Why Pa ever took a notion to stop on that old Chantry place I never did know. Maybe it was because he was just tired and wishful of stopping someplace…anyplace. There’d been a dead man on the steps by the door when we drove up. He’d been a long time dead, and nobody around to bury him, and I was scared. The cabin was strong. It was built mighty solid like whoever had shaped it up and put it together had planned to stay. That was before the Indians come. There was nobody inside and the place was all tore up…of course. It had been vacant for weeks, prob’ly. Maybe even months. That man had been dead a long time. There wasn’t much left but torn skin, dried out like old leather, and bones. His clothes was some tore up and all bloody. Pa, he stood there looking down at him a long time. “Don’t seem logical,” he said, at last. “What’s that, Pa?” “Indians most usually take a body’s clothes. They ain’t taken nothin’ from him.” “His pockets is inside out.” “I was seein’ that, boy.
