Chapter 31

IT WAS dark by the time Dallin came back, the streets of the quiet village dim-lit with the sputtering glow of the too-occasional gas lamp and even more deserted than the small villages on the outskirts of Putnam at night. Dallin's boots crunched lightly over the hardpack of the road, the sporadic rattle of a pot or a low laugh and the splash of water coming from the back door of the hostel the only sounds to disturb the cold tranquility.

The glow of lamplight spilled from the sheriff's office, cutting little slices of warmth into the night, slivering across the porch and into the road through the barred windows. Locke must be back and wondering where Dallin had gone--likely also wondering why he'd hared off without leaving word and left his prisoner sitting in the cell alone and in the dark.