Marcelo
Marcelo stared at his bare feet, then glanced at the shovel and sighed. He peered over the side of the wagon. The dead driver’s footwear appeared relatively clean. No fresh blood or urine stains apparent anyway.
With a heavy sigh, Marcelo pushed himself up. The rush of strength that had helped him to spring into action when his life had been in immediate danger had now deserted him. First things first…he climbed over the side of the wagon, wrinkled his nose, and liberated the footwear from the fallen man and slipped the leather boots onto his own feet.
He peered around the bushes and bit his lip as he pondered the road. This side road wasn’t busy, but the main road might have traffic, and he didn’t know who might be looking for him. Friend or foe…or both.
And he didn’t know for
