Evelyn’s whole body was rigid with anxiety. She felt more drops trickle down. One got into her left eye and stung like the dickens. She resisted an impulse to blink.
From the cabin came a shout; her pa, calling her name.
Evelyn yearned to reply. She yearned to tell him of her peril and have him rush to help. He would shoot it. He was an incredible shot. She once saw him shoot the head off a grouse in flight. He shot the head so the body would be in one piece when her mother served it.
“Evelyn? Where are you?”
Evelyn didn’t answer. Everyone claimed that if you stood as still as could be, a snake wouldn’t bite. She hoped it was true. Another drop missed her right eye and dribbled onto her cheek.
The rattler was still glaring at her. It didn’t make a sound except for the buzzing.
Evelyn swallowed and came to the conclusion she must do something. She couldn’t stand there forever. Sooner or later she would involuntarily flinch or twitch.
“Evelyn? Answer me.”
Her pa was closer. Evelyn started to turn her head but caught herself. Willpower was called for. Gobs and gobs of willpower. She wasn’t like her brother, Zach, who could latch on to things with an intensity that was frightening, or even like her pa who when he concentrated on something devoted his whole will to it. But she was strong-minded and when she put her mind to a purpose she usually did what she set out to do.
“Evelyn? If you can hear me, give a shout.”
Oh, that Evelyn could. She watched the snake, hoping against hope it would slither down into the boulders. But it didn’t. It stared and rattled, stared and rattled.
“Evelyn!”
Her father was so close that Evelyn heard his footsteps. She went to whisper but her vocal cords were frozen. All that came out was a low bleat.
“Evelyn?”
Evelyn sensed he was so near she could reach out and touch him. He had to have spotted the snake, even as dark as it had become.
“When I tell you, drop the chicken and leave the rest to me. Do nothing but let go of the chicken. Don’t move or yell. Just let it drop. Blink once if you are ready.”
Evelyn’s whole body broke out in goose bumps. She blinked.
“I’ll count to three. On three let go.”
The strain was getting to Evelyn. Her legs started to shake. The weight of the chicken seemed to grow tenfold.
“One.”
Evelyn swallowed. The rattlesnake hadn’t moved, hadn’t done a thing when her father spoke, as if it were ignoring him and concentrating solely on her.
“Two.”
Evelyn’s nerves jangled. She trusted her pa more than anyone, trusted him to do whatever it took, but she was still scared.
“Three.”
Evelyn let go. Instantly, the snake struck, biting at the chicken as it fell. Simultaneously, iron hands closed on Evelyn and she was swept away from the boulders as if she were weightless and deposited as gently as a feather on the balls of her feet. It happened so swiftly she had no time to react. Her father released her and she glimpsed a streak of…something…and heard a sound like metal on rock. The object streaked again and she recognized it; his tomahawk. “Careful,” she said, worried the snake might bite him.
Nate grunted and straightened. In his right hand was the tomahawk. In his left was about six inches of rattlesnake, including its head. The mouth opened and closed and went on opening and closing even though most of the body was missing. “You’re safe.”
“Oh, Pa.” Evelyn threw herself at him and hugged him. “Thank goodness you came along when you did.”
“I wondered what was keeping you,” Nate said, sounding as if he had come down with a cold.
“Another chicken is dead besides that one,” Evelyn informed him. “I think maybe the rattler bit them both.”
“Another damn rattlesnake,” Nate said.
Evelyn rarely heard him swear. A lot of men, and women, too, cussed as if their lives depended on it, but not her father or her mother or her uncle Shakespeare either. She’d asked her father once why he didn’t and he said that he never got into the habit. She’d asked Shakespeare, too, and he had chuckled in that merry way he had and said that cussing was for those who “had not so much brains as earwax.”
“I have half a mind to call another hunt. I should send you to fetch your brother and your uncle and make plans for tomorrow.”
Evelyn’s insides churned. She wouldn’t get to see Dega and she dearly wanted to. “Is that really necessary?”
“You were nearly bit.”
“But I wasn’t. And the last hunt didn’t turn up many. Another hunt won’t either.”
“They have to be coming from somewhere,” Nate said. “If we can find their den we can put an end to them.”
Evelyn thought fast. “It could be anywhere. You could spend a month of Sundays looking and still not find it.”
“I suppose.”
“And there are the Worths to think of. They’re looking forward to their new cabin. Another delay might upset them. Emala, especially. She misses having a home. She told me so, herself. She misses it so much, she was practically in tears over it.”
“They have been through a lot,” Nate said.
“Then why not just tell everyone about the snake tomorrow and warn them to be on their guard?” Evelyn suggested. “That should do.”
Nate looked at the snake’s head and scowled and threw it at the pile of boulders. “I am so sick of rattlesnakes. But I reckon you’re right. I don’t need to be a laughingstock twice in one month.”
“No one laughed at you, Pa.”
“Your uncle Shakespeare did. He said that if worry was gold I’d be covered in yellow warts.”
Evelyn laughed.
“It’s too bad a rattler hasn’t bitten him.”
“Oh, Pa.”
Chapter Eleven
The cabin began to take shape.
All the logs were trimmed and cut. Those for the front and the back walls were fourteen feet long; those for the sides, twelve feet. All the notches were a foot from each end. Since the logs weren’t the same diameter, Nate and Shakespeare alternated those with slightly thicker ends. That way the walls were even.
Lifting the heavy logs went smoothly until the walls were about chest high. Then they had to resort to skids; smaller logs were braced against each wall, and the cabin logs were rolled up into position. When the walls were head high, they used ropes and the skids.
A fireplace was a necessity. Without it, the Worths would be hard-pressed to survive the bitterly harsh mountain winters. Accordingly, Nate cut slits in one of the upper logs on the wall where the fireplace would go so that when the cabin was done they could insert a saw and make an opening for the fireplace stones.
The roof logs were the longest of all, to allow for an overhang. Getting them up took coordinated effort, and once they were high enough they had to be carefully slid into place. It was a slow process, which was why the roof alone took four days to complete.
Nate and Shakespeare had also left slits in the walls for the door and the window. They cut the door opening down to the ground, and Emala mentioned that she would like it a bit wider.
“May I ask why?” Nate asked.
Emala put her hands on her wide hips and answered, “So I don’t get stuck. I’d rather not have to go in and out of my own house sideways.”
“I don’t blame you, madam,” Shakespeare said.
“It is a trial being plump,” Emala informed them.
Shakespeare grinned and gave a courtly bow and winked. “But you jiggle so nicely.”
“Why, Mr. McNair!” Emala exclaimed, and laughed heartily.
They made the window a foot and a half across, and Emala remarked that she would like it wider, too.
“I don’t advise that,” Nate said.