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pocket. The cloth covered his face as he wiped sweat from his brow and eyes. When he lowered the cloth, Hank looked disappointed that the stranger was still before him.
    â€œAll right, but he’s not getting inside the cabin till he’s had a bath. He stinks.”
    â€œTake hold of him,” Laurel said. “I’ll go fill the tub with water.”
    Hank placed the man’s arm over his right shoulder, settled his hand on the stranger’s back as Laurel went on ahead. She set the washtub on the porch and poured in buckets of water until the well’s slim holdings grew muddy. She stirred in a handful of Borax before going inside for a washrag and cake of lye soap. Hank sat the man on the front steps and Laurel untied his shoes while Hank helped the stranger take off his shirt.
    â€œWho are you?” Hank asked.
    â€œI think his throat’s too swoll to talk,” Laurel said, pulling free the second sock. “Help him get his pants and step-ins off while I make a salve.”
    Laurel nodded at Hank’s back pocket.
    â€œI’ll need some of your tobacco.”
    â€œThis is all I got until Slidell goes to town again,” Hank grumbled, but handed her the drawstring pouch.
    Laurel went in the front room and took the box of soda powder off the sink. She scooped two tablespoons into a rinsing pan, then tucked a wad of tobacco in her mouth and chewed, grimacing all the while. She mixed the tobacco and powder until it was a brown paste, then got the tin of black colish from the cooking shelf and made a tonic with water from the kettle. After fetching a towel and a pair of her father’s longhandles, she went out on the porch.
    â€œDamn, sister. We don’t know the least thing about him and you’re fussing over him like he’s the king of England.”
    â€œWe know he’s hurt,” Laurel answered, “and we know there’s not another near to help him.”
    She glanced toward the tub, let her eyes linger when she saw the man’s eyes were closed. The welts on his neck and chest argued at least as much poison as a copperhead bite. It just wasn’t in one place, which Laurel figured a good thing. The water had turned gray from the grime, but the effort had taken what pertness the man had left. The washrag lay limp in his hand.
    â€œYou’re going to need to lather his hair.”
    â€œDo I need to spit shine his shoes too?” Hank answered.
    â€œHurry, and then get him dressed,” Laurel said. “We need to draw out that poison.”
    In a few minutes Hank helped the man inside. His eyes were open as Hank eased him into the bed. Laurel propped his head up with a feather pillow and held the cup as he sipped the tonic.
    â€œWe’ll work our way up,” she told him when the cup was empty.
    Laurel pinched some of the paste between her finger and thumb and covered the first sting, found seven more before she reached the hands and wrists. She freed the longhandles’ top buttons to salve his stomach and chest, last his neck and face.
    â€œDamn if he don’t look like a bobcat for the spots on him,” Hank said when she finished.
    â€œTwenty-one stings,” Laurel said. “That’s enough to have killed some folks.”
    â€œYou able to talk yet?” Hank asked, but the man shook his head again.
    â€œLet him be, Hank. He needs to rest.”
    Despite the warm tonic, the man was trembling, so Laurel spread a quilt over him.
    â€œHis clothes have got need of washing, and I need to get ours, so I’m going to be at the creek a spell.”
    â€œSo what am I supposed to do?” Hank asked. “Stay here all the while so he don’t rob us blind?”
    â€œHe’s not got the sand to do that. Besides, I’ll have something he cares a sight more about than anything we got.”
    â€œI’m at least taking the shotgun with me,” Hank said. “I’d as lief not have him beading