Where the Lost Wander_ A Novel - Amy Harmon Page 0,46

happened to you, Mr. Lowry? Why are you here?”

It isn’t Wyatt. It’s Charlie. They are Charlie’s hands, and it is Charlie’s voice. I reach for my canteen, not sure if it’s real, not certain Charlie is real, or if I am still caught in the dream space. Charlie helps me drink, holding my head the way Wyatt did, and the warm slosh of liquid down my throat convinces me I’m awake.

“Where is Wyatt?” I croak. I do not ask in Pawnee, but Charlie seems to understand.

“There is no one here but me and you, Mr. Lowry. Me, you, Dame, and your jack.”

Relief washes through me, and I peer beyond him. Kettle is partially hidden behind Dame, but I can see his spindly legs and the tips of his big ears. Dame chuffs and extends her long nose toward me in greeting.

“They came back to the fort, back to their friends,” Charlie continues in Pawnee. “Captain Dempsey said something must have happened to you, and he said I should bring them back across the Platte, just in case you were looking for them. When I saw you, I thought you were dead. This is a strange lodge.” He pats the table with a cheeky grin.

“And my mules? Any sign of my mules?”

“No.” Charlie shakes his head. “What has happened to you?” he asks again. “Where is your train?”

“Help me stand,” I plead, and Charlie shoves the table out of the way so he can get above me. He wraps his arms around my chest and hoists me up, grunting a little at our mismatched size. He is probably the age of Wyatt but several inches shorter and much leaner.

“Is that your . . . Wyatt?” Charlie asks, pointing to a rider racing toward us, ringed in dust and leading a mule. For a moment I think I am seeing double, then treble, and beyond him the cloud grows as if he leads an army.

“How many men do you see?” I ask Charlie. He begins to whoop and dance, waving his arms, and I cling to the table, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

“I see many, many men, Mr. Lowry. The warriors have returned!” Charlie yells, and my breaths turn to fire.

“Where the hell is Wyatt?” I mutter.

And then I realize I’m looking at him.

From a distance it almost appears as if he leads the charge, but upon closer inspection, it becomes obvious that he is fleeing from the Pawnee, riding Trick and leading Tumble, who are running full out toward the water, more terrified by the presence behind them than by the long stretch of river laid out in front of them. I straighten, drawing my rifle up beside me, resting it on the table so it can be seen.

“Charlie! Take my horse. Ride out to meet them. Tell them I am a friend.”

Charlie doesn’t argue but fists his hands in Dame’s mane, swings himself onto her back, and races toward the riders barreling toward us. Poor Wyatt must think he is being cut off. He shouts my name, and I wave my rifle, trying to reassure him.

Kettle brays in terror.

“Whoa, Kettle,” I demand. “It’s Trick and Tumble. We know Trick and Tumble.” But it is not just Trick and Tumble, and Kettle brays and kicks up his heels. I beg him to go easy. If he decides to bolt, I don’t have the strength to stop him.

For a moment, I fear for Charlie, running toward his people on a borrowed horse and wearing a cavalry cap, but he is yipping with the confidence of family, and the band of Pawnee braves begins to pull up, abandoning their hard pursuit of Wyatt, though they do not stop completely.

Wyatt reaches me, sliding from Trick without coming to a complete stop. He’s lost his hat, but somehow he’s kept his seat and control of Trick and Tumble, who are shuddering to escape the band of Pawnee coming over the rise.

“They’ve got your mules, John,” Wyatt pants. “And I don’t think they’re inclined to give them back.” I am proud of the boy. He hasn’t lost his wits or his tongue, though his face is slicked with sweat and his eyes are wide with fear. Together, we watch them approach, not speaking, not plotting, just waiting for whatever is to come.

The Pawnee are bloodied, and their ponies are coated in dust. Across the backs of three of the ponies are slung the bodies of their dead. Charlie is no longer celebrating, no

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