Free The Wolf Road by Beth Lewis

through with a bullet hole. That should a’ been my first clue that something weren’t right in the place. Cattle penned when they should a’ been out on the plain, getting the last of the summer grazing should a’ been my second. Lot a’ houses in BeeCee had metal shutters over the windows in case a’ bad thunderheads and this one weren’t no different, but half them shutters were closed, locked that way with heavy chains. Sun was shining up there and there weren’t no scent in the air what said a thunderhead was near, weren’t no reason for them shutters to be closed. But my belly rumbled and my hands started shaking for want of a meal and I ignored all them clues. More fool me.
    I walked slow up the track to the house, arms up to show I weren’t carrying no gun. I was halfway to the door when it opened and a man, older’n a willow tree and just as thin, stepped out, double-barrel by his side.

    “What’s your business here, miss?” he said.
    Another rule a’ men is not to say what you want up front, then you got nothing left up your sleeve.
    “I got myself turned around in that forest back there,” I told him, and he looked at me sideways, like I was lying, “and I’m in need a’ directions up north.”
    He didn’t have a hair on his head and I remember thinking, I ain’t never seen no one afflicted like that. In the woods, you see a bobcat or a bear without fur, it means he’s sick as a dog and likely to die that winter. Looked like this fella had seen more winters’n I could count, so I couldn’t right reconcile the two.
    “Where you headed?” he said.
    “Halveston,” I said, ’cause that was one a’ them magic words from my momma’s letter.
    The man looked at me strange for a few more seconds, then his face cracked into a smile.
    “What business has a girl your age got in Halveston?”
    One a’ them Trapper rules came into my head. Don’t go asking questions.
    “My business is mine. All I need’s to be pointed the right way.”
    He nodded slow. “You’ve got a long road ahead, and you look no more than skin and bones,” he said, and quick I thought he was a fine one to talk ’bout that.
    “You hungry?” he said.
    He put the gun inside the door and pushed the door open wide.
    My good sense jumbled up. I was asking for directions, but he was offering a place at his table. Sure I’d hoped he would but I didn’t think it’d be that easy. People in this country ain’t that easy.

    My stomach let out one a’ them angry gurgles and he must a’ heard it ’cause he said, “I’ve got a pot of chili on the stove.”
    Felt the knife in my belt and I figured if he tried anything, I’d have a fine chance a’ beating them stick-bones a’ his afore he got to his gun. Belly rumbled like a damn thunderhead.
    “Yes, sir, I am hungry,” I said.
    “Then please, come in. I can draw you a map while you eat.”
    His voice was calm and friendly and he smiled right through his eyes, something Trapper never did. His smiles were on the surface, this man’s were down deep. Once you seen ’em both, you can tell the difference quick enough.
    I thanked him and went closer, though those were the hardest steps my body ever took. My legs were lead and my joints seemed close to giving up on me if I pushed them much further.
    “You own this place?” I asked, worrying over the bullet hole in the sign.
    He kept smiling. “You read the name on the gate?”
    I shook my head.
    “Gate reads Matthews ,” he said.
    My patience weren’t waiting around for him to make sense. “So you Matthews?”
    “I’ll claim that,” he said, “unless I owe you money.”
    Then he winked at me and laughed loud. I weren’t sure what to make of him, this Matthews fella, but I could smell that chili simmering on the stove and he was stick-thin and older’n God.
    Seems he could sense my worry. He put a face on like he knew my thinking and said, “I’ve got chili to check on, miss, so you just come in when you