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Grant anyway, because he’s one of Grant’s kids.”
    “The blacksmith? How old is he?”
    Harold shrugged. “About Grant’s age, I ’spect.”
    “Mr. . .  Grant adopted children his own age ?”
    “To get to the Rocking C, go straight out’a town west for about five miles. The woods clear out for a spell, then there’s a thicket of bright red sumac and huckleberries that’s been cut back so’s a trail’ll go through it. Take that trail and go south a spell. The woods’ll start up again and the bluffs’ll rise up on both sides. Gets might rugged. Grant has an old wagon wheel by his place, with a piece of bent iron hooked on it in the shape of a C. Turn east and that trail’ll take you right up to the cabin.”
    Hannah tried desperately to remember everything he’d said. West five miles. Trail through a thicket. South between some bluffs. Wagon wheel. East.
    Harold gave her a jaunty wave and went out. He was back the next second. “There’s a shorter way, but it’s kinda confusing.”
    Hannah shuddered at the thought of directions more confusing than the ones she’d already been given. “No, thank you.”
    He said good-bye and exited her room. He came back in. “Turnin’ into a mighty mean day, miss. Not fit for a ride by my way’a reckonin’. If you can wait till tomorrow, Grant’ll be in to Sunday services so you could ride back out with him.”
    When Harold said Grant would bring the children to church, Hannah doubted herself for the first time. That spoke well of the man. Parrish had certainly never let her or the other children attend church. But she couldn’t overcome her first impression of Libby and Charlie being taken off into a dangerous situation. And if her instincts were right, she didn’t think it could wait until tomorrow.
    “I believe I’ll go on out myself.” How well she remembered her first night in Parrish’s clutches. She wanted to save those children before Grant had time to frighten them into submission.
    Harold shrugged.
    Hannah had heard this was the way things worked in the West. People minded their own business. Indignantly she thought that was the very reason Grant had been allowed to abscond with so many children.
    Harold went out, then he came right back. “If’n you get lost just start heading south. You’ll run into the spring. Sour Springs we call it. Named the town for it. Stinks like a herd of polecats. Can’t miss it. Upstream’ll lead you right smack into town.” He tipped his hat and left.
    Hannah sighed in relief to have the bad news bearer gone.
    He popped his head back around the corner. “Oh, and don’t touch the sumac. It’s poisonous.” He left again.
    Hannah stared dolefully at the empty doorway where the manbobbed in and out like a sneaky prairie dog.
    He rounded her door again. “But the sumac’ll be buried by snow more’n likely, so forget about it.”
    He’d told her to turn at the sumac. If it was buried, how was she supposed to use it as a landmark? She waited for the voice of doom to return so she could ask him. He appeared to have given it all to her at last. She pulled her worn-out coat tight around her and headed for the stable before she could second guess herself.
    A mountain of a man forked hay into feed bunks for a half dozen horses. He introduced himself as Zeb Morris. He was as hairy as his horses, nearly as big, and he smelled none too much better. Hannah knew that even though she stayed well away.
    “Hey, missy. Heard you’re the new schoolmarm.” Zeb grinned, showing more teeth missing than present.
    Word did get around in this town.
    “Welcome to Sour Springs. My pappy founded this settlement.”
    Sour Springs was named after a spring? Or the way his father smelled? Then she thought of a town that would ignore the plight of orphans and wanted to sneer at his pride. Instead she said politely, “I’d like to rent a carriage for the rest of the afternoon.”
    The man looked doubtfully out the wide open door.