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Summary
Hosea’s sigh was barely audible. "Dutch is…" he trailed off, like even he couldn’t find the right word.
Arthur spat behind them, watery red hitting the dirt. "Dutch is what?"
"Different," Hosea settled on, glancing ahead where the raven-haired man rode at the front, a king's relaxed posture, "lately."
Arthur sighed. "Ain’t we all," he dodged. But he knew. He knew Hosea was right. Something was off with Dutch. Had been for a while. They just didn't wanna voice it.
"Be careful, son."
"All I know is 'careful', Hosea. I'm not the one to be worryin' about."
"You need more red herb?" And Arthur didn't want to have this conversation.In early Industrial America, the age of freedom was dying; buffalo poached to near-extinction, forests flattened, outlaws tracked and chained, hunters turned to factory workers, and the only peoples left in the land who remembered the old ways of the pack were the very natives who were being run out of it.