“But why?” he was shocked almost out of his suspicion.
“Nobody’s gonna send Dessie t’ no work camp,” she stated flatly. “Dessie—she’s special! Her ma was special, too. Once she made me a play baby. Pa—he found it an’ burned it up. You—you can take care of Dessie—you gotta take care of Dessie!” Her eyes met his again compellingly. “You gotta git away from here an’ take Dessie where none of them Peacemen are gonna find her. Give me Pa’s rifle an’ I’ll cover up.”
Driven to the last rags of his endurance Dard met that with the real truth.
“We can’t leave here yet—”
She cut him off. “Some one comin’ for you? Then Pa was right—your brother was a stinkman?”
Dard found himself nodding.
“All right,” she shrugged. “I can let you know if they come again. But you see to Dessie—mind that!”
“I’ll see to Dessie.” He held out the rifle and she took it from him before she pointed again to the packet.
“Give her that. I’ll try to git you some more—maybe tonight. If they think you got away they’ll bring dogs out from town. If they do—” She shuffled her feet in the snow.
Then she stood the rifle against the hollow tree and unbuttoned the front of her jacket. Her hands, clumsy in mittens, unwound a heavy knitted scarf and tossed it to the child.