Cold rain lashed the pine trees, turning the little-used track into adhesive mud. The horses walked slowly, heads down with weariness, and had to be urged on constantly by pulling on their reins. Both of the men who were leading them were as weary as the horses, yet they never for an instant thought of riding. That would have meant that their mounts would have to carry heavier loads. That was not possible. The reason for this long and exhausting journey was there in the barrels on the horses' backs.Jacques squinted up at the sky, then wiped his streaming face with the back of his hand. Only the rich could afford to buy a watch—and he was anything but that. But he knew by the steadily darkening sky that it was close to sunset."Soon, Phillipe, soon," he shouted back in Canadian-accented French. "We will stop before we cross the ridge. Then go on after dark."His brother answered something, but his words were drowned out by a sharp crack of thunder. They plodded on, then turned from the track to seek some shelter under the branches of an ancient stand of oak trees.
