THE THIEF AT TWILIGHT TWO SOLDIERS DRAGGED HIM into camp, his face bloody. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. “Found him by the river, sir, hiding in the grass,” one of the soldiers told the lieutenant. “He’s Sioux. Had an eye on our horses.” They’d already bound the Indian boy’s hands behind his back and now forced him down against the side of a wagon and tied him to the sturdy axle. His bruised, bloodied face made me think of Samuel, and I felt a sorrowful squeeze inside my throat. Lieutenant Frye looked the boy over without a flicker of compassion. “Were there any others?” he asked his two men. “Not that we saw.” “Does he speak English?” the lieutenant asked. One of the soldiers shook his head. “Or won’t.” “Bring Duellist here,” the lieutenant said. The top of a distant butte held the sun’s last light, like a beacon. When Duellist saw the Sioux boy, his normally genial face hardened into a mask. He squatted down and said a few words. The boy glared mutely, then spat on him.
What do You think about Every Hidden Thing (2016)?
