They could see at once that he was old, very old. His face was crisscrossed with fine lines, but his blue eyes were bright and he held himself so erect that Judy involuntarily straightened her slumping shoulders.
“Isn’t that pretty strenuous?” Lynne asked, pointing to the huge tree he was splitting.
He smiled again. “I’m eighty-two and never felt better. We’ll need all the wood we can cut.” He spoke with the pride of the very old whom the years have used well.
Judy walked closer to the cabin and the door being ajar, she looked inside—two cots, some shelves sparsely stacked with cans of soup, some other foodstuffs.
“You don’t live here, do you?” she asked, her voice incredulous as she again faced the old man.
“Yes. My pal and I, we live here. We’re the only two natives left in Ashcroft.”
“You are?” Lynne and Judy said in one voice.
“Let’s stay here for a while,” Judy whispered. “The meadow’s so flat, we can’t help seeing Allen when he comes looking for us.”
Lynne nodded. “May we sit here a little while and rest, Mister? We expect to meet someone later.”
He seemed pleased. “I’m glad of your company.” He picked up his ax and placed it against the woodpile.