Chapter Three The Northern Waste

The man smiled warmly. "Of course, of course. Folks out here have to help one another. Come on in, brother." The two "women" raised their heads. One had a voice rough as a whetstone. "You alone?" Jack approached the fire. "Me and this old horse." The boy did not move, but his eyes opened. They were not a child's eyes. They were an adult's cold eyes. He was short and had ash smeared on his face. He looked twelve. He might have been twenty. Jack arranged them in his mind. Gray coat was the leader. The left skirt hid a short shotgun. The right one had a knife inside the boot. The wooden rifle in the boy's arms was hollow and likely held a small pistol. Behind the wagon, one more man breathed. Five.