He groaned, his chest rising and falling with it. His eyes fluttered a bit and then opened. “Big cat got me,” he said, as if I’d asked him. “I’d just downed a fat grouse. I was plucking it. Cat decided that me and the bird would make a nice meal for him.”

“Let’s get you down the hill and into the house.”

“I got to get to Gettys. I was due there today. Supposed to report in.” I took his shoulders and raised him to a sitting position. He silently snarled his pain as I did so. “You’re a scout?”

He caught a ragged breath. “Lieutenant Buel Hitch.” He grunted with pain, and then found breath to speak again. “And by the king’s authority, I can order you to help me. I got to get to Gettys.”

“You don’t have to order me. I’d help you anyway.”

“I’m sure you would,” he replied with tight sarcasm. “You just love the king and his soldiers, don’t you?”

“I am loyal to my king. And as a second son, it is my fate to be a soldier.

Not that I’ve had much success at it. But if you have finished insulting me, I’ll take you down to where your injuries can be cleaned and properly tended.” He looked at me for a few moments. His hoarse breath sawed in and out of him.

Then he said, “You’re no convict. What are you doing in Dead Town?”

“I was passing through on my way to Gettys. I ran out of supplies. So I stopped for a few days, to barter work for food.”

“This town, I’m surprised you got anything at all for your trouble, other than a rock behind the ear. Stoop down and let me get my arm across your shoulders. You’re a big one, aren’t you?”

There seemed little need to reply to that observation. I did as he asked, and once he had his grip, I grasped his belt and raised him to his feet. He swayed against me. I carried most of his weight, but he tried to walk. He gasped and groaned as we tottered along. It was slow progress down the hill. I glanced back to see his horse following us.

Halfway across the stump field, I shouted for Amzil to put water on to boil.

I called twice before she came to the door of the cottage. Her eyes widened, and she darted back inside. When we approached the door, I was shocked to see her standing in it, her huge gun once more leveled at my midsection. “What?” I asked her.

“You’re not bringing him in here.” She spoke the words flatly.

“But he’s hurt.”

“This is my home. I’ve my children to protect. You’re not bringing that stranger in here.”

I just shook my head at her. Then I turned and started limping him toward the other hut I’d inspected that morning. “Put my panniers outside your door, then,” I said, and did not bother to hide the disgust in my voice. Behind me, I heard the door of her cottage slam shut.