“You ain't touched a drop the whole time you been with the doctor. And if we live through this and get Arthur back safe, why, you're going to be a hero.”

“A hero hell! You crazy, Horace? We can't tell a soul about this or there'll be a reward out for our brains on rye bread from the Hio to Camelot.”

“We ain't going to print up the story and sell copies, if that's what you mean. But you know how word spreads. Good folks'll know what you and me done.”

“Then you be sheriff, Horace.”

“Me?” Horace grinned. “Can you imagine me putting a man in jail?”

Po laughed softly. “Reckon not.”

When they reached the shore, again their movements were swift and fit together just right. It was hard to believe it had been so many years since they worked together. It was like their bodies already knew what to do, so they didn't even have to think about it. Po jumped into the water– ankle deep is all, and he leaned on the boat so as not to splash much. The boat rocked a bit at that, of course, but without a bit of wasted motion Horace leaned against the rocking and calmed it down, hardly even noticing he was doing it. In a minute they had the bow dragged up onto the shore– sandy here, not muddy like the other side– and tied to a tree. To Alvin the rope looked old and rotten, but when he sent his bug inside to feel it out, he was sure it was still strong enough to hold the boat against the rocking of the river against the stern.

Only when all their familiar jobs was done did Horace present himself like militia on the town square, shoulders squared and eyes right on Alvin. “Well, now, Al, I reckon it's up to you to lead the way.”

“Ain't we got to track them?” asked Po.

“Alvin knows where they are,” said Horace.

“Well ain't that nice,” said Po. “And does he know whether they got their guns aimed at our heads?”

“Yes,” said Alvin. He said it in such a way as to make it plain that he didn't want no more questions.

It wasn't plain enough for Po. “You telling me this boy's a torch, or what? Most I heard was he got him a knack for shoeing horses.”

Here was the bad part about having somebody else along. Alvin didn't have no wish to tell Po Doggly what all he could do, but he couldn't very well tell the man that he didn't must him.

It was Horace came to the rescue. “Po, I got to tell you, Alvin ain't part of the story of this night.”

“Looks to me like he's the biggest part.”

“I tell you, Po, when this story gets told, it was you and me came along and happened to find the Finders asleep, you understand?”

Po wrinkled his brow, then nodded. “Just tell me this, boy. Whatever knack you got, you a Christian? I don't even ask that you be a Methodist.”

“Yes sir,” said Alvin. “I'm a Christian, I reckon. I hold to the Bible.”

“Good then,” said Po. “I just don't want to get myself all mixed up in devil stuff.”

“Not with me,” said Alvin.

“All right then. Best if I don't know what you do, Al. Just take a care not to get me killed because I don't know it.”

Alvin stuck out his hand. Po shook it and grinned. “You blacksmiths got to be strong as a bear.”

“Me?” said Alvin. “A bear gets in my way, I beat on his head till he's a wolverine.”

“I like your brag, boy.”

A moment's pause, and then Alvin led them off, following the thread that connected him to Arthur Stuart.

It wasn't all that far, but it took them an hour cutting through the woods in the dark– with all the leaves out, there wasn't much moonlight got to the ground. Without Alvin's sense of the forest around them, it would've taken three times as long and ten times the noise.

They found the Finders asleep in a clearing with a campfire dying down between them. The white-haired Finder was curled up on his bedroll. The black-haired Finder must've been left on watch; he was snoring away leaning against a tree. Their horses were asleep not far off. Alvin stopped them before they got close enough to disturb the animals.

Arthur Stuart was wide awake, sitting there staring into the fire.

Alvin sat there a minute, trying to figure how to do this. He wasn't sure how smart the Finders might be. Could they find scraps of dried skin, fallen-off hairs, something like that, and use it for a new cachet? Just in case, it wouldn't do no good to change Arthur right where he was; nor would it be too smart to head on out into the clearing where they might leave bits of their own selves, as proof of who stole Arthur away.

So from a distance, Alvin got inside the iron of the manacles and made cracks in all four parts, so they fell away to the ground at once, with a clank. The noise bothered the horses, who nickered a bit, but the Finders were still sleeping like the dead. Arthur, though, it didn't take him a second to figure out what was happening. He jumped to his feet all at once and started looking around for Alvin at the clearing's edge.

Alvin whistled, trying to match the song of a redbird. It was a pretty bad imitation, as birdcalls go, but Arthur heard it and knew that it was Alvin calling him. Without a moment's waiting or worrying, Arthur plunged right into the woods and not, five minutes later, with a few more bad birdcalls to guide him, he was face to face with Alvin.

Of course Arthur Stuart made as if to give Alvin a big old hug, but Alvin held up a hand. “Don't touch anybody or anything,” he whispered, “I've got to make a change in you, Arthur Stuart, so the Finders can't catch you again.”

“I don't mind,” said Arthur.

“I don't dare have a single scrap of the old way you used to be. You got hairs and skin and such all over in your clothes. So strip them off.”

Arthur Stuart didn't hesitate. In a few moments his clothes were in a pile at his feet.

“Excuse me for not knowing a bit about this,” said Po, “but if you leave those clothes a-lying there, them Finders'll know he come this way, and that points north to them sure as if we painted a big white arrow on the ground.”

“Reckon you're right,” said Alvin.

“So have Arthur Stuart bring them along and float them down the river,” said Horace.

“Just make sure you don't touch Arthur or nothing,” said Alvin. “Arthur, you just pick up your clothes and follow along slow and careful. If you get lost, give me a redbird whistle and I'll whistle back till you find us.”

“I knew you was coming, Alvin,” said Arthur Stuart. “You too, Pa.”

“So did them Finders,” said Horace, “and much as I wish we could arrange it, they ain't going to sleep forever.”

“Wait a minute anyway,” said Alvin. He sent his bug back into the manacles and drew them back together, fit them tight, joined the iron again as if it had been cast that way. Now they lay on the ground unbroken, fastened tight, giving no sign of how the boy got free.

“I don't suppose you're maybe breaking their legs or something, Alvin,” said Horace.

“Can he do that from here?” asked Po.

“I'm doing no such thing,” said Alvin. “What we want is for the Finders to give up searching for a boy who as far as they can tell doesn't exist no more.”

“Well that makes sense, but I still like thinking of them Finders with their legs broke,” said Horace.

Alvin grinned and plunged off into the forest, deliberately making enough noise and moving slow enough that the others could follow him in the near-darkness; if he wanted to, he could've moved like a Red man through the woods, making not a sound, leaving no whiff of a trail that anyone could follow.

They got to the river and stopped. Alvin didn't want Arthur getting into the boat in his present skin, leaving traces of himself all over. So if he was going to change him, he had to do it here.

“Toss them clothes, boy,” said Horace. “Far as you can.”

Arthur took a step or two into the water. It made Alvin scared, for with his inward eye he saw it as if Arthur, made of light and earth and air, suddenly got part of himself disappeared into the blackness of the water. Still, the water hadn't harmed them none on the trip here, and Alvin saw as how it might even be useful.