Bowsmith wore a look of such dejection that he scarcely brightened with surprise at the cunning man’s incongruous appearance. A black iron pointer dangled from the boy’s right hand, and the scrap of bandage had fallen from his left ring finger without being replaced.
“Ev’nin’ t’ ye, sir,” he said to Old Nathan. “Wisht I could say I’d done ez ye told me, but I don’t reckon I kin.”
When the cat released Old Nathan’s forearm, the cunning man let him jump to the floor. The animal promptly began to insinuate himself between Bowsmith’s feet and rub the boy’s knees with his tailtip, muttering, “Good t’ see ye, good thet ye’ve come.”
“Well, you’re alive,” said Old Nathan, “en you’re here, which ain’t a bad start fer fixin’ sich ez needs t’ be fixed. Set yerself en we’ll talk about it.”
Bowsmith obeyed his host’s gesture and seated himself in the rocker, still warm and clicking with the motion of the cunning man rising from it. He held out the pointer but did not look at his host as he explained, “I wint to the settlemint, and I told the sheriff what ye said. He gathered up mebbe half a dozen uv the men thereabouts, all totin’ their guns like they wuz en army. En I named Jen, like you said, and this nail, hit like t’ pull outen my hand it wuz so fierce t’ find her.”
Old Nathan examined by firelight the pointer he had taken from the boy. He was frowning, and when he measured the iron against his finger the frown became a thundercloud in which the cunning man’s eyes were flashes of green lightning. The pointer was a quarter inch longer than the one that had left his cabin the morning before.
“En would ye b’lieve it, but hit took us straight ez straight t’ the Neill place?” continued the boy with genuine wonderment in his voice. He shook his head. “I told the sheriff I reckoned there wuz a mistake, but mebbe the Bar’n had found Jen en he wuz keepin’ her t’ give me whin I next come by.”
Bowsmith shook his head again. He laced his fingers together on his lap and stared glumly at them as he concluded, “But I be hanged ef thet same ol’ spavined mule warn’t tied t’ the door uv the barn, and the pinter wouldn’t leave afore it touched hit’s hoof.” He sucked in his lips in frustration.
“Here, I’d admire ef you sleeked my fur,” purred the cat, and he leaped into the boy’s lap. Bowsmith’s hands obeyed as aptly as if he could have understood the words of the request.
“What is it happened thin, boy?” Old Nathan asked in a voice as soft as the whisper of powder being poured down the barrel of a musket.
“Well, I’m feared to guess what might hev happened,” explained Bowsmith, “effen the Baron hisself hedn’t come out the cabin and say hit made no matter.”
He began to nod in agreement with the words in his memory, saying, “The Bar’n, he told the sheriff I wuzn’t right in the head sometimes, en he give thim all a swig outen his jug uv wildcat so’s they wouldn’t hammer me fer runnin’ thim off through the woods like a durned fool. They wuz laughin’ like fiends whin they left, the sheriff and the folk from the settlement.”
Bowsmith’s hands paused. The cat waited a moment, then rose and battered his chin against the boy’s chest until the stroking resumed.
“Reckon I am a durn fool,” the boy said morosely. “Thet en worse.”
“How long did ye stop over t’ the Neills after ye left here yestiddy?” Old Nathan asked in the same soft voice.
“Coo,” said Bowsmith, meeting the cunning man’s eyes as wonder drove the gloom from his face. “Well, I niver . . . Wuzn’t goin’ t’ tell ye thet, seein’s ez ye’d said I oughtn’t t’ stop. But Mar’ Beth, she seed me on the road en hollered me up t’ the cabin t’ set fer a spell. Don’t guess I was there too long, though. The Baron asked me whin I was going t’ clear his newground. And then whin he went out, me en the boys, we passed the jug a time er two.”