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by the deep snow into which its hind legs sunk each time it leaped. The little cotton tail flying up and down before him seemed to mock at his weakness. Too exhausted to follow any further he flung the stick after the little animal. The stick fell far away from the rabbit, and with a final leap the animal disappeared in the woods. Kirk stood in the snow and called out every vile name he knew after the rabbit. And when he turned around and saw Granpap and Basil behind him watching, he cursed them. Granpap took up a double handful of snow and threw it deliberately into Kirk’s face. In an instant Kirk was on the old man like a wildcat and they wallowed together in the snow. It did not take long for this sudden spurt of nervous energy to wear itself out. When Basil had got them apart they lay in the snow side by side without moving. Only they breathed with heavy nervous breaths, like sobs.
    They walked back to the cabin slowly. It was an effort for Granpap and Kirk to lift their feet. Basil, who had a little energy left, walked ahead. Kirk was glad for him to be the first to show Emma and the children their empty hands. For the past few days he had wanted never to return to the cabin, because there he must see Emma’s eyes dart to his hands.
    At the cabin Emma watched the young ones grow thinner. She saw John’s brows knit as they had done since he was a baby when he was in pain. For the first time John knew what it meant to have pains in his belly because it was empty. He had been hungry before for a day perhaps, but Granpap had always managed to provide something. Now his belly had been empty for three days. The pains were grasshoppers jumping from one blade of grass to another. They hopped from one place to another in his belly and each time they lit a sharp pain struck him. Bonnie felt the pains. She sat in a corner with her arms pressed tightly over her belly. She was trying to hold the grasshoppers from jumping. Emma watched them. There was nothing for her to do but watch. Her eyes were bright like small kerosene lamps with reflectors behind them. And the lamps gleamed out at the children and at Granpap and the boys when they came from the woods. She was ready and waiting to get up and cook whatever they brought in. But they brought nothing.
    They could not go to Ora’s for help, for the other McClures were cleaned out and there they had more mouths to feed. During this time neighbors kept away from neighbors as if they were afraid or ashamed to show each other their misery.
    Only in Possum Hollow there was food for a little while. For Sam Wesley killed Granma Wesley’s precious sheep. They were old and tough, but the meat, boiled for a day in the wash pot, saved the family. The Martins got a share, and other neighbors who were closer than the McClures, who were divided from the people around Swain’s Crossing by the snow-covered summit of Thunderhead. Granma Wesley, lying in bed, knew nothing of the slaughter of the sheep. If she lasted out the winter Sam would tell her when it was necessary. They fed her soup from the meat, and Sam told Jim Martin he had lied until his God could never forgive him about the source of the juice Granma had swallowed.
    One morning Emma opened the door and found instead of the dark made by clouds the bright light of the sun. Her weak eyes closed to shut out the glare of the sun on snow, and she went inside the cabin. It was good to have the sun, but at present she was not able to bear the sudden change. By nightfall much of the snow had melted. And it seemed that the sun brought good luck. For the next morning Frank McClure walked over in the slush to pass word that Swain was giving credit. One slab of fat-back, a half sack of meal, and a round of shot to every family.
    The question was, who would go for the food. Frank McClure was already exhausted with his four-mile walk across the mountains. He brought good news. Yet those who received it sat without a word at first.