He slowed the horses to a walk and explained, “There’s someone in the road ahead. Stay calm, and let me do the talking.” To the side of the road, a donkey cart appeared to have lost its wheel. The driver of the cart stood in the center of the lane, wearing a patched coat and waving his hat in a plea for assistance. “Does he need help?” Diana whispered. “He might be looking for help.” Or he might be looking for trouble. Aaron stopped a fair distance from the cart. He reached under the driver’s box and retrieved the pistol he kept there. He’d loaded the weapon before setting off from Hastings, and now he was glad of it. This man looked honest enough at a glance—but it never hurt to be cautious. Patched Coat jammed his hat back on his head and approached their wagon. “Good afternoon, sir. My cartwheel’s gone off its axle, and I can’t repair it on my own.
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