.

Charlie looked about, and found a piece of cloth on the old rickety table. There were pieces of the same pattern all

over the table, and ribbons and thread. She brought one of the small pieces and dunked it into the cold water from the cup,

and then handed it to Johnny.

Johnny began to pat at the lump on the man's head with the cloth. "What happened to ya?" Johnny asked him.

"Nothin' that a drink of rye whiskey won't cure," the old man answered, and fastened his eyes onto Charlie. "Fetch me my

bottle, girlie. It's there-next to the bed."

Sure that whiskey wasn't the best thing, Charlie looked to Johnny for direction.

"Get it for him," Johnny said, and Charlie went to look beside the bed. Sure enough, a bottle of whiskey sat there, and she

brought it back, handing it off.

The old man took his teeth and pulled out the cork, and then took a long drink.

"What happened to your head?" Johnny asked.

"Somethin' caught me. Felt as though a rock."

A rock! Charlie looked at Johnny, and knew he was thinking the same thing that she was.

"More than likely it's them young'uns, and their tomfoolery," the man went on.

"Well, you got a good knot there for sure," Johnny said.

"I'll be right as rain in a bit," the old man said. "Help me stand, will ya, boy?"

Johnny took the bottle of whiskey and set it aside, and then more or less hoisted the old man onto his feet.

"Well, now," the old man said, standing there, a bit unsteady, as if trying to get his balance. "Let's go set on the

porch."

And, with a shuffling walk, he set out, the three dogs on his heels, and Johnny and Charlie following.

Once on the porch, he sank to a chair, the same one he'd sat in when Charlie had come with Murdoch.

"Well, sit down, sit down," he said, waving a hand.

Johnny took the chair opposite that Murdoch had used, and Charlie sat beside him.

"How's the fishin' today?" the old man asked.

Johnny wrinkled his forehead in confusion, and Charlie said, "We weren't fishing today."

"Oh, no?"

"No."

"It's a good day for it," the old man said. And then, he took a pocketknife and a piece of wood from the pocket of his

crusty overalls, and began to shave at it.

As the wood shavings fell, there was silence. He seemed to forget that Charlie and Johnny were even sitting there.

"You have a lot of trouble like that, with the kids, shootin' rocks at ya?" Johnny asked him.

Without looking up from his whittling, the old man said, "You that fella I heared about? The one that's so good with

the gun?"

Charlie looked at Johnny, wondering how he would answer. From what she understood, Johnny didn't talk much about

his past. At least, not where she could hear it, he hadn't.

Charlie didn't think Johnny was going to answer at all, but finally he did.

"Yeah, that's me," he said.

"You're but a young fella," the old man said. And then, quick as a blink, he seemed to transform, and he looked up, his eyes fastened on

Johnny. "Sometimes, when the door wouldn't open, it was that you weren't meant to see inside."

Johnny was startled, Charlie could see, by the suddenness of the correct English, and the lyrical sound to his tone. And, by the mystery of

the words.

"You blame yourself," the old man went on, still staring at Johnny. "But you should not. There was naught that you

could do."

Wondering what he was talking about, Charlie looked at Johnny, and saw that his face had gone from startled to

disturbed. The air seemed to crackle with energy. And with something else. Something that Charlie didn't understand.

Johnny stood up, and without speaking, went to retrieve the box of groceries from the buggy. He brought it over, and

up the porch steps, pausing. "There's groceries here," Johnny said. "I'll put 'em on the table."

No response from the man. Johnny flicked a glance at Charlie, and then took the box inside. Reappearing at

the door, a moment later, he said, "Let's go," to Charlie.

Charlie stood up obediently, and said, "We'll bring more food to you next week."

"The road is rocky. Stay to the edge," the old man proclaimed, his voice so smooth that it reminded Charlie

of melted butter. And, as always when he was in this state of mind, his words made no real sense.

They were to the buggy, and driving back towards town, when Charlie heard Johnny say something, very low,

that sounded like "Quirky old coot."

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