An Inn appeared in the distance. Raul swore under his breath as they approached. Besh could just make out the raised sign in the morning sun. Besh read aloud, “Aigle Noir. Beers and Beds.”

The four travelers stopped before the humble Inn. A white-washed stone wall with an arched trellis over the entrance separated them from the two-story building. Two maple trees adorned the front lawn, one to each side of the entrance. Wall-mounted flowers still seemed fresh in their boxes below the open windows. An older man looked up from his raking with a smile on his face. His hair and beard were thin and white. He wore gray trousers, belted around an ample belly, and a white short-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He hailed them in French.

“Bonjour. Entrez, mes amis.”

Besh walked through the entrance, answering, “Thank you.”

The man stopped, held his rake forward with an upraised finger, turned, and sneezed. “Forgive me,” he said, handing Besh the rake and pulling a worn handkerchief from his hip pocket to wipe his nose.

“No problem,” replied Besh. “God bless. Should you be out in this cool breeze?”

The man responded, “Sometimes the outer breeze relieves one of the inner gale.”

Through the open window came an older female voice. “J’ai entendu cela!”

The old man turned to the open window and called back, “Être juste sociable, ma chère.” Turning back to Besh, he said with an amiable shrug, “Ah, well. The wind blows where it will.”

Sam stood behind Besh. Beasley and Raul stood in Sam’s shadow. Besh said, “Here. Let this young man rake for you. He’s been complaining he has no purpose.”

Beasley answered sullenly, “I didn’t say that.”

The old man took the rake from Besh and said, “No. No. There is nothing to fear from work. The outdoors, the sun, the good air. The life is big, too big. We must live it in the small details. Oh, but forgive me. My name is Maurice. Maurice Boucher. I own this Inn.”

Besh shook the old man’s hand in warm greeting. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance,” said Besh, smiling.

The old man smiled and noted, “So few patrons arrive on foot.”

Raul said, taking a step around Sam, “Badgers robbed us, took our ride.”

“Evil people,” said Maurice with a nod.

Just then, a lovely young woman stepped out through the main door and closed it behind herself. Her long brown hair gleamed in the early sunlight. She wore a printed dress with a white apron tied over it. The brown centers of the printed sunflowers on her dress matched well the russet color of her eyes. Surprised at the presence of the four men, she signed to Maurice. Maurice, leaning the handle of his rake in the crook of his arm, signed back.

He then returned his attention to Besh and said, “This is my granddaughter, Christine. She asked if you were staying.”

Sam spoke. “We were traveling to Port Arthur when we got jumped last night. How far are we? Do you know?”

“Yes,” said Maurice. “It is about four kilometers more.”

Sam asked, “Did you happen to see a Tread Boy go by?”

“Well, yes,” said Maurice with an embarrassed laugh. “But they took time out to rob us as well. It was a good thing my Christine was in the root cellar.”

“Sorry for your loss,” said Besh.

An older woman leaned out through the window. Her short white hair was covered in a printed kerchief. Her full-length gray apron was smeared with flour.

She addressed the newcomers gruffly, “You men going after those bastards? Bring back our goods and you’ll have a beer on the house. They’ve made camp in our old property just behind us.”

Sam asked, “How do I get there?”

“Right of the Inn,” said the Innkeeper’s wife. “Cross the little stream and take the path right up the hill.”

Sam was already through the entrance when Besh called him to a stop. “Wait. Take this,” he said.

Sam turned impatiently as Besh fished quickly in the top of his backpack. He pressed an old model revolver into Sam’s hand. Sam took it and turned immediately to continue, calling back over his shoulder, “You boys stay put.”

Besh leaned against the white-washed wall and watched Sam disappear around the corner. Maurice took a similar position across the wall from him and said, “Your friend seems quite determined.”

Besh leaned in with a smile and quietly confided, “Yes. He has a head to squeeze.”

Maurice returned to raking. His wife called Christine, Raul, and Beasley inside. Besh waited by the wall. He was concerned about Sam. Yes, Sam was a war hero. He knew how to fight. But, still. Sam was an older man than when he earned his stripes. He marched into a camp alone, one man against many, a single thirty-eight caliber revolver his only weapon. Besh worried and waited. How would he know when it was all over? Who, if anybody, would return to the Inn? Just then, the chirping of the birds abruptly ended. It felt like a hole in the air. Then came the report; a small sharp popping sound from the woods behind the Inn. Five more followed.

An hour later, bellies filled, Sam shook the hands of Maurice, Gertrude, his wife, and Christine. He received their thanks for the tenth time with a stoic nod. Gertrude gave them food bundled in a large oily cloth, and Christine praised them, signing through Maurice and Gertrude. Raul was the last to head for the squatting Tread Boy. He turned happily to Christine and said broadcast, “It’s really cool what she does. Can she sign in Spanish?”

Gertrude laughed and pushed Raul through the arched trellis. She said, “Return someday, and we’ll see.”