Mabel Mae Grandstaff was the best at sharpening a knife in the whole county. A knife she sharpened could shave the coarsest whiskers clean and still split a hair. She was probably also the best at using one. She would have a chicken cut up for frying in two shakes of a lamb’s tail with nary a stray cut. Every stroke was sure and clean and to good effect.

One afternoon as Mabel Mae wended her way homeward after a visit to McGill’s Mercantile for sugar and coffee, she chanced upon Rufus Williams lolling about under a willow on the bank of Sutter’s Run by the steppings stones used to cross it. The creek was up and the stones partially submerged.

"Hey there, Mabel Mae, darlin’, you gonna’ get your pretty shoes all wet crossin’ that crick. Here, you let me carry you across." He stood and walked toward her.

"I’m nimble as a cat, and don’t you dare touch me or I’ll cut you stem to stern" Mabel Mae warned him sharply. Rufus was a notorious layabout with a leer that made you want a bath. There were rumors about things he might have done to the bawdy girls over in Stillerton. He continued approaching. She glared at him.

"I'm-a carry you cross that crick, Mabel Mae, and then we'll have us a lie-down under that sycamore." His look was dark and ugly as he reached out to grab and lift her. A quick flash and a blade appeared in her hand and met his throat. Blood welled and gurgled out of the gash and he found himself gasping for breath and clutching his neck as he stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

"I warned you." She turned and leapt lightly from stone to stone across the creek, barely dampening the soles of her shoes.

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