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mind traveled both backward and forward. Back to the logging camp and the pleasant times with Mrs. Landsverk, forward to a place he could now begin to envision. Living in a soddy would take some getting used to. Who was this Ingeborg Bjorklund, and would she even want his help, such were the things he'd heard about her?
    Even though he hung his pack from a rafter, a mouse found its way in while he slept and scurried down his arm when he lifted the pack down in the morning. When Haakan checked the contents, he found a corner nibbled away on the packet from the store. Grains of sugar trickled out until he untied the string and rewrapped the package. He smiled, pleased that the creature hadn't found the coffee beans.
    When he finally came to a place where the Little Salt River broadened out, and the road leading down to it showed there once had been a ford there, Haakan sat down on a tree trunk thrown up by the river and pulled a now dry chunk of bread and the remaining cheese from his pack. He studied both sides of the muddy river as he ate and surveyed the country around him, his thoughts flowing like the river before him. Off in the distance, he could see smoke from a chimney, but he was surprised to find so few homesteads, especially along the riverbanks. If water was such a premium in this area, why weren't the riverbanks more densely settled? Somehow he'd thought this area to be more populated, since there weren't Bonanza farms here, or so Ernie had said. Looking back, Haakan figured he'd covered near to ten miles and only seen three or four houses in all that time. Or did the sod homes fit into the prairie so as to disappear? He could tell where the sod had been broken in areas where snow had melted and showed dark soil rather than brown grass.

    While his food disappeared rapidly, his stomach didn't agree that it should be full. He wrapped his tarp more tightly around the pack, leaned it against the log, and taking his ax he stepped up to one of the willow bushes. With a few quick swings, he cut himself a sturdy pole that stood several feet above his head.
    He squinted up at the sun, rejoicing in the warmth on his face. If he owned a homestead near here, he told himself, he'd be down in the riverbed cutting logs. Those sod houses look mighty sturdy, but I'd rather have a log one any day. He sat back down on the log and removed his boots and socks, tucking them into the pack in the hopes to keep them dry. While he hoisted his pack, he continued to speculate about setting up a mill on the banks of the Red River. Surely there was call for lumber in this area. The Red had enough trees to supply boards for homes of wood, and glass windows could be brought in on the riverboat. Why, even the sod houses could use shakes for their roofs. He could set up splitting shakes.
    Using the pole to prod the river bottom in front of him, he stepped into the icy water. "Uff da!" he gasped as the icy water swirled up to his knees, his hips, and then to his waist. He leaned against the current, testing each footfall to keep his balance. Certain he was going to have to swim for it, he breathed a sigh of relief when the pole showed an upward thrust to the river bottom. Slipping in the mud, he pulled himself up the shallow incline, and once on dry land, he leaned on his pole, his breath heaving in and out of his lungs.
    Standing in the shelter of a tall cottonwood, he stripped down to his bare skin and pulled on the dry clothes he'd stored in his pack. Long johns, shirt, pants, and finally dry socks and shoes. He could hardly force the buttons through the holes or lace his boots, his fingers shook like he had the palsy. Leaping to his feet, he swung his arms, thumping himself on the chest and forcing his legs to move. He considered starting a fire to warm himself, but the thought of lost time made him pick up his pack and command his legs and feet into a trot. Between the sun and action, he knew he'd be warm soon.
    He headed out in a southeast