8
With a desperate sob, Sarah ripped open the sack. Conawago helped her stretch out Will’s limp limbs. Duncan searched for a pulse. “He lives,” he announced, though the boy’s heartbeat was as light as a feather.
“He’s been beaten most cruel,” Munro observed over Duncan’s shoulder.
Will’s bruised and bleeding face had received several violent blows. A gash on his left temple oozed blood where something had been slammed into his head. Duncan gingerly probed the wound, fearing a fracture. The boy’s hand did not respond as Duncan pressed it, hoping for a returning grip.
Sarah saw the worry in his eyes. The thief may not have been successful in stealing the boy, but he may have stolen Will’s life. She stood, calling for a blanket as the rest of the camp stirred, and a black shape wedged int
