Pitt led the way across the bridge mentioned by the Mayor. He frowned as he looked ahead. A small party of men were coming down to the bridge. He supposed they were looking for trouble. He idly wondered how many he was going to have to hurt before he got the answers he wanted.

“It's Paul Ihorn,” said the Mayor. “Some of them are farm hands.”

“Wonder what brings them this way,” said Pitt. He paused to roll a cigarette together before continuing his march. He figured he would have to hurt Ihorn at the very least. He was the head wolf.

The rest would either fall in line, or get hurt too. At a certain point, it was all the same to Pitt.

He had lost a lot of patience with people who wanted to get in his way. He had thought age would grant him more empathy and a desire to help people. Instead he wanted to avoid people as much as he could and live away from anyone he might want to kill.

He paused at the end of the bridge, standing to one side to let Ihorn and his men pass. The Mayor and Roland lined up behind him.

“Who do you think you are?,” said Ihorn. He leaned forward to intimidate the stranger before him. “This is Ihorn property.”

“In a few seconds, it will belong to whomever wants to claim it because you will all be dead,” said Pitt. He blew smoke from his cigarette into the younger man's face. “I think you should keep moving if you know what's good for you, and your cronies.”

Ihorn swung his fist. No one threatened him like that. He would teach this man some manners. Then the Mayor would go into the water after him.

Pitt caught the fist. He squeezed until he heard the bones creak. He forced the heir to his knee. His face displayed boredom as if he had done the same thing to hundreds of oafs who should have known better before starting trouble.

“Do you think they know about the girl?,” asked Roland. He cowered behind the Mayor, using the man as a shield.

“Lift your feet up,” commanded Pitt. “I want to see if any of you left tracks around where we found a girl dying in the woods.”

“We don't have to do anything for you,” said Ihorn. He couldn't wrench his hand out of the iron vise that held it.

“Shut up, or I'll rip your arm off and use it for a fishing pole,” said Pitt. “Let me see the bottoms of your boots, or there is going to be trouble.”

“Do what he says,” said the Mayor. “Isadora is in town waiting for me to notify her parents she was murdered in the woods and brought in by this faun. As soon as we clear you, we can go out and talk to her family about what they want to do with the body.”

The men looked at Ihorn as if realizing something. They stepped back from the bridge as a group.

“What did you do, Paul?,” asked one of the men.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Ihorn. He pulled on the hand holding him in place. The fingers didn't move. The face above them frowned as it puffed on the cigarette in its mouth.

“If I look at your boots, Ihorn,” said Pitt. “What do you think I'll see?”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” said Ihorn. He reached for the dagger in a sheath on his belt. He would cut this enemy until there was nothing left, and then the others.

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Pitt swung his other arm, delivering a flat handed blow to the other man's face. He tried to hold back. He didn't want to send the head flying through the air. That could happen when justice was served.

And justice would be served now that he had an actual criminal instead of a trail he had followed along for miles.

“Go tell his father that we are taking him back to town based on his boots and his dagger,” said Pitt. “He will be given a fair trial at a temple. That's the best I can do right now.”

“His father won't like that,” said one of the men. “He'll want Paul sent back to his farm.”

“Then neither one of us is getting what we want today,” said Pitt. He tossed his spent cigarette into the small river. “Tell him if he wants to speak before the judge, he can come to town too.”

“He'll arm himself,” said the man.

“The judge won't care and neither will I,” said Pitt. “Come on, boy. The town is a long walk away and I want to get back on the road as soon as I can.”

He took the knife and put it in a coat pocket before pushing Ihorn toward the other end of the bridge. The man looked at the river.

“If you jump into the water, I will jump in after you and drown you,” said Pitt. “Keep walking. I don't want to get wet, and you might be able to talk your way out of trouble.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” said Ihorn.

“You can explain all that to the judge,” said Pitt. “He will be as fair as any authority ever has been. Fairer than most from what I have seen.”

“It might be a shorter trip if we use the road,” said the Mayor.

“No,” said Pitt. “That will let the Ihorns catch up to us while we're taking the son back to town. Three shallow graves would be what we'll be fitted for if that happens.”

Pitt doubted they would have anything that could get him in the grave but the task was to clear Roland so the town would leave him alone as well as setting things straight for Isadora.

Once the town knew what had happened, that might be an end to bullying in the region, but he doubted it.

“Pa will make you pay for this,” said Ihorn. “You three are good as dead.”

“If I have to deal with your pa before we reach town, no one but us will know where he went,” said Pitt. “Just keep walking and keep silent. We already know you killed the girl. So does your farmhands. I don't know if they'll stand up for you, but if they do, they'll get the same thing you're going to get.”

“What's that?,” asked Ihorn.

“A fair trial and a short rope,” said Pitt. “Maybe some kind of parole if they can prove they didn't know you killed the girl. That will be up to the final authority.”

“No judge around here will convict me on your say so,” said Ihorn.

“This judge would convict his own mother for walking on the wrong side of the street,” said Pitt. “That part isn't in any doubt. The only question is the sentence.”

“I don't know any judge like that,” said the Mayor.

“Don't worry,” said Pitt. “I'll introduce you so you can arrange for him to sit at your town any time you need someone above corruption.”

“That would be splendid,” said the Mayor.

Pitt imagined that running a small town and the surrounding area was a strain when you didn't have anyone to help you uphold the law. He doubted the judge he was going to consult would help with that but stranger things had been known to happen.

A reputation of someone with friends in high places couldn't hurt the Mayor's reputation any worse than bringing in a rich kid for killing a poor one. The rich farmers would see it as an affront.

There wasn't anything he could do about that. People would believe what they wanted to believe even in the face of overwhelming proof. If it didn't match what they wanted, they just discarded it.

It wasn't Pitt's job to change people. He had taken an oath to protect them from harm. It didn't always work out in his favor, but he had learned to live with it.

“I can see the town,” said the Mayor.

“Just take me to your temple so we can get this done before there is trouble,” said Pitt. “I don't want to kill Ihorn and his farmhands for being stupid.”

“You say that like you can fight twenty men and live,” said Ihorn.

“I have killed legions of enemies,” said Pitt. “I just don't feel the need any more unless it becomes something I can't avoid.”

“It will be,” said Ihorn. He sneered at his captor.

“You better hope not,” said Pitt. “I'll kill you first.”