At the gate to the grounds they stopped and took a last look at the chateau. They could see Vernher standing in the control window. He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle in the town below.
Rosy gripped George's arm. "Look!"
A snooker had strayed off its orbit and was hissing in toward the chateau. It came fast over the grounds, heading straight for the control window.
Vernher never saw it coming. Probably he did not even hear the glass crashing as the sharp slivers shot into the room.
By the end of May George was still chopping a small clearing in the Montana woods. George and Charlie's old campsite. It was harder work than he'd expected. But it was a good site and the tent would be replaced by a heavy log cabin before winter set in. Sometimes they'd climb one of the peaks on the Flathead Range and sit gazing at Hungry Horse Reservoir in the distance.
The trees were stubborn here, blunting the ax. But they'd make it all right. George sat down to rest.
Rosy waved to him from the potato patch. A strand of smoke rose peacefully from the stone oven. He waved back and grinned.
Timmy worked his way up bravely to where George sat. He'd gotten used to his bark shoes and had quite forgotten that he had ever worn any other kind.
"Can I help you, Daddy?"