In the end, they stayed for two more hours in this refuge. Drunk with fatigue, aching, crushed by the anguish and tension of the last hours, they would have liked to take turns watching over Francis Warren while the others slept a little in a real bed. A little while to recover. A few stolen minutes; a deserved break. But as Erma pointed out, the absence of a veterinarian in a small town like this would not go unnoticed. Very quickly, they would try to find out why he wasn’t doing his daily rounds. There was also the risk that a farmer would visit him at home.
It was not yet nine o’clock in the morning when they left the house. Still under the threat of the rifle, Francis was forced to accompany them.
“I guess this is where we part ways, isn’t it?” he asked with feigned assurance.
“Yes,
