"I cain't quite figger it. What do you think?"

Quentin held the notebook up and the pages flapped in the cool mountain breeze. The mare lowered her head and sniffed at the drawing.

"It ain't food. Cain't you see that?" Quentin jerked the paper away as the horse tried to lick it. "I declare, you'll never learn." He looked down at the drawing, then west across row after row of mountain ridges running northeast to southwest. Far below snaked the shining ribbon of the Potomac, disappearing behind a mountain, then reappearing farther to the east on its long journey to Chesapeake Bay. Quentin pointed to the farthest western ridge.

"See that?" The horse bit off another mouthful of new grass and munched loudly. "Beyond that far ridge, the one you kin barely see, that there is Ohio. When the rain comes down out there, it goes to the Ohio River, then down the Mississipi to Mexico. Teacher says these-here Appalachian Mountains is a great barrier dividin' two parts of our country."

The horse snapped at the year's first blue bottle fly, then pawed at the moist earth and tossed her head.

"Hold yer horses!" Quentin laughed at his own joke. "Just a few more adjustments."

He studied the drawing. With his thumb he carefully smudged the charcoal to add shading to the east-facing hollows, making the mountains stand out boldly.

"There. Not bad. What do you think now? And don't lick it." The horse didn't look up. "Well," said Quentin as he picked up his hat and stood up, "that's prob'ly what Pa would say, too." Quentin put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A small collie bounded out of the nearby trees and into the brilliant sunlight of the meadow. "Come on, Lady. Let's go to town."

There were still patches of dirty snow in shaded parts of the forest. Quentin leaned far back in the saddle, his legs outstretched in the stirrups as the horse picked its way down the steep incline.

"Easy, girl." He patted her gently as she stumbled on the stones and dead branches that lay hidden beneath last year's leaves. Lady sniffed at the air, sneezing at the earthy smell and the bright spring sunshine.

When they reached the creek by the road they all took a long drink.

"Well, brown mare," Quentin finally said, "Pa and Randy Junior is gone to town, and I consider it my serious duty to give you and this-here dog the proper amount of exercise." He climbed into the saddle and urged the horse onto the road. "Hmm. Not too muddy. We oughta be alright." He pulled his old leather gloves tighter and patted the mare's shoulder.

"Ready? Hyah! Hyah!"

The mare pricked up her ears and lurched forward. In seconds she was in full gallop, clumps of mud flying from her hooves. Quentin held on tight and leaned down close to the mare's neck.

"Yoweeeee! C'mon girl. They's gainin' on us. We got to get to that fort before we's stuck full o' arrows."

Quentin leaned down even lower and watched the road race by beneath them. His heart pounded and he whooped as loudly as he could. The horse sensed his excitement and put on an extra burst of speed. Quentin looked back, but the collie was far behind.

Rounding a sharp bend, Quentin suddenly swung himself back up into the saddle. The mare narrowly avoided crashing head-on into a loaded mule-cart in the middle of the road.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, girl!" Quentin hauled back hard on the reins. The blood pounded at his temples, and he gasped for breath as he turned and rode back toward the cart. As he drew closer he recognized Delbert Slohbert leading the mule. His wife, Rachel, and their two little girls perched uncomfortably atop the cart's load of quilts, clothing and cookware. A milk cow was tethered to the back gate.

Delbert and his six brothers were the sons of Robert Slohbert, town sheriff and, Quentin had heard it said more than once, town drunk. Robert Slohbert had given all his boys names that ended with bert—Robert Junior, Albert, Herbert, Norbert, Wilbert and the twins, Elbert and Delbert—so that "they would always recollect jest who it was made 'em." The oldest boy the townspeople called Junior. They all had blonde hair and freckles, like their mother, except the fourth-oldest, Norbert. Norbert had dark hair and skin, and had been born nine months and two weeks after Robert Senior had gone to the army to fight Mexicans with Winfield Scott.

Virginia Slohbert had done all she could to keep her sons out of trouble, and most had become slightly better men than their father. But mountain soil and mountain climate are not right for men who dislike hard work, and the Slohbert boys spent as much time at the trough as they did behind the plough.

Delbert was called lucky because he had married a Prince William County Burdock. The wealthy and cultured Burdocks did not consider Rachel Burdock Slohbert so lucky, but she and Delbert had managed to stay together in spite of their neighbors. Delbert and Elbert were the youngest, and although they were both married and lived in separate homes, they were rarely seen apart. Now Rachel sat with the two little girls and scowled down at Quentin. He smiled and tipped his hat, but their expressions didn't change.

"Howdy, Delbert." Quentin tried to sound nonchalant and neighborly. "Where's Elbert?"

"What you think yer doin', boy?" Delbert shook a bony finger at him. "You near tipped us right over, not to consider bustin' yer own head wide open. Are you not in your right mind?"

Quentin felt the blood flow to his face. He took his hat off and held it against his chest. "I, uh, uh, I, well, Delbert, I, my horse, you see ..."

"It ain't right you ridin' down on a man's family like that."

"Delbert there was a rattler in the road, and the mare, she ..."

"Rattler? I ain't s'prised. If we's lucky it'll bite us all. Are you alright, Mrs.?" Rachel Slohbert nodded, still staring silently at Quentin. For the first time Quentin began to notice the deep creases on Rachel's face. She didn't look as much like a Burdock as she had a year ago.

"Where you-all goin'?"

"We's goin' to Kin-tuck," Delbert replied testily. "We got kin down there. My wife got kin in Kin-tuck." He didn't laugh at his joke.

"Why are you goin' to Kin-tucky?"

"I told you, boy, we got kin in Kin-tucky. My wife got kin. They's goin' to set us up there."

"But ..."

"Things ain't the same as they was, boy. Things ain't never goin' to be the same. You think you know a few things about a few folks—maybe some fellers, maybe even your own brothers that you was raised up with—then you don't know them things no more, and you wonder if you ever did." He paused and looked up at the trees, then back down at the road. "I'm tired."

"Delbert." Rachel's soft voice startled them. Delbert looked at her and she tilted her head toward the girls.

Delbert looked at the girls, then back at Quentin. "You oughta be old enough to understand these things. Cain't be a boy forever."

Quentin felt himself make a fist. He knew that he was no longer a boy. He wanted to knock Delbert Slohbert to the ground right in front of Rachel Slohbert, to show that he was a man, to show he wouldn't be treated as a child. But he remembered what Granny had told him about wrath, and about how the Lord had turned his other cheek to bullies, and carried the Roman soldier's bucket twice as far as the soldier had ordered. Quentin knew that peacefulness would help him get into the Kingdom of Heaven on the Judgment Day. But he wanted desparately to be a man while he was still in this world.

"Go on, boy. Go into town for yer Pa." Delbert gestured down the road.

"I'll go when I'm good 'n' ready. I kin make my own decision about goin'."

"Why don't you decide to go now?"

"I'll decide ..."

"Jest go. Go on. We're all done talkin' here. Go on, git."

"I was jest goin'. I don't need you to tell me when to git."

"Go on."

"I'm late anyway. Yer jest slowin' me down."

"Go, boy."

Quentin tipped his hat. Rachel glanced up at him, but now her eyes were sad, not angry. They seemed to be asking Quentin some terrible, urgent question. But Quentin didn't know what it was.

"Yah! Yah!" Quentin dug his heels into the mare's ribs, tipping his hat to Rachel and the girls again as their eyes followed him toward the town. Lady emerged from the forest and ran alongside.

"Where you been?" Quentin shouted down at her. Lady glanced up at him quickly. "I thought I done told you to keep up." He kicked the horse again, and the mare tossed her head in complaint.

Men like Delbert Slohbert were no good, Quentin thought. They didn't deserve wealthy Piedmont wives, and they didn't deserve to be respected in a town like theirs. If Delbert Slohbert was going to move to Kentucky because he had a fight with his friends or his brothers, it was just as well. The town would be better without him.