Horace waved his concern aside, then winced as he did so. 'Bruises,' he said. 'That's all. That little bull certainly knew how to use his head.'
The farm people had reached them now and Halt greeted them.
'Your farm's safe,' he said. 'They won't be back in a while.' He couldn't help a small note of satisfaction creeping into his voice.
There were five people. An older man and woman, in their fifties, Will judged. Then a young couple in their thirties and a boy who looked to be about ten. Grandparents, parents and son, he thought. Three generations.
The older man spoke now.
'Cattle are all run off. You ran them off.' He said it accusingly. Will raised his eyebrows.
'That's true,' Halt said reasonably. 'But you'll be able to get them back. They'll stop running soon.'
'Take days to round them up, it will,' said the farmer lugubriously.
Halt drew a deep breath. Will had known him for years. He knew Halt was making an enormous effort to keep his temper in check.
'Probably,' he agreed. 'But at least you won't have to rebuild your farmhouse in the meantime.'
'Hmmmmphhh,' the farmer snorted. 'That's as well. We'll be days rounding up they cows again. All over the forest, they'll be.'
'That's better than lining a Scotti belly,' Halt said. His restraint was becoming thinner and thinner.
'And who'll milk them when they're in the forest, eh?' It was the younger man. In spite of his comparative youth, he seemed equally as doleful as his older companion. 'Need milking every day, they do, else they'll go dry.'
'Of course, that might happen,' Halt said. 'But better dry cows than no cows at all, surely.'
'That's a matter for opinion,' said grandpa. 'Mind you, if we had the help of some men with horses to find them, we'd get it done quicker, like.'
'Men with horses?' Halt said. 'You mean us?' He turned to Will and Horace in disbelief. 'He does. He means us.'
The farmer was nodding. 'Aye. After all, you were t' ones who ran 'em off in first place. Weren't for you, they'd be back here.'
'If it weren't for us,' Halt told him, 'they'd be halfway to Picta by now!'
He glanced up at Will and Horace and realised they were both hiding grins. Far too obviously, in fact. It seemed to him that they were doing such a good job hiding their grins precisely so he would realise that they were hiding them.
'I don't believe this,' he said to them. 'I don't exactly expect gratitude. But to be blamed for this man's troubles is a little much.' Then he thought about what he had said. 'No. Change that. I do expect gratitude, damn it.' He turned back to the farmer.
'Sir,' he said stiffly, 'it's due to our efforts that you still have your farmhouse, your barn and your cattle yard. It's thanks to us that your cows are safe, if they are a little scattered. In the course of saving your property, my companion here suffered a cowardly attack from your vicious little bull. Now you can have the graciousness to say thank you. Or I'll ask my friends to set fire to your farmhouse before we go on our way.'
The farmer regarded him stubbornly.
'Just two words,' Halt said. 'Thank you.'
'Well then…' The farmer hesitated, swaying ponderously from side to side. He reminded Horace of the bull. 'Thank you… I suppose.'
'It's our pleasure.' Halt spat the words at him, then swung Abelard's head to the west. 'Horace, Will, let's go.'
They were halfway across the field when they heard the farmer add, 'But I don't see why you had to run off t' cattle.'
Will grinned at the erect figure of the Ranger riding beside him. Halt was all too obviously pretending that he hadn't heard the farmer's parting words.
'Halt?' he said. 'You wouldn't really have burned down the house, would you?'
Halt turned a baleful gaze on him.
'Don't bet on it.' Fifteen Halt had hoped to pick up Tennyson's trail again before nightfall, but the short northern day defeated him. As the sun finally sank below the trees, and shadows flooded out across the countryside, he reined in and gestured to an open patch of ground beside the track they had been following to the east.
'We'll camp here,' he said. 'No point blundering around in the dark. We'll get an early start and cast around for their tracks.'
'Can we risk a fire, Halt?' Horace asked.
The Ranger nodded. 'I don't see why not. They're a long way ahead of us now. And even if they do see a fire, there's no reason for them to suspect that someone's following them.'
After they'd attended to their horses, Horace built a fireplace and scouted round the camp site for wood. In the meantime, Will busied himself skinning and cleaning two rabbits that he'd shot during the late afternoon. The bunnies were plump and in good condition and his mouth watered at the prospect of a savoury stew. He jointed the rabbits, keeping the meaty legs and thighs and discarding some of the bonier rib sections. Too much trouble to pick over, he decided. Then he opened the saddle bag where they kept their supply of fresh food. Often, when they were on the trail, Rangers made do with dried meat and fruit and hard bread. When they had the chance to eat more comfortably, they made sure they were ready for it. He briefly considered spitting the rabbits over the open fire and roasting them but discarded the idea. He felt like something more rewarding.
He sliced onions thinly and chopped several potatoes into small pieces. Taking a metal pot from the small array of cooking gear, he placed it in the edge of the fire Horace had started, sitting it on glowing embers. When he judged the iron of the pot was heated, he poured in a little oil, then dropped the onions in a few seconds later.
They began to sizzle and brown and filled the air with a delicious scent. He added a clove of garlic, smashing it to a paste with the end of the stick he was using to stir the pot. More delicious aromas rose. He sprinkled in a handful of spices and seasonings that were his own special mix and the cooking smells grew richer and richer. Then the joints of rabbit went in and he moved them around to brown and become coated with the onion and spice mixture.
By now, Halt and Horace had moved to sit either side of the fireplace, watching him hungrily as he worked. The rich smell of cooking meat, onions, garlic and spices filled the air and set their stomachs rumbling. It had been a long, hard day, after all.
'This is why I like travelling with Rangers,' Horace said after a few minutes. 'When you get the chance, you manage to eat well.'
'Very few Rangers eat this well,' Halt told him. 'Will has quite a knack with rabbit stew.'
Will added water to the pot and, as it began to simmer, he slowly dropped the potato chunks in as well. When the rich-looking liquid began to bubble again, he stirred it and glanced at Halt. The older Ranger nodded and reached to his own saddle bag, from which he produced a flask of red wine. Will added a generous glug of it to the stew.
He sniffed the fragrant steam rising from the pot and nodded, satisfied with the result. 'May need a little of this later, to top it up,' he said, setting the flask of wine to one side.
'Use all you want,' Halt said. 'That's what it's for.'
Halt, like most Rangers, drank wine only sparingly.
Two hours later, the stew was ready and they ate it with relish. The fragrant, rich meat literally fell off the bones as they ate. Halt had mixed flour and water and salt together into a flat circle and placed it in the hot ashes to one side of the fire. When Will served out the stew, he produced an ash-covered loaf, and dusted it off to reveal a golden outer crust. He broke pieces off and passed them to his companions. It was perfect for sopping up the savoury juices of the stew.
'This is good bread,' Horace mumbled, around a mouthful of it. 'Haven't had this before.'