The sun overhead was in a midday position; the next three hours would be the heat of the day, but Bagsby did not even consider pausing. He felt better than he had for several weeks. He was in his own element again: he was alone, he had no ties, he had no other people to slow him down, and he had his own interests and no one else’s to care about. All I need now, he thought, is a bit of cash. A horse would be good, too; the quicker he could get to Laga the better. There was no telling how quickly Shulana might decide to follow him. Bagsby suppressed the unfamiliar rush of guilt that flooded him when he thought of Shulana. After all, he had gotten them across the river, given George enough tips to get them safely to Hamblen, and even left a note for Shulana, promising to meet up with the group once his current quest was done. The river crossing had been strenuous—difficult work, but not as dangerous as it first appeared. From the branches of the plentiful trees by the riverbank, the group, at Bagsby’s direction, had crafted a crude raft, held together by mud, wood tar, bits of rope, and belts from Marta’s battlefield pickings.
