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was riveted.
     
    'You didn't think of it yourself, did you, Shaw?' He took a good handful of the man's hair in his grip and yanked the head up straight. Shaw had a thin, weak-jawed farm boy's face. He looked to be perhaps twenty-five, thin and gangly.
     
    A trickle of blood came from one corner of his open mouth. 'I . . . dunno what ya mean.'
     
    Brad looked him straight in the eye for a minute, the way a man does while he holds the head of a dog or a horse. Then he twisted Shaw's head around away from him towards the big oak tree midway between the house and the edge of the back clearing.
     
    'Who was it, Shaw? You wouldn't just spike the logs in your own mill. Someone outside gave you those spikes. Someone wanted to slow us down. Isn't that right, Shaw?'
     
    'I dunno what this is. Lemme go out of these ropes.'
     
    Brad brought the man's head up higher, nearly lifting him up off his knees and on to his feet. Then he let Shaw settle back down again, taking care to keep the face pointed at the oak tree.
     
    'Shaw, we don't have any use for you if you can't give us a name. You know that?'
     
    'Lemme go, I tell ya. I ain't done nothin'.'
     
    'You, Garth.' Brad looked at one of the men on horseback, a fat man with reddish hair. 'Anybody see you bring Shaw up here with you?'
     
    'No, sir. Brought him in the carriage, just like you said.'
     
    The other man, dark and wiry, steadied his horse as it snorted and took a few steps, stretching one rope taut and pulling Shaw's arm up by the wrist.
     
    'All right, now, Shaw. I'm going to give you one more chance to make yourself useful. I want you to look at that big, hard oak tree out there in the middle of the lawn, all by itself. And now I want you to tell me who gave you those spikes. Don't be afraid of him, whoever he is. We'll see to it that he doesn't harm you. Just tell us his name.'
     
    A moment went by. Then: 'I can't tell ya nothin'.'
     
    Brad let go of the man's hair and examined the ropes on Shaw's wrists, checking to see that they still were tied securely. Then he stepped back. 'All right, then.' He dusted off his hands. 'You, Parsons, ride for the left side of the oak out there. Garth, you ride for the right side. Ride hard now, but keep even, just side by side, with Shaw, here, right in the middle. When you get up to the tree, keep right on riding, hard and fast, so he hits the tree just face-on.'
     
    Parsons sucked in his breath. The man called Garth only nodded.
     
    Brad continued. 'Then if his arms are still attached, you bring him on back and try it again.'
     
    I stared in horror at the man called Shaw, who had slumped over, one cheek on the warm earth. His mouth hung open while he tried to comprehend what they were going to do with him. The big calf eyes looked up at Brad, then around at the house, as if he hoped someone would come to rescue him. The horses pulled him around, straightening the ropes, until he was flat on his belly with his arms stretched out towards the tree. They waited, and he hauled himself up on to his knees. Then he sat back on his haunches.
     
    I tried to cry out, but words would not come. My mouth was dry with fear. I struggled to stand up, to distract them, but I could not move. I was frozen as Brad nodded to the men, and then the two horses started to move forward.
     
    Then Shaw began to scream, and I struggled again to rise and somehow stop them. Instead, I felt myself falling. The ground, darkening, rushed up at me, but before I landed I lost consciousness.
     
    I awoke in the same place to the pain of the stiff spruce needles on my cheeks. My hands were clutching the tree's rough bark for support. The sticky resin was all over my fingers. I looked out on to the lawn, and saw the man called Shaw kneeling on the ground, thoroughly drenched with what must have been water from the bucket Parsons was now holding. Shaw was soaked and shivering, but his face appeared unhurt. They must have stopped, I thought. They must have