He lost himself in the chopping, thinking about how to im-provise a pack for his Morgan and some spare saddles. He could tie together a sawbuck rig, and there was enough worn-out leather and canvas in the old tack trunk to strap it to his horse. By having the Morgan carry feed for itself and Gonzalez's horse, and with Valentine loaded, as well, they should be able to get within striking distance of the Ozarks before the oats and corn ran out. He planned to cross the Mississippi farther north and move quickly across Iowa, returning to the Free Territory somewhere southwest of St. Louis.
But despite the hard work and plans to get his crippled Wolf home, thoughts of Molly continually shifted his train of thought to emotional sidings.
Frat's comment brought him out of his sledge-swinging meditation.
"What was that?" Valentine asked.
"You've been chopping wood almost every day since you got here; you're a regular Paul Bunyan. We've got enough to get us through two winters. It's going to rot before we can use it."
"Well, maybe your dad can sell some of it."
Valentine realized his back and arms ached. He looked at the sun; the warm September afternoon had already begun. Even better, his mind was relaxed, tranquil.
"Hey, David, why are they watching the house?"
Valentine put down the sledge, leaning the handle against his leg. So much for tranquillity. "Who is watching the house?"
"The patrols. There's a car down the road toward La-Grange. One guy in it, so his partner is probably in the hills somewhere with binoculars or a spotting scope." Frat shaded his eyes and looked up into the hills and shrugged.
"How do you know there are two?"
"They always go in pairs. Uncle Mike talks about it. They switch around the partners a lot so no one gets used to working with anyone. Keeps them honest, I guess."
"You're pretty sharp, Frat."
"Naw, it ain't that. It's just when it's the same thing day after day, you notice the patterns. Like you-anytime you're worried about anything, you cut wood."
"I do it for the exercise."
Frat shook his head, a triumphant grin on his face. "You sure needed a lot of exercise before meeting Uncle Mike. And when you and my mom talked about the damage to Gonzo's arm, you cut a lot then. Before you went riding with Molly, too. And that same day, after you got back and cleaned up your horse, you chopped until dinner."
Valentine sat down on the stump, staring at the youth. "Hell," was all he could think to say. He looked over at Frat. "Do you know about the deal with your sister?"
"Yeah, Mom and Dad were up most of the night talking about it. They talked about packing up and asking you to lead them out of Wisconsin. My mom said that wouldn't work because Mike was having us watched. Turned out she was right. They woke Molly up early and talked about it upstairs first thing this morning."
"Did they decide anything?"
"I don't know. Molly started crying."
Valentine concentrated on keeping his face blank.
"Frat, do me a favor. You have a few rabbit snares around, don't you?"
"Uh-huh. There's a warren up in one of the pastures, and there's rabbits in the hills, too."
Valentine scanned the hills. "Go up and check your traps. See if you can see where that other patroller is. Can do?"
"Sure. Can do."
"Come and look for me in the stable if you spot him. But first of all go in the house for a few minutes. Like you were just sitting around, and your parents came up with something to get you out of their hair. Now get going."
Frat scampered off toward the house.
Valentine forced himself to put away his tools for the benefit of the hidden observer. He wandered to the stable, in no particular hurry. The ancient stalls, missing their doors, enclosed the horses with short lengths of rope. The rich smell of horse sweat and manure filled the warm afternoon air.
Five horses, he considered. Three belong to the Carlsons, then his and Gonzalez's. Mrs. Carlson on one, the girls on the second, Gonzalez sharing the third with Mr. Carlson, taking turns riding it. He and Frat could walk; the boy looked lean and capable. They're farm and riding horses, not packhorses. Best keep the load under 150 pounds for travel up and down hills. Blankets and tenting, rope and equipment. Farrier supplies for the horses, or losing a shoe means losing a horse. Maybe a week's food for man and beast. Would a week get us out of reach? God, the lifesign. Extra Reapers in Glarus to think about, they'd cover the thirty miles to LaGrange between dusk and midnight, running. Shit, we'd be drawing to an inside straight. And Gonzalez can't shoot.
"Hi, David," a scratchy voice said.