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Draft 1 – Updated 1 October 2025 (C010/D001)
Hunter left the old barn while it was dark. He had to pass the mills and the forge on the bank of the river where the men often drank whiskey until dawn. Alone, passing by unnoticed was a cinch, but having to do it with a horse complicated things. Scout and LT used the remaining time to walk their horses over—and over and over—evidence of what happened in Milton. As soon as it was light enough to see the surface of the road, LT mounted up and pointed his horse east.
“You’re not going to change?” Scout asked, from the far side of her own horse, causing him to pause.
He’d been wearing his uniform for so many weeks, it felt normal. But given all that had gone on over the past couple of days, she was right. The river men would notice a uniformed deputy riding away from the Shadows so close to the autumn moon. But they might not look closely at a traveler they didn’t recognize. So he changed his clothes while Scout muddied up some of the light spots on his horse. Then he started off again, planning to hook up with Hunter on the other side of town.
Scout stayed longer and continued working to cover up signs of the coffle’s presence. The burned out town site, although abandoned, was not entirely unused. Travelers camped in the barn from time to time. Trappers, hunters, gatherers, and scavengers used it too. So her goal was not to make it look like no one had been there, it was to make it difficult to tell exactly who had been there recently.
When that was accomplished to the best of her ability, Scout rode into Old Mill arriving at the butcher’s shop two fingers after sunrise. Nothing about this visit would seem out of the ordinary. Scout and Hunter could often be seen making early morning drops at the butcher’s shop.
“Maybe today. Probably tomorrow,” she said. “The autumn moon is a few days away. They can’t wait much longer.”
John and Amanda were gathering items and packing them into two saddle bags laid out on the counter in the front of the shop.
“Should we have lookouts?” Amanda asked. “In case they decide to surprise us?” She was folding a stack of clothing she’d brought down from the second floor. One by one, she was tucking socks, shirts, britches, and other essentials into the saddlebags while John packed food he was picking from the shelves and lifting from the hooks.
“You think I oughta bring some food for the other guys?” he asked, half to himself, calculating the number of meals he would eat, before grabbing a few extras and setting them next to his bag.
“That’s a good idea,” Scout replied to Amanda’s lookout proposal. “I’ll be taking supplies to the kids when you folks are sleeping,” Scout responded. “I’ll talk to her about that tonight.”
“Autumn?” Amanda Butcher asked quizzically. “The man with the handlebar moustache?”
Scout nodded.
Amanda was about to ask a followup question but Scout had already moved on. “Hunter said you had family in Milton,” she said gently to John, leaning into the counter next to the saddlebags.
The butcher’s mouth presed shut and his dark brow furrowed. “I lost my brother there.”
Scout thought of her mother and felt for a moment like the breath was being squeezed from her chest. “Can you talk about it?” she asked him in a low voice, her tone open to refusal. “It might help us plan.”
John had a small sack of dried rice in his hand. Grim-faced, he stepped up to the counter and set it down. Amanda looked heartbroken. She reached out, picked up the sack, and disappeared into the back.
“It happened right after the ceasefire was signed,” he said. “The Company rode in and demanded additional tribute. Said it was to help pay the cost of their war. Wanted two boys and two girls right then and there.”
“They had no right,” his wife called from the other room. “It wasn’t in the terms,” she added as she reentered with a blackened hanging pot in one hand and the bag of rice in the other. “But it was so soon after the ceasefire was signed that nobody’d had a chance to read it yet.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” John shook his head, as Amanda stuffed the bag into the pot, clamped on the lid, and slipped it into a saddlebag. “Milton refused.”
Scout felt their anguish. Giving up a child unseen at birth, before you’d held it, before knowing its gender, was heartbreaking. Many mothers in the valley had been through that since the ceasefire. But giving a child up after raising it for a few years? That was soul-crushing.
“There was a skirmish,” John continued. “Collier’s father was killed. Three of the deputies were injured. Then they left.”
“Collier?” Scout clarified. “That’s the wiry guy? The needle smoker?”
John nodded. “When the deputies left, everyone assumed the fight was over.
Amanda shook her head. “They shoulda know better.”
“A week later, they came back with forty men.”
Scout wondered why it took a week. One day up the mountain. One day to organize. One day back down. Why a week?
“They confiscated livestock. Arrested everyone in the village who might be useful in a fight. Busted up the forge. Emptied the fletchery. Torched the butcher’s shop.”
“And the rice silo,” Amanda reminded him.
Scout took mental notes. Her plans were forming even as they spoke.
“They gave the village the winter to come to their senses. Said they’d be back in the spring. Demanded their war tax plus two more children as a fine.”
John choked up then, momentarily unable to speak.
“Over the winter,” Amanda stepped in to give her husband some relief, “most of the townsfolk either starved or moved away.”
Scout didn’t blame them. No food. No weapons. No way to make either. How does a village of unarmed farmers fight professional killers?
“Nine families stayed to fight,” John regained his voice, “including my brother’s.”
She wondered how many had fled, but she had no doubts. Staying wouldn’t have made a difference. The Company has unlimited resources. Nine or ninety-nine. The result would be the same. And those who fled would have been hunted down anyway. Short of heading for the free lands, there was nowhere to go.
“Families who fled told stories.” Amanda teared up. “They talked about killing their own children.”
That would have made things worse for everyone else in the valley, Scout realized.
“They came back day after spring moon,” John’s eyes hardened. “It was a short fight. They took the children, crucified the rest, and burned what remained to the ground.”
“Milton was declared dead,” Amanda added. “Made into a monument. They left the crucified bodies hanging by the road as a warning.”
The couple were still for several heartbeats and then, as if they had never stopped, both resumed packing for John’s trip.
“That’s about it, I think,” John said. “Any of it useful?”
“Well,” Scout said, pondering their story, ”when something works for the Company they tend to do it again—”
“What about Southport?” Amanda was struck with a thought. “Same kind of thing happened there.”
Scout nodded. “The stories are similar. But this sounds more like business. There were no negotiations in Southport. That was…personal.”
Amanda stopped short, a hand deep inside one of the saddlebags. “My God,” she said, “They’re supposed to be on our side.”
Scout was taken aback by the comment. “They’ve done worse.”
“Worse?” Amanda scoffed. “People were crucified in Milton and burned alive in Southport. How could it be worse?”
Scout cleared her throat. Humans, she thought. “There was a time, not long ago,” she said calmly, struggling to keep accusation from creeping into her tone, “when there were no humans in this valley.”
John squinted, as if counting something. Amanda looked as if she might vomit.
Humans have short memories, Scout thought. Don’t blame them for a past they don’t remember. Stay in the present, she chastised herself.
Amanda and John continued packing in relative silence. A few questions were asked about this item or that. Decisions were made about what to take and what to leave behind. Hunter had not told John where they were going. The only instructions he had were to meet at Long Lake.
“Do you think they’ll figure out the children survived?” Amanda asked when they moved to the stable to help John tack up.
“I don’t think it matters,” Scout replied.” Neither does Hunter. That’s why he’s going for help.”
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” said John, throwing a blanket over his horse. “Maybe we should just turn them over.”
Scout felt every drop of sympathy drain from her body. His arms were up, atop the back of his horse. He was unarmed. The entire side of his neck was exposed.
“The governor lost an overseer and some deputies in the river camp,” Amanda reminded him. “He will demand compensation either way.
“But how is that our fault?” John’s arms dropped as he turned to face his wife.
“Someone has to pay,” Scout reminded him. “Old Mill is closest. He’ll take it from you.”
“OK,” the butcher said, pulling a pencil stub from his pocket, “but maybe we can lower the price a bit.” He turned to the top rail of the stall, as if to write on it. “The prices for the deputies and the prices for the children are separate,” he reasoned, waving the pencil in thought. “Combine them and the price is high. But separate them…”
Scout’s eyes narrowed into slits. Amanda shot her husband a warning glare.
John may not have understood the reason for the mood change, but he surely felt it because the pencil vanished and the subject quickly changed.
“What kind of help is Hunter bringing?” he asked, turning back to saddle his horse and waving away a fly.
Scout regarded John’s exposed neck for a very long time, wondering if he could be trusted, wondering if it might not be smarter to end this right now. Hunter would be disappointed because John was a useful partner. But he trusted her judgement. Right now, she was the one in the middle. If the plan needed adjustments, she had the authority to make them.
“He will bring the best help available,” she replied, deliberately vague. “We need to hold the fort until he gets back.”
“In that case, I guess we’re lucky.” Amanda smiled, signalling a desire to ease tensions. “The autumn moon is in a few days, so the Beard will be too dangerous to travel through.”
“They might risk a fast moving party of scouts for a few days yet,” John observed, “but you’re right…they won’t risk bringing forty men right now. The earliest they can bring numbers is next spring.”
“We have the winter to prepare,” Scout, too, made an effort to relax. We’re all friends here, she told herself. “We need a plan.”
“We have to be careful who we tell,” Amanda reminded everyone. “The Company has friends in Old Mill.”
Scout agreed. “Outside of the people we met with yesterday, nobody should know anything for now.”
“How do we explain you being here?” John asked Scout.
“Same as before,” she replied. “I’m recovering from an illness.”
“For six moons?” Amanda questioned that suggestion.
“I’ll recover quickly,” Scout clarified. “Then, I’ll do what everyone expects a hunter to do. I’ll hunt and sell meat to the butcher. I’ll spend my money at the fletchery. I will teach hunting skills to anybody who wants to learn.”
“You can work with the Fletchers again,” John suggested. “Their oldest is quite good now.”
The women nodded. Scout had stayed with them before. This was the cover story then as well.
“In the meantime, we need to supply the children and start dispersing caches in case we need to hide.”
“Where did you hide them?” John asked, casually.
“They’re in a safe place,” Scout responded, without looking at him.
“But…” John was thinking again. He reached into his pocket for his pencil. “If our plans change.”
“The children are free now,” Scout said, looking to Amanda for help with this stubbornly stupid man.
Amanda acknowledged her request with a single nod and moved up beside her husband.
“But…” John was puzzled. “What if…we…need them?”
Amanda held her hand out and John obeyed—closing his mouth and handing her the pencil. “They’re not property, John,” she told him. “They’re not ours to trade.”
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