Saturday
Chapter 12
It was nearly 5:45 in the morning when Ron Oldhorse saw the signal: the illumination of the narrow bathroom window along the north side of the small house, followed by a quick pulse from a lamp in the master bedroom. Though filtered through thin curtains, the brightness lit up the nearby snow-covered trees whose limbs were still drooping from the weight accumulated during the night.
Lumbergh was awake. Oldhorse wondered if the chief had managed to catch any sleep at all.
From under the concealed white tarp that served as his shelter, Oldhorse carefully removed the dark, hand-woven scarf from the bottom half of his face. It didn’t come off easy. The overnight frost and wind had secured it to his unshaven jaw like opposing pieces of Velcro.
His fingerless wool gloves
