She put her revolver deliberately on the table by her chair. “All right,” she said. She looked into the fire, seeming softer and more womanly now. Late that afternoon she brought in some rabbits to butcher for stew. Red went out with Tim to cut and carry firewood. They went to a tree that had fallen close to the little privy. Tim took the first turn with the ax. The blade bit the bark and Red said, “Funny how she settled on our names right away, Redbeard and Slim. That’s pretty close. But she’s not much of a one for names. Just Missus Flint. We were lucky to find out what name she went by at all.” Tim severed the trunk with a final blow and started another cut. “What did you talk about this morning, Mr. Slim? She’s been like sunshine today.” Tim smiled. “Now she knows we’re gentlemen.” “I see.” “What a life the woman has,” Tim said, looking at the empty shed. “No husband, no horse; cow died last spring and her hound died just a week ago, she said.” “Nancy’s a sturdy little thing, but I can’t imagine her living like this.” They swung through the door and stumped across the sagging floor to watch the woman work. There were two pots swinging over the blazing fire and she was cutting chunks of rabbit and potato into one. The other held corn mush. Tim could tell by the smell. “Ma’am,” Red said, “we shouldn’t eat up all your food this way.” The woman finished cutting and threw the last of the bones and waste into a cracked china bowl on the hearth. She wiped her hands on her apron and sat in her rocker. “That’s foolish talk. I can shoot a rabbit as good as any man, with a pistol even. This summer I grew enough corn to feed a regiment and vegetables too. Then there’s Old Buck in the village in the valley. He heads up a bunch o’ Union men, part of a band they call True Heroes of America. They hide men out so they won’t have to fight with the Rebel Army. Well, Old Buck has a store, and if I need a thing, Old Buck gives it to me. ‘Nate Flint’ll pay when he comes home,’ he says. I look at him straight last time an’ says, ‘Maybe Nate Flint will never get home.’ And Old Buck purrs jus’ like a hooty owl and says, ‘Mebbie I’ll fall outa bed tonight and break my neck.’” The men settled on a bench across from the rocker and all three were quiet, just sniffing the strong aroma of stew. The woman stirred the pots with a hand-cut wooden spoon. She tasted the stew and sat down, leaning forward toward the men. “Tonight I will finish the coats,” she said. “By morning it will be two nights of sleep and plenty of food to give you strength. You better go.” Tim said, “We have to go, ma’am, much as we might like to stay. About the coats, have you used all your blankets to make them?” The woman’s brows went up. “I never did see such men as you. I got two left, and one’s aplenty. I mean to cut the other one into strips and roll them for carrying. You can wrap your feet and legs when the snow gets deep enough that the cloth won’t wear right through.”