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waited in the shadows for an approaching stranger without the comforting presence of his men lurking nearby. It occurred to him that fate may have turned the tables—the bait used to lure unsuspecting prey would find itself ensnared. A part of him knew it’d be justice served.
    Tiller reined his horse behind a cluster of oaks and watched, grateful for the cover of the darkening sky.
    A gangly boy in a floppy straw hat ducked from the woody canopy, all dusky arms and skinny legs. Humming now, he picked his way down the slope into the misty ravine and ambled toward Tiller with a burlap sack slung over his shoulder.
    In the manner of a soul who believes himself alone, he closed his eyes and sang with all his grit, so loud he flushed a chattering squirrel.
    "Dat gospel train’s a comin’,
    I hear it jus’ at hand,
    I hear the car wheels movin’,
    And rumblin’ thru the land.
    Get on board, childr’n,
    Get on board, childr’n,
    Get on board, childr’n,
    They be room for many a mo’."
    Taking his first easy breath, Tiller nudged his horse onto the road.
    The boy’s head jerked up, and he spun for the opposite rise.
    "Hold up there," Tiller called. "I mean you no harm."
    Chest heaving, the lad stilled with one foot braced on the grassy incline, watching over his shoulder.
    Tiller rode closer. "Did you hear what I said? Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you."
    A nod. His scrawny throat worked furiously, as if he found it hard to swallow. By the size of the budding Adam’s apple, he couldn’t be more than twelve, but his small stature made it hard to tell.
    Inching closer, Tiller flashed his brightest smile. "How are you faring on this dismal afternoon?" He ducked his head at the empty sack on the boy’s bony shoulder. "About to pick a mess of berries, I see."
    The boy twisted around to face Tiller, both thumbs shoved in the waistband of his tattered trousers. "Nawsuh." He stared at Tiller with darting eyes. "Cain’t pick nothin’, now. We ’bout to get us a drenchin’."
    Tiller grinned. "I reckon we are at that." He softened his voice. "Where you bound for, young man? You have someplace to go to get in out of the rain?"
    Despite the protection of Nathan’s hat, Tiller’s wet shirt stuck to his back. Rivulets of water ran along his spine beneath his braces, soakinghim down to the skin. It would take a mighty hot fire to dry him out and ease the chill from his bones. He shivered, waiting for an answer.
    Say the right thing, boy. Tell me you live close by, somewhere warm and dry with plenty of room by the fire.
    The little fellow stammered and slid one foot behind him. "Well, suh … you see, we … that is, we ain’t—"
    Together, they spun toward the rustle of footsteps. A taller, meatier version of Tiller’s new friend rounded the bend, halting fast when he saw Tiller. The boy’s brother. No doubt about it. Gathered brows and a quick flick of his head summoned the smaller one to his side. "What you doing consortin’ with strangers? Pa gon’ take a switch to yo’behind."
    "I ain’t consortin’, Rainy. I jus’ run up on him, same as you."
    Like a puppy, the older boy hadn’t quite grown into his oversized paws. Lifting wary eyes to Tiller, he spread long fingers over his little brother’s chest and urged the child behind him. "Hush up, and come on with me. We going home."
    "Wait." Tiller’s upraised hand stopped them cold. "I’m hankering to get out of this weather. You know of a place close by where I could hole up for a spell?"
    Two sets of eyes studied Tiller, as dark and brooding as the angry clouds rolling in behind them. Jagged shards of lightning scattered overhead followed by violent thunder.
    At last, the elder brother nodded. "Yessuh, Bell’s Inn." His arm shot out to point behind him. "A short piece that way. Mastah John and his Injun daughter run the finest stand on the Natchez Trace."
    Tiller nodded. "I know just the one you mean, but I thought the new road shut down all the