to mark her trail. She soon came upon the buck, its visible eye looking like glass.
Finding it already dead was a great relief; there was no need for her to stick a knife into its throat to put it out of its misery.
She looked behind her; Dougan or Dixby would have no trouble making it
most of the way in. Mourning and she would only have to drag the dead weight
of the deer a few dozen yards. She paused to listen. Mourning must have heard
the shot, but she didn’t hear anyone coming. She stopped to retrieve her journal
and possibles bag and briskly headed toward home.
When she reached the bottom of their hill she could see that Mourning had
made good progress with the roof. He had nailed the poles in place and the bottom two rows of bark lay neatly across them. But the ladder was empty and
there was no sign of him. She called his name and then stopped short. Two
figures emerged from around the barn and waved to her. Jeremy Kincaid. That
had to be him with Mourning. When she hurried closer she saw that their new neighbor had indeed come to call.
Chapter Eighteen
“You’re looking grand, Miss Killion.” Jeremy removed his hat and bobbed
his head.
“Good to see you,” she mumbled. Then, in a stronger voice, she announced,
“I got a deer.”
Mourning raised both arms over his head and wiggled his backside.
“Hallelujah. Hallelujah. I heard that shot and I been prayin’. I ’bout forgot how
meat taste.” He glanced up at the sky. “We better get trackin’, ’fore it get too dark to follow a trail.”
“There’s no tracking to do. It was a good shot. Nice-sized buck.” Olivia did
her best to sound matter-of-fact and not boastful. “Bring one of the team and I’ll
lead you to it. We won’t have to drag it far.”
“Well, let’s go,” Jeremy said. “I’m glad to lend a hand with the gutting and dressing.”
Olivia caught the look of relief that flashed over Mourning’s face. He must be
afraid of having to do a lot of things, she thought. Just like me. Only differenceis, he’s better at hiding it.
“Take me a minute to fix Dixby up with a single harness,” Mourning called
over his shoulder as he started for the barn. “They still coffee in the pot.”
Olivia looked at Jeremy, but he silently declined the offer, holding up his
hand, palm out and shaking his head. She went into the cabin to put the journal
and possibles bag away, pulled Mourning’s shirt off, and combed her hair. Then
she joined Jeremy, staring down at the river.
“This is a pretty location,” he said. “I’ve always enjoyed the sound of the river from here, the way you can barely hear the rapids.”
Olivia smiled and listened to the soft rush of the water.
“You seem to be getting nicely settled in,” Jeremy said.
Mr. Kincaid had cleaned himself up to come calling – he was shaven and
wore a dark blue shirt of good linen.
“Can’t complain. It’s nice to have a visitor, that’s for sure.” She paused before
she nodded at his chest and said, “Shame to get that nice shirt all bloody.”
He shrugged. “So, now do I get to hear the long story of how your friend
