Chapter 48

We were a hundred yards down the street before I drew an easy breath. When I reached the blacksmith shop, I threw open the big doors and drove the buckboard right into the building. Timo paused in the act of working the bellows to stare at me.

“Got a problem, Timo, and I need your help. Come on, Matthew, get up.”

From the look on the smith’s face, I was glad Matthew had changed his loincloth for white man’s clothing before we left the farm. The sleeve of his shirt was bloody.

“What’s going on, John?”

“You remember Matthew Brandt, don’t you?”

“Sure do. Been a while since I seen you. Whoa, looks like you’re the one who’s got the problem.”

I improvised. “Actually, we both do. Matthew’s been gone for a while and he tried to Indian up on me at Turtle Crick as a damn fool joke. Instead, he just about became somebody’s darling.” Timo lived in the backyard of a military fort, so I figured he knew the Civil War term for a dead man.