He looked back the way he’d come: it was a straight line out to the road...but then what? Back toward Bytown? Or further west, where even more Irishmen might be waiting? The only thing he knew was he couldn’t stay where he was.
“You hear that?” asked Jimmy, slipping off his horse.
“What you reckon it is?” asked his partner.
“I don’t know,” said Jimmy, creeping over to the edge of the forest and peering in. “But I’m gonna find out. Keep watch.”
Jimmy pushed past the frozen branches, loud cracking heralding his approach. Émile was out of options. In or out, he was going to have to deal with the Irishmen. Somehow.
He crawled, flat as he could be, toward the road. If he put a little distance between himself and the horse, maybe they’d think it was a stray and give up looking further.
But the damn thing wouldn’t let him go. It started to follow him, pausing as he paused. He wanted to wave it off, but couldn’t risk being seen.