"What's a woman, Pa?" David queried, fearful of asking, yet knowing he must learn the facts behind anything quite so important.

"Don't you ever say that word again." Frank raised his arm, ready to strike. David. "You ever say that word again, and so hep me, I'll bust yore haid." Then his father looked at the thing he was holding; the realization caused a gasp to escape his lungs. "I gotta get rid of this," he blubbered, stumbling wildly toward the door.

David again crept to the window. He watched his father take a shovel and walk with determination to a grassy patch of ground. Then he dug a shallow hole, dropped the cloth into it, and replaced the earth. David's mind raced back over the years, back to a smelly bundle of feather and tiny fingers clawing into the moist dirt and forming a small grave.

That cloth, it wasn't really from a woman, it was from Dream-Town. They had sent it to him, to David. The river-gods had dispatched it to Dream-Town. It was his, as Dream-Town was his, for it had come from the river. The cloth could not be evil; only the good things in life came from the river. There was no evil in Dream-Town. The sock-like thing must be returned to the archives of the hollow log.

His father returned moments later, and as the land turned dark they prepared supper and ate in silence. David noticed something different in the big man's 'behavior: he was seemingly uneasy and nervous. Once they heard the distant baying of hounds in the twilight, the noise causing Frank to jump startled. David ate his plate of cold beans, his thoughts being on many questions: Why had Pa buried his cloth? What was a woman? Why was Pa so upset tonight? What was the star-man looking for?

Soon it was night and clouds covered the full moon. They stacked the dishes and Frank began to wipe his eyes wearily. "Had a hard day," he said with a yawn. "Guess I'll get to bed early."

David watched his father light a lantern and leave. He followed his father outside and seated himself on the split-log porch. His eyes followed the bobbing lantern as it moved slowly across the meadowland and into the shack where his father slept. Then the land was black.

He sat motionless on the porch, waiting for courage. The wind blew angrily through the trees, singing to David a sad whistling song. A gate with rusty old hinges was squeaking loudly in the meadow. Occasionally it would bang closed, then begin squeaking again. To him it sounded like someone weeping while nails were being pounded. Crying in the night, weeping because they were alone.

For a brief instant the moon came from behind clouds, and in the time. of light David thought he saw a shadowy figure move quickly from Pa's shack and into the woods beyond.

He waited for almost an hour. The earth remained dark and still. Finally, it was time to move. David took the shovel and walked stealthily to the patch of ground. He dropped to his knees and ran his hand over the grass, finally locating the uneven part.

Then he began to spade up the ground, moving carefully to avoid tearing the precious cloth. As he worked the wide, tight elastic band bit into his flesh. He hated the elastic, but Pa made him always wear it. The one time he had forgotten it, that's when he had been hurled against the wall.

Soon he had uncovered the now soggy and muddy piece of material. Carefully he replaced the dirt and returned the shovel to its resting place. He

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