Big Luke had once been a heavy-fleshed man, but constant drunkenness had left him gaunt and shrunken. Dark hollows lay under his cheekbones, and loose skin sagged around his mouth. He looked at Fran with blood-shot eyes, his dark, unkempt hair streaked with gray and the sallowness of his face emphasized by a heavy growth of beard. "You," he said, his voice rasping. "Where you been, girl? Why weren't you tending to your chores?" "I ... I was outside," Fran said. She moved slowly to put the kitchen table between the man and herself. "Outside, eh?" He staggered forward, his gaze baleful. "Just where outside? I been yelling my head off for you. Where's Sammy and Davey?" "They chased me!" Fran flared. "I walked a piece, and they started chasing me! They're always chasing me!" "And I bet you like 'em to chase you," Big Luke growled. "Don't try to fool me, you little snip. Don't try to tell me you ain't practicing your woman's tricks on my boys." Fran felt a hotness leap into her face. "I never do a thing to them!" she protested. "I hate them--Sammy especially. Why don't you tell him to leave me alone?" "Uppity, just like your ma was, you little--" Big Luke abruptly leaned across the table, and his calloused palm shot out, making a sharp clap of sound as it struck Fran's cheek. She felt her head jerk around from the force of the blow. The side of her face felt numb and large. "Don't get sassy with me, girl!" Big Luke snarled. "And next time you go running off when there's work to be done, I'm going to fix you good and proper. You're big enough to take a whip to. I'll have the skin off you, by God!" * * * * * He glared at her a moment longer, then turned and staggered back toward the parlor. Fran rubbed at her cheek, tears brimming in her eyes. She had a sense of rebellion--and hopelessness. She had often thought of running away, but no one in town would risk Luke Becker's wrath by taking her in. And the thought of fleeing to one of the other towns held possible dangers greater than those of her present life. Her shoulders bowed in defeat and leaden resignation, she turned to the wood-burning stove. The fire had gone out, and the wood-box was almost empty. She sighed and started for the woodshed out in the yard. Big Luke yelled after her, obviously alerted by the creak of the kitchen door. "Where you running off to now, blast it?" "To get some wood." "Well, no more monkey-shines, if you know what's good for you!" The shed was large and shadowy. The single window had been boarded up after the glass was broken. As Fran began heaping one arm with rough, chopped lengths of wood, she heard a quick shuffle of footsteps and saw Sammy crossing the yard toward the doorway. He still looked mad--even madder than he had been back in the ravine.