for a suitable place to camp, his eyes restlessly peering out into the ghostly hollows that faced into the mountainside like soft folds in a huge blanket. He was about to settle for one that had a small deadfall nearby that would provide plenty of wood for a big fire, when around a twist in the trail he saw the cabin.
He tied the buckskin to a tree, back out of sight, then set out on foot with the Winchester for company.
The cabinâs front windows gave a clear field of fire covering the trail, and a view over the trees further down the mountainside. It was deserted, and had been so for some time. The two front windows were shuttered and the door was fastened with a rusty hasp. Quantro used the Winchesterâs butt to smash off the hasp, then he carefully pushed open the creaking door. Inside, there was evidence of disrepair; joints in the rough-hewn timbers had been opened by the weather, allowing the cold wind to penetrate. The interior was dirty, but there was enough timber furniture to suffice and it was dry. The previous occupant had been careless, or in too much of a hurry to remember to take the few well worn tools that were laid on a shelf above the bed.
A door at the rear, probably added as a safety precaution, led to a lean-to, large enough to stable one or two horses and equipment. Another door led out from the lean-to onto the mountainside climbing up behind the cabin, and stacked against the back wall he found a small pile of ready cut logs. A few feet away, a fresh water spring trickled up out of the earth and cut a track through the snow into a hollowed out log that served as a water butt, now iced over. Water, shelter and warmth too. For the first time that day Quantro smiled.
He stabled the buckskin in the lean-to and cared for him, rewarding the horse with a grain feed. The saddle and the rest of his gear he carried into the cabin, then began to build a fire in the stone hearth, using the fuel from out back.
With the worst of the weather outside and a good meal of bacon and coffee under his belt, he dropped the wooden bar across the door and settled into his blankets on the bunk.
When the logs burned down low, filling the cabin with a warm red glow, Quantro slept.
***
Hot coffee woke his brain enough to take stock of his supplies. He had ample tobacco, salt, coffee, and flour, enough for his own needs. Fresh meat would have to be hunted, but he was well stocked with ammunition. A few pounds of grain were left for the buckskin, which could be stretched by turning the stallion loose for a few hours each day to forage for himself.
The cabin needed some quick repairs to keep out the cold, but that was no problem, and there was a good supply of fuel to lay in for when the weather worsened. Among the tools was an old axe that would be usable with a little sharpening. Quantro regarded the depleted pile of logs in the hearth and decided that fuel was the first priority. With no fire in these mountains, the cold could soon become a killer.
Outside, the air was cold and crisp, biting sharply into his lungs. The snow had continued to fall throughout the night and almost reached his knees, dry and powdery. He went round to the lean-to and attended to the stallion, then cleared a patch of snow. It was hard work breaking into the frozen ground but he had soon scraped enough earth to fill a pot. He carried it back inside and set it to warm over the fire. He returned his attention to the axe, and fifteen minutes later he went back outside with the newly-honed blade and the Winchester.
He made for the deadfall, only a short tramp from the cabin. It was a small gash in the earth about ten feet deep that had filled with dead branches and other wood washed down during the rains. Soon he had worn a path between the gulch and the cabin as he hauled and chopped wood, stacking it neatly at the side of the lean-to.
The earth he had shoveled into the pot was by then soft enough to be used to caulk the gaps between the
He tied the buckskin to a tree, back out of sight, then set out on foot with the Winchester for company.
The cabinâs front windows gave a clear field of fire covering the trail, and a view over the trees further down the mountainside. It was deserted, and had been so for some time. The two front windows were shuttered and the door was fastened with a rusty hasp. Quantro used the Winchesterâs butt to smash off the hasp, then he carefully pushed open the creaking door. Inside, there was evidence of disrepair; joints in the rough-hewn timbers had been opened by the weather, allowing the cold wind to penetrate. The interior was dirty, but there was enough timber furniture to suffice and it was dry. The previous occupant had been careless, or in too much of a hurry to remember to take the few well worn tools that were laid on a shelf above the bed.
A door at the rear, probably added as a safety precaution, led to a lean-to, large enough to stable one or two horses and equipment. Another door led out from the lean-to onto the mountainside climbing up behind the cabin, and stacked against the back wall he found a small pile of ready cut logs. A few feet away, a fresh water spring trickled up out of the earth and cut a track through the snow into a hollowed out log that served as a water butt, now iced over. Water, shelter and warmth too. For the first time that day Quantro smiled.
He stabled the buckskin in the lean-to and cared for him, rewarding the horse with a grain feed. The saddle and the rest of his gear he carried into the cabin, then began to build a fire in the stone hearth, using the fuel from out back.
With the worst of the weather outside and a good meal of bacon and coffee under his belt, he dropped the wooden bar across the door and settled into his blankets on the bunk.
When the logs burned down low, filling the cabin with a warm red glow, Quantro slept.
***
Hot coffee woke his brain enough to take stock of his supplies. He had ample tobacco, salt, coffee, and flour, enough for his own needs. Fresh meat would have to be hunted, but he was well stocked with ammunition. A few pounds of grain were left for the buckskin, which could be stretched by turning the stallion loose for a few hours each day to forage for himself.
The cabin needed some quick repairs to keep out the cold, but that was no problem, and there was a good supply of fuel to lay in for when the weather worsened. Among the tools was an old axe that would be usable with a little sharpening. Quantro regarded the depleted pile of logs in the hearth and decided that fuel was the first priority. With no fire in these mountains, the cold could soon become a killer.
Outside, the air was cold and crisp, biting sharply into his lungs. The snow had continued to fall throughout the night and almost reached his knees, dry and powdery. He went round to the lean-to and attended to the stallion, then cleared a patch of snow. It was hard work breaking into the frozen ground but he had soon scraped enough earth to fill a pot. He carried it back inside and set it to warm over the fire. He returned his attention to the axe, and fifteen minutes later he went back outside with the newly-honed blade and the Winchester.
He made for the deadfall, only a short tramp from the cabin. It was a small gash in the earth about ten feet deep that had filled with dead branches and other wood washed down during the rains. Soon he had worn a path between the gulch and the cabin as he hauled and chopped wood, stacking it neatly at the side of the lean-to.
The earth he had shoveled into the pot was by then soft enough to be used to caulk the gaps between the
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