7
Duncan reined in the tall thoroughbred at an opening in the thick brush of the ridge above the road, letting it rest after two hours of hard riding. He gazed eastward, not for the first time that morning, and considered abandoning his flight. Ishmael was in grave danger, and Duncan would never forgive himself if the youth lost his life on his account.
They had wasted precious time looking for clues in the wheel shop by the light of the lantern. There had been little more than drops of blood, one trail of which led to a numeral 4 scrawled in the moist soil along the beaten path to the mill, reddened by the b****y finger that had made it. Ishmael had discovered a powder horn under the pillow on the ranger’s bed, with images etched into it in the style of frontiersmen. The images were of
