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I’ve always been a light sleeper, especially when I’m sleeping rough out in the snow and it’s cold enough to make a buffalo consider suicide. I managed to get some sleep after whatever critter had used my back for a chair had scampered off, and I opened my eyes just a little before dawn and the first thing I saw was Scout, sitting on his pony, profiled between the trees of the entrance-way of our shelter. He looked like a statue; he had his rifle perched on his leg, and both he and the horse were blowing smoke breath in the air. If I didn’t know Scout, the sight might have made me loose my bowels into my pants.
I was a bit stiff, so it took an awkward amount of time for me to get to my feet, but I finally managed it, causing all sorts of popping noises that sounded like rifle shots. I
