Chapter 76
“In the grass where he fell, I guess. He carried a knife I laid there on the steps. The pony is munching grass near the west hummock.”
Lone Eagle swept up the skinning knife and stalked back to the edge of the meadow. In a few minutes, he held up an old flintlock and let out a whoop. His companions joined in. Triumphantly, he recovered the boy’s pony and led his small band toward the village.
An hour later, the dogs told me strangers were coming. The day was dying, but the light was good enough to see Carcajou with several of his warriors at my meadow. I stepped to the porch and called him forward.
“He is here, Carcajou. He’s been injured, but he will recover.”
The subject of the discussion staggered out the door and sagged against a pillar, looking wan and hurt and young.
“I cleaned and cauterized the bullet wound, but he hit his head when he fell off his horse, so he’s apt to be dizzier than normal for one of that age. His weapons and pony are forfeit.”