"Kind o' hard," the man said, "to keep so many cats in town."
"It's impossible," she sighed. "Can you wait a while? It lacks an hour to their feeding time, but maybe I should feed them before they go?"
"Now don't you fret," he reassured her. "In two hours I'll have 'em up at my place, an' anybody in the hills'll tell you Luke Trull's critters don't starve. They'll eat plenty."
"I hope so. How are you going to carry them?"
"If you'll just hold Queenie—"
He handed the horse's reins to her, took a gunny sack from beneath his shirt, plopped the two surprised gray kittens into it and advanced on Frosty. Unafraid, but always willing to temper valor with discretion, Frosty waited until he was near enough to swoop, then darted into a cracked piece of tile pipe that lay in the shed. Luke Trull said,
"This'n ain't friendly."
"No," Mrs. Harris admitted, "he isn't like the others."
"Makes no diffe'nce. We can use him, an' his wildness might pay off up in the hills."
Frosty readied himself. The three-foot length of tile was not merely the best but almost the only hiding place in the shed. If he was found out here, he'd have no choice except fighting. Luke Trull's hand crept like an unwieldy snake into the hollow tile and Frosty struck with unsheathed claws. The man gritted,