Hanne… what are you—" Mr. Hawes stopped in midsentence, looked at Wilson Bledsoe, and then continued. "Isn't that one of those fellows we had a set to with at the Battles place?"

Ben Minot looked up from where he was cleaning type. "He looks a little bit like that son of a bitch who was shootin' at us and who made off with our horses. But I don't think it's him." Then he remembered my mother. "Sorry about my language, Mrs. Battles."

My mother put up her hand.

"Now, Ben, I asked them to come here so you and Horace could explain to Wilson Bledsoe here exactly what happened that day."

"What happened to your face?" Ben asked. "Why, you—"

My mother stepped forward between Ben and Bledsoe. "It was...

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