Chapter 82

The moon cleared a low-hanging cloud. Raven slipped from his pony and stood with his back to me to examine the barn silently. I lifted my rifle, sighted close to his head, and squeezed the trigger. He chose that moment to move so that my bullet must have scorched his ear. He dropped to the ground and twisted around.

“Eagle!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot, it’s me, Raven.”

“I know who it is, you miserable coward. That shot was a warning. The next one will punch out your eyeball.”

He got to his feet, his hands held out to show they were free of weapons. “Let me talk to you. Tell you of the love in my heart. You know the power of my loins, now let me show you the beauty of my love. I have brought a love flute. I will play—”

I threw a shot into the ground at his feet. Then another. And another. He danced backward, an oddly graceful maneuver. I quit firing. “Take your flute and get out of here, or by God, the next one will be right in your gut.”