They only feel like they’re important if someone else tells them they are.”

He snorted out a laugh. “You can always tell who they are. They aren’t happy just living their own lives. They want to control yours, too. You know the men I mean…”

I smiled stiffly. “My father.”

“Your father. You don’t even have to tell me, Never. He’s still got his boot on your neck. I can just about see it if I squint.”

“Explain yourself.” I spoke abruptly, stung by his words. He laughed at me.

“I don’t have to, Never. You feel it yourself, don’t you?”

“I left my father’s home. And when I did, I left him behind as well.”

“Sure you did.” His tone was mocking.

I reminded myself that he was a very sick man. But in the depths of my soul, I suspected that Hitch had always been a needler and a digger, always a man who took pleasure in provoking others. I made no response.

The silence lasted a bit. Then he laughed oddly, long and low. In a reedy, childish voice he said, “I know you. I see you, Never. You can’t hide from Buel Hitch. He’s been too long in the forest. You can’t hide behind the trees.”

“I think your mind is wandering from the fever,” I said reasonably. “No. I can see a part of you that ain’t no soldier son. I see something stronger than your pa’s boot on your neck. You’re going to the Specks, ain’t you?

You got the call to be a Great Man.”

I knew it was a sick man’s rambling thoughts. Nonetheless, it stood the hair up on the back of my neck and on my arms. “We’d best start looking for a place to camp tonight,” I said uneasily.

“Very well,” Hitch replied agreeably. For a time we rode in almost companionable silence. Renegade moved steadily along, and the horse truly seemed to know where he was going. There was no true trail; instead we had followed a deer track up a hill, diverged to follow a stream as it wound down the next slope, traversed a valley beside it, and then climbed the next hill on a game trail. We had been following a ridge as the sun moved ever closer to the horizon. Now, as we descended again, the shadow of the hill falling across us made evening seem much closer.

“You don’t much like it, do you?” he asked me. Then, before I could ask him what he meant, he gestured at a stand of mixed trees. “There’s a good place. There’s a spring down in those rocks beyond the trees. You don’t much like the magic telling you what to do.”

“We’ll camp there, then,” I said, ignoring the words I didn’t want to hear from this stranger.

“It’s a good spot. The evergreen trees break the wind. You don’t need to be ashamed. I don’t like it, either. It was a poor bargain. Not that I had much say in the terms of the bargain. You decide you want to live, and then it’s got you. One way or another. I was sent to fetch you. I said no. But you don’t say no to the magic, do you?”