Just when Cobe had thought he’d seen the most lethal-looking weapons ancient mankind had to offer, he would turn down another aisle and discover guns capable of tearing down herds of rollers. There were blades with fanciful hilts and comfortable handles, double-edged swords twice the length of the rusty machete Lode had used to hack off his father’s toes. But they hadn’t found Trot. They had called his name as Lawson led them through the outer offices and washrooms. The simple-minded man remained hidden. Willem tugged on the lawman’s sleeve more than once, insisting the blood they’d seen vanished under the stairwell door. Lawson finally agreed. “I had to be sure. Had to be certain he didn’t go crawl off to some corner to bleed to death. People and animals will do that, you know. When they’re scared and hurtin’, they’re more liable to seek a quiet, safe place, away from others.” “Trot isn’t an animal,” Cobe said. “Nope, but he thinks like one sometimes.” They were back at the stairwell door.
