“Shut it,” a third voice whispered urgently.
The boys above fell silent. Cole heard footsteps approaching. His body went rigid. He tried to breathe silently. Boots and legs became visible.
“What’s all the commotion?” the redhead inquired in a rough whisper.
“Nothing,” one of the boys answered.
“They were trying to take my coat,” Dalton improvised quietly.
“Keep it down or I’ll confiscate it,” the redhead threatened. “It’s time to sleep.”
“Just wait until my dad catches up,” one of the boys said. “He’s a cop.”
The redhead gave a weary chuckle. “There is no way from there to here. Your parents won’t even remember you. No more noise. I don’t want to come over here again.”
“Sorry,” Dalton said.
“Don’t apologize,” the redhead said. “Just stop talking.”
“Excuse me,” a girl called softly from a neighboring wagon.
“That goes for all of you,” the redhead snapped, barely maintaining his whisper.
“I just thought you might want to know about the boy hiding under the wagon,” the girl replied.
Cole felt like he had suddenly been immersed in ice water.
The boots shuffled. “What?”
“Ansel told us we would be punished for not telling what we know,” the girl said. “A boy under that wagon is planning an escape.”
The redhead crouched and met eyes with Cole. “Well, who have we here?”
Cole tried to force words from his throat. It took a second. “Me? I’m a free citizen looking for work.”
“Free, you say?” The man chuckled. “I can see your wrist, lad. Free for the moment perhaps. Not for long.”
Chapter 4
BONDMARK
Cole knew he had to get away, but for a moment the shock of discovery held him paralyzed. His only chance was to run. They were on an empty prairie at night. If he went far enough, fast enough, maybe the kidnappers would lose him.
When the crouching redhead reached under the wagon, Cole rolled the opposite way. Springing to his feet, he took off, passing other wagons and jumping a sleeping figure bundled in a worn blanket.
“Intruder!” went up the alarm from the redhead. “On your feet! Intruder! Don’t let him get away!”
The shouted words fed Cole’s panic. Men all around the encampment cast aside their covers and scrambled to their feet. Racing toward the open prairie, Cole saw two men running parallel to him and a little ahead, gradually converging. Both were faster than him. If he kept going straight, they would have him, so he abruptly doubled back, hoping to streak through the camp and shake them in the confusion.
The change in direction only revealed the redhead coming at him from behind, along with several others. Lacking better options, Cole swerved toward the nearest wagon, grabbed the bars, and climbed on top. The fingers of the redhead brushed his heel but failed to grab him.
Crouched atop the wooden roof of the wagon, Cole couldn’t see his pursuers, but he could hear them coming from all directions. Cole had never been the fastest runner, but he was a confident climber. Heights had never bothered him. There was another wagon parked not too far away. With a running start, he jumped to the next roof, barely clearing the gap.
“He’s moving!” shouted a gruff voice.
Cole ran across the wagon and leaped to the roof of another, landing in a sprawl, one cheek against the splintery wood. Rising to his knees, he realized that he had reached the end of the line. Unless he turned around, there was no other wagon within range.
“Still on the move!” a voice boomed. “He’s on this one!”
If he stayed put, they would take him. Cole ran and jumped from the roof as far as he could. As the ground rushed up to greet him, he saw men coming at him from off to one side. Cole tried to land running but flopped painfully forward into the dirt instead, the impact jarring his bones. Driven by adrenalized panic, he scrambled to his feet just in time for a large body to tackle him from behind.
All the air whooshed from his lungs as Cole was pinned beneath the bulk of a large man who stank of leather and sweat. Cole squirmed, but calloused hands held him firmly. Dirt filled his mouth, and a thorny weed prickled against his temple. Other men gathered around him.
Then the men hushed one another. A light approached, accompanied by footsteps. Craning his neck, Cole saw Ansel, a lantern in one hand. He wore his wide-brimmed hat, a long underwear shirt, pants with suspenders, and a dusty pair of boots. In his other hand he held a sickle. Cole closed his eyes, dread coiling inside.
The boots halted a pace away from Cole’s face. “What have we here?” that dry voice asked.
Cole opened his eyes and kept silent.
“Found him under a wagon,” the redhead reported. “Must’ve slipped into camp.”
Ansel crouched down, setting the lantern on the ground. The nearby brightness made it hard to see Ansel’s face. “Time to fess up, Scarecrow. Slipped into camp from where?”
“Just passing through,” Cole tried.
“One of the girls said he was planning an escape,” the redhead volunteered.
“She ratted him out?” Ansel asked.
“Sure did,” the redhead said.
Ansel nodded. “Good for her. She might make a go of it here. That little darling deserves a reward. We have any of those cookies left? The frosted ones?”
“A few,” a voice answered.
“She gets them all,” Ansel said. “Give her the royal treatment the rest of the way to Five Roads. First served, largest helpings, front wagon—whatever we can do to make her comfortable.”
Cole hoped the cookies would give her food poisoning. But he kept his mouth shut.
Ansel stood, picking up the lantern. “Let him up.”
The man let go of Cole and got off him. A rough hand grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. Ansel studied him through eyes so narrow, they almost looked closed.
“Were you planning to steal my slaves, Scarecrow?”
Cole glanced at the sickle—the wicked curve of the blade, the sharp point. He wasn’t sure what this guy wanted to hear. “You took my friends.”
“You’re from over there,” Ansel said. “From outside. You came through with us. How’d you slip away?”
Cole didn’t want to tell Ansel that he had come through after them. The Wayminder had helped him, and Cole worried the truth might get him in trouble. “In the confusion, I hid behind one of the stone trees.”
The boys above fell silent. Cole heard footsteps approaching. His body went rigid. He tried to breathe silently. Boots and legs became visible.
“What’s all the commotion?” the redhead inquired in a rough whisper.
“Nothing,” one of the boys answered.
“They were trying to take my coat,” Dalton improvised quietly.
“Keep it down or I’ll confiscate it,” the redhead threatened. “It’s time to sleep.”
“Just wait until my dad catches up,” one of the boys said. “He’s a cop.”
The redhead gave a weary chuckle. “There is no way from there to here. Your parents won’t even remember you. No more noise. I don’t want to come over here again.”
“Sorry,” Dalton said.
“Don’t apologize,” the redhead said. “Just stop talking.”
“Excuse me,” a girl called softly from a neighboring wagon.
“That goes for all of you,” the redhead snapped, barely maintaining his whisper.
“I just thought you might want to know about the boy hiding under the wagon,” the girl replied.
Cole felt like he had suddenly been immersed in ice water.
The boots shuffled. “What?”
“Ansel told us we would be punished for not telling what we know,” the girl said. “A boy under that wagon is planning an escape.”
The redhead crouched and met eyes with Cole. “Well, who have we here?”
Cole tried to force words from his throat. It took a second. “Me? I’m a free citizen looking for work.”
“Free, you say?” The man chuckled. “I can see your wrist, lad. Free for the moment perhaps. Not for long.”
Chapter 4
BONDMARK
Cole knew he had to get away, but for a moment the shock of discovery held him paralyzed. His only chance was to run. They were on an empty prairie at night. If he went far enough, fast enough, maybe the kidnappers would lose him.
When the crouching redhead reached under the wagon, Cole rolled the opposite way. Springing to his feet, he took off, passing other wagons and jumping a sleeping figure bundled in a worn blanket.
“Intruder!” went up the alarm from the redhead. “On your feet! Intruder! Don’t let him get away!”
The shouted words fed Cole’s panic. Men all around the encampment cast aside their covers and scrambled to their feet. Racing toward the open prairie, Cole saw two men running parallel to him and a little ahead, gradually converging. Both were faster than him. If he kept going straight, they would have him, so he abruptly doubled back, hoping to streak through the camp and shake them in the confusion.
The change in direction only revealed the redhead coming at him from behind, along with several others. Lacking better options, Cole swerved toward the nearest wagon, grabbed the bars, and climbed on top. The fingers of the redhead brushed his heel but failed to grab him.
Crouched atop the wooden roof of the wagon, Cole couldn’t see his pursuers, but he could hear them coming from all directions. Cole had never been the fastest runner, but he was a confident climber. Heights had never bothered him. There was another wagon parked not too far away. With a running start, he jumped to the next roof, barely clearing the gap.
“He’s moving!” shouted a gruff voice.
Cole ran across the wagon and leaped to the roof of another, landing in a sprawl, one cheek against the splintery wood. Rising to his knees, he realized that he had reached the end of the line. Unless he turned around, there was no other wagon within range.
“Still on the move!” a voice boomed. “He’s on this one!”
If he stayed put, they would take him. Cole ran and jumped from the roof as far as he could. As the ground rushed up to greet him, he saw men coming at him from off to one side. Cole tried to land running but flopped painfully forward into the dirt instead, the impact jarring his bones. Driven by adrenalized panic, he scrambled to his feet just in time for a large body to tackle him from behind.
All the air whooshed from his lungs as Cole was pinned beneath the bulk of a large man who stank of leather and sweat. Cole squirmed, but calloused hands held him firmly. Dirt filled his mouth, and a thorny weed prickled against his temple. Other men gathered around him.
Then the men hushed one another. A light approached, accompanied by footsteps. Craning his neck, Cole saw Ansel, a lantern in one hand. He wore his wide-brimmed hat, a long underwear shirt, pants with suspenders, and a dusty pair of boots. In his other hand he held a sickle. Cole closed his eyes, dread coiling inside.
The boots halted a pace away from Cole’s face. “What have we here?” that dry voice asked.
Cole opened his eyes and kept silent.
“Found him under a wagon,” the redhead reported. “Must’ve slipped into camp.”
Ansel crouched down, setting the lantern on the ground. The nearby brightness made it hard to see Ansel’s face. “Time to fess up, Scarecrow. Slipped into camp from where?”
“Just passing through,” Cole tried.
“One of the girls said he was planning an escape,” the redhead volunteered.
“She ratted him out?” Ansel asked.
“Sure did,” the redhead said.
Ansel nodded. “Good for her. She might make a go of it here. That little darling deserves a reward. We have any of those cookies left? The frosted ones?”
“A few,” a voice answered.
“She gets them all,” Ansel said. “Give her the royal treatment the rest of the way to Five Roads. First served, largest helpings, front wagon—whatever we can do to make her comfortable.”
Cole hoped the cookies would give her food poisoning. But he kept his mouth shut.
Ansel stood, picking up the lantern. “Let him up.”
The man let go of Cole and got off him. A rough hand grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. Ansel studied him through eyes so narrow, they almost looked closed.
“Were you planning to steal my slaves, Scarecrow?”
Cole glanced at the sickle—the wicked curve of the blade, the sharp point. He wasn’t sure what this guy wanted to hear. “You took my friends.”
“You’re from over there,” Ansel said. “From outside. You came through with us. How’d you slip away?”
Cole didn’t want to tell Ansel that he had come through after them. The Wayminder had helped him, and Cole worried the truth might get him in trouble. “In the confusion, I hid behind one of the stone trees.”
