be back," Raoul said. "And when I am, it will be just like old
times in Victor."

He plunged into the trees behind Elysee's house. While the Regulators
charged up the hill, he'd have no trouble finding his way back to the
trading post by moonlight.

Alone, moving quickly through woods he'd known since boyhood, he felt
suddenly lighthearted. He might be on the run, but he'd done the most
important thing. He'd killed Auguste. He had a winter to get through,
maybe a hard winter. But by next spring things would be back the way
they were in the days when he'd been happiest. Before he'd ever heard
that Pierre had a son. When he'd ruled like a king in Smith County.

25

The Other World

To Nancy, young Dr. Surrey looked like a brainless clothier's mannequin
in his black frock coat and ruffled white shirt. Though Woodrow had
routed him out of bed at nearly three in the morning and he had spent
over an hour working on Auguste, he didn't seem tired. If he wasn't
tired, what in God's name had he been doing? Now he was leaving, and
Auguste was still unconscious.

A helplessness in Surrey's face, round and blank as an unbaked pie
crust, turned Nancy's grief and fear into fury. She wanted to grab his
shoulders and shake him until he promised that he could and would save
Auguste.

"The bullet pierced his left lung," Surrey said. "But it was a
shoot-through, luckily, so I didn't have to dig in there and pull it
out. Many a doctor has killed a pistol-shot man that way."

Nancy took a step toward the doctor. He was her only hope, and she would
not let him escape.

"Aside from not killing him, Doctor, what have you done for him?"

"I packed the wound with cotton, front and back, to stop the bleeding. I
put dressings on. I told Mrs. Hopkins how to change the cotton and
dressings. And now he is in the hands of the Almighty."

_Earthmaker, Auguste would say._

"I hope the Almighty guided _your_ hand, Doctor."

"Knowing your father was a man of the Lord, I'm sure your prayers for
Auguste will be heard. He's got to stay where he is, in his
grandfather's bed, and fight for his life. I expect he'll take a fever,
maybe pneumonia. The punctured lung is of no use to him. He'll draw
breath with the other one. He'll be delirious, and you've got to get
some food into him--soup's the best, because he'll probably be able to
swallow that. His body will fight while his mind sleeps. I'll be back to
see him every day."

Through ti