5
“They took his head,” MacRae mumbled as they returned to Quebec. “The savages took MacNicholl’s head.”
“We know,” MacKim snapped. He wondered if he should have left a guard on the wood while they chased away the Indians. No, he told himself. If he left a single man, the Indians would have killed him, while leaving more than one would have weakened the counter-attack.
The memory of that tattooed Canadian haunted MacKim as he gave the parole – the password – to enter the city. That was the man who had murdered Tayanita.
“Mister,” the small voice broke through MacKim’s thoughts. “Mister Corporal.” The small boy was there, hovering out of reach, unsure whether to plead for food or flee for safety.
About to chase him away, MacKim swore and reached for any fragments of biscuit he had reta
