32
Maybe it was my imagination, but I didn’t think so. The setting sun was in my eyes, but there was no mistaking the lance. Its shadow had momentarily grown large as the sun’s light hit it. It was seeing the shadow that made me look up.
I looked around me, but if anyone had seen anything, they weren’t showing it. But they hadn’t seen the lance as many times as I had. I recognized the lance. I know I did.
“I expect we’re going to get out of here,” I said to Baxter in a whisper.
“I know,” he said. That’s what I love about Baxter. He didn’t even see the lance, yet he knew anyway that we were going to survive the day.
“Scout is out there,” I whispered.
“Good. I could use a knife.”
I was looking at the ridges now, and when I looked over towards where Lyle was standing, a figure emerged
