He saw their horses before he saw the Lawmen.
The Wanderer spent the morning foraging along the eastern hill approaching the hot springs. The woods were generous with his favorite mushrooms, white with undulating curves, and his sack was overflowing by afternoon. Eager to start the fire and make his hash, he came back to camp early.
But the sight of two horses with their braided manes and cropped tails made the blood drain from his face.
The Lawmen looked like phantoms. Dressed in black coats flaring to their knees, they prowled around the camp.
The Wanderer watched the shorter one come to the girl’s tent with pistol in hand, while the taller one crouched at the fire pit. The iron weave was cast aside and he sifted through the ashes with one hand, the other holding his baton with a firm grip.
But they were afraid.
The Wanderer could smell their fear, the sharp pungency assailing his nostrils. He also knew from the weapons trembling in their hands, their tight lips and pale faces.
Then he stepped on a twig and the loud crack shattered the stillness, catapulting the Lawmen into aggressive defense. The taller one stood, the baton high over his head while the shorter dropped to the ground and aimed his pistol for the Wanderer.
His sack slipped from his fingers, spilling mushrooms, berries, and herbs at his feet.
The Wanderer was transfixed on the man lying belly to the ground, gun shaking in his hand. He couldn’t stop staring at his face, thinking it strange that any Lawman should resemble an aging cherub. He even forgot the other one until he stepped into his line of vision. The taller Lawman peered at him with watery green eyes, relaxing once he realized the Wanderer couldn’t move.
“I assume this is your camp,” he said, after his partner stood up and joined him.
The Wanderer nodded.
“Where do you come from?” the shorter one asked.
“I’m from here,” he replied, pointing to his tent. “I have my papers in there.”
He retrieved his documents and the Lawmen flipped through the pages, perusing the stamps of all the countries he’d been in the past five years. The taller Lawman even whistled when he turned back to the first page and read the name of his family and village.
“You’ve certainly traveled far from home,” he said. “How long have you been back?”
“About three months.”
The Wanderer cursed his absence of mind when both Lawmen looked up.
“What are you doing in these woods?” the shorter one asked.
“Am I breaking the law?”
“No. But why are you living like this now that you’re home? Don’t you have people?”
The Wanderer flinched as if he’d been slapped. His throat closed up and he crossed his arms, leaving the Lawmen waiting for an answer.
When none came, they frowned.
“You were asked a question,” the taller persisted. “What are you doing in these woods?”
The Wanderer knew he was foolish to remain silent. They might arrest him if he didn’t cooperate, but he couldn’t respond.
He glanced at the shorter Lawman.
He seemed more bewildered than offended, his round eyes flicking to the page his partner held open. Then his brow furrowed and he bent his head, looking closely before staring into the Wanderer’s face. He thought it must be his imagination when he saw recognition in the Lawman’s eyes.
“I don’t believe it!” he cried. “I haven’t seen you since you were a bitty boy!”
Official formality disappeared from his manner and the Lawman broke open with a smile. His eyes sparkled when he laughed, clapping the Wanderer on the shoulder.
“I don’t expect you to remember me,” he continued. “But we come from the same village. You look a lot like the old Bard. Do you also tell stories like your grandfather?”
The Wanderer froze for an instant, uncertain he heard correctly. Then he expelled a bellow of air, his limbs shaking from relief.
“I don’t know if I’d make that claim,” he said. “But I do the best I can.”
The Lawman from his village chuckled. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but his partner interrupted.
“As happy a chance as this is, you still haven’t told us why you’re living in these woods.”
“He has a point,” the shorter one said. “I know you have people waiting for you.”
The Wanderer looked away from the Lawmen, swallowing a hard lump down his throat.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “Except for one.”
The shorter Lawman’s face cleared and he nodded slowly, his eyes filling with sympathy.
“It was a sad day for us all when the Bard passed on,” he said. “I can only imagine what a terrible loss that must be for you.”
The Wanderer nodded, but said nothing else.
His former neighbor pulled his partner aside and they conferred in voices too low to be heard. But the Wanderer was relieved when the taller nodded and headed for the horses. As his partner mounted, the Lawman from his village approached with his hand outstretched. His hold was firm when he grasped the Wanderer’s hand with both his own.
“It’s good to meet you again,” he said. “You’ve grown up into a fine young man.”
“Thank you.”
“So do your grandfather proud,” he continued. “Stop living like a wretch and go home. Some folks worry about you. They need to know that you’re all right.”
“I…uhhh…” the Wanderer hesitated. “I never thought of that.”
The Lawman nodded, satisfied to make his point and went to his horse. While he climbed into the saddle, the taller one looked between the two tents.
“By the way,” he said. “Your campmate’s been gone for some time.”
“I guess so,” the Wanderer said and shrugged. “That’s not unusual.”
“Really? Where do you think she could be?”
From the edge of his vision, the Wanderer saw the Lawman from his village glare at his partner. But his gaze never wavered from those watery green eyes.
“She?”
“Yes,” the taller Lawman persisted. “She. You are camped with a young woman, aren’t you? So where is she?”
“No sir,” the Wanderer replied. “I’ve been traveling with a friend I met on the ship and I suppose he’s still out hunting.”
“Can you be certain of that?”
“Of course, I can. He hunts every day.”
“Very well then,” he said and touched his hat. “Welcome home, Citizen.”
With a final nod, they took their leave.
The Wanderer couldn’t move, staring into the woods long after the Lawmen were gone.
Citizen.
In his mind, the word lilted before echoing through him, soothing a desperation he didn’t know he had, the first time he’d been addressed as such since he came home.
He became aware of her gradually, the thrill along his flesh compelling him to turn around. He wondered how long she’d been there, deep in the woods beyond her tent.
Her gaze locked with his when their eyes met and didn’t waver, not even when she cantered her stallion through the trees to stop before him.
The Wanderer glanced at the pheasant dangling from the saddle.
“So I was wondering,” he said. “Do you think we could share our supper tonight?”
