Chapter 16Petrov the freighter did not regard me through unfriendly eyes; he did not look at me at all. Usually bluff and forthright, the burly Russian shifted his gaze restlessly. I had long ago grown accustomed to the American way of staring directly at a man, a trait once considered rude. Now I found the lack of direct scrutiny disturbing. He was koh-kee-pay, afraid of me.
Despite the coolness of the greeting, I was forced to tarry while I mulled over what to do with a plow overly heavy and bulky to drape across Patch’s back. As I cast around for poles to make a pony drag, Petrov admitted he had some extra animals and a buckboard he was willing to sell. The atmosphere thawed slightly as I bargained for the items. We reached a deal when he agreed to throw in harness for the wagon. I loa
