ourselves shut of this place," Mr. Williams said.
"Bloody right," Lord Bullard said. "This is a matter for the authorities."
Mr. Briggs appeared dumbfounded. "Well don't this beat all. Luke, what do you say?"
Luke Honey lighted a cigarette. "I think we should get back to the lodge. A dirty shame, but that's how I see it."
"I don't believe this."
"Me neither," Mr. McEvoy said. His leg was elevated and his cheeks shone with sweat. His ankle was swaddled in bandages. "Wish I could walk, damn it."
"You saw what that stag did to the dogs," Lord Bullard said. "There's something unnatural at work and I've had quite enough, thank you." He wiped his eyes and looked at Luke Honey. "You'll answer for Wes. Don't think you won't."
"Easy there, partner," Mr. Williams said.
Luke Honey nodded. "Well, Mr. Bullard, I think you may be correct. I'll answer for your friend. That reckoning is a bit farther down the list, but it's on there."
"This is no time to bicker," said Mr. Liam Welloc. "Apparently we are in agreement-"
"Not all of us," Mr. Briggs said, glowering.
"-Since we are in agreement, let's commence packing. We'll sort everything out when we return to the house."
"What about Scobie?" Mr. Briggs said.
"Master Scobie can fend for himself," Mr. Liam Welloc said, his bland, conciliatory demeanor firmly in place. "As I said, upon our return we will alert the proper authorities. Sheriff Peckham has some experience in these matters."
Luke Honey didn't believe the sheriff, or anybody else, would be combing these woods for one raggedy kid anytime soon. The yearly sacrifice had been accomplished. This was the way of the world; this was its beating heart and panting maw. He'd seen such offerings made by tribes in the jungles, just as his own Gaelic kin had once poured wine in the sea and cut the throats of fatted lambs. If one looked back far enough, all men issued from the same wellspring and every last one of them feared the dark as Mr. Liam Welloc and Dr. Landscomb and their constituency in Ransom Hollow surely did. Despite the loathsome nature of their pact, there was nothing shocking about this arrangement. To propitiate the gods, to please one's lord and master was ever the way. That expert killers such as the English and the Texans and, of course, himself, served as provender in this particular iteration of the eternal drama filled Luke Honey's heart with bitter amusement. This wry humor mixed with his increasing dread and rendered him giddy, almost drunken.
Mr. Wesley's body was laid across the saddle of Luke Honey's horse and the company began the long trudge homeward. The dreary fog persisted, although the rain had given out for the moment.
"I hope you don't think I'm a coward," Mr. Williams said. He rode beside Luke Honey who was walking at the rear of the group.
Luke Honey didn't speak. He pulled his collar tight.
"My mama raised me as a God fearin' boy. There's real evil, Mr. Honey. Not that existential crap, either. Last night, I felt somethin' I ain't felt before. Scared me spitless." When Luke Honey didn't answer, Mr. Williams leaned over and said in a low voice, "People got killed in that grove, not just animals. Couldn't you feel it coming off that idol like a draft in a slaughter yard? I ain't afraid of much, but Bullard's right. This ain't natural and that kid is a goner."
"Who are you trying to convince?" Luke Honey said, although the question was more than a little self referential. "The hunt is over. Go back to Texas and dream away the winter. There's always next year."
"No, not for me. My uncle made that mistake. Next year, I'll go to British Colombia. Or Alaska. Damned if I know, but I know it won't be Ransom Hollow." Mr. Williams clicked his tongue and spurred his mount ahead to rejoin the group.
Later, the company halted for a brief
"Bloody right," Lord Bullard said. "This is a matter for the authorities."
Mr. Briggs appeared dumbfounded. "Well don't this beat all. Luke, what do you say?"
Luke Honey lighted a cigarette. "I think we should get back to the lodge. A dirty shame, but that's how I see it."
"I don't believe this."
"Me neither," Mr. McEvoy said. His leg was elevated and his cheeks shone with sweat. His ankle was swaddled in bandages. "Wish I could walk, damn it."
"You saw what that stag did to the dogs," Lord Bullard said. "There's something unnatural at work and I've had quite enough, thank you." He wiped his eyes and looked at Luke Honey. "You'll answer for Wes. Don't think you won't."
"Easy there, partner," Mr. Williams said.
Luke Honey nodded. "Well, Mr. Bullard, I think you may be correct. I'll answer for your friend. That reckoning is a bit farther down the list, but it's on there."
"This is no time to bicker," said Mr. Liam Welloc. "Apparently we are in agreement-"
"Not all of us," Mr. Briggs said, glowering.
"-Since we are in agreement, let's commence packing. We'll sort everything out when we return to the house."
"What about Scobie?" Mr. Briggs said.
"Master Scobie can fend for himself," Mr. Liam Welloc said, his bland, conciliatory demeanor firmly in place. "As I said, upon our return we will alert the proper authorities. Sheriff Peckham has some experience in these matters."
Luke Honey didn't believe the sheriff, or anybody else, would be combing these woods for one raggedy kid anytime soon. The yearly sacrifice had been accomplished. This was the way of the world; this was its beating heart and panting maw. He'd seen such offerings made by tribes in the jungles, just as his own Gaelic kin had once poured wine in the sea and cut the throats of fatted lambs. If one looked back far enough, all men issued from the same wellspring and every last one of them feared the dark as Mr. Liam Welloc and Dr. Landscomb and their constituency in Ransom Hollow surely did. Despite the loathsome nature of their pact, there was nothing shocking about this arrangement. To propitiate the gods, to please one's lord and master was ever the way. That expert killers such as the English and the Texans and, of course, himself, served as provender in this particular iteration of the eternal drama filled Luke Honey's heart with bitter amusement. This wry humor mixed with his increasing dread and rendered him giddy, almost drunken.
Mr. Wesley's body was laid across the saddle of Luke Honey's horse and the company began the long trudge homeward. The dreary fog persisted, although the rain had given out for the moment.
"I hope you don't think I'm a coward," Mr. Williams said. He rode beside Luke Honey who was walking at the rear of the group.
Luke Honey didn't speak. He pulled his collar tight.
"My mama raised me as a God fearin' boy. There's real evil, Mr. Honey. Not that existential crap, either. Last night, I felt somethin' I ain't felt before. Scared me spitless." When Luke Honey didn't answer, Mr. Williams leaned over and said in a low voice, "People got killed in that grove, not just animals. Couldn't you feel it coming off that idol like a draft in a slaughter yard? I ain't afraid of much, but Bullard's right. This ain't natural and that kid is a goner."
"Who are you trying to convince?" Luke Honey said, although the question was more than a little self referential. "The hunt is over. Go back to Texas and dream away the winter. There's always next year."
"No, not for me. My uncle made that mistake. Next year, I'll go to British Colombia. Or Alaska. Damned if I know, but I know it won't be Ransom Hollow." Mr. Williams clicked his tongue and spurred his mount ahead to rejoin the group.
Later, the company halted for a brief
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