Autumn by Lisa Ann Brown Page B

the otherwise furtive figure.
                  Arabel could see it was a man, a small sort of man, wearing a bright yellow rain-sheath and carrying a big, black hobo bag. From the distance, she could make out no further details and Arabel was unclear what to make of the man. She was also undecided as to whether she ought to make contact or keep to herself and continue moving.
                  Arabel’s decision was taken from her as the man spied her upon the horse and he shouted out to her and began to wave one of his bright, yellow clad arms in a frantic greeting.
                  “Hello!” he yelled at her. “Miss, please stop!”
                  Arabel slowed Whipsie to a canter and moved toward the man, keeping sure to maintain a proper amount of distance so she could flee easily, should flight be warranted. Arabel could see the man was limping now; he must have injured his foot as he markedly favoured his right one over his left. The man’s dirt streaked face gave him a look of a sad and lonely tramp and his eyes were clouded with an uneasiness that took Arabel’s breath away.
                  “Thank you for stoppin’, young miss! I’ve injured me foot and need to get to Magpie Moor; any chance you’d be so kind as to help out a stranger?”
                  The tramp’s voice was more melodious than Arabel would have figured and his manner was subdued, almost reverential. Arabel could see the pain pulsing overtop his head and she watched the pulsing for a moment, transfixed by the odd, orange cloud hovering over him. Arabel felt no dangerous energy emanating from the stranger and she did not think he meant her harm.
                  “Who are you and where are you coming from?” Arabel queried.
                  “My name’s Jonty Governs and I’ve just left the Gypsies down at Ravenswood Glen,” the small man said and Arabel realized she was not the least bit surprised that it would be she to come across the wanted thief.
                  “You’re been missing for the last few months and are wanted for questioning,” Arabel pronounced and Jonty nodded solemnly, casting his eyes downward, shutting them briefly.
                  “I never hurt that young woman,” he said softly. “I never met her in me life!”
                  Arabel stared into his eyes, hard. “Why do they think you murdered her?”
                  “I dunno,” he replied miserably. “I’ve never been one for violence, y’know?”
                  “You’re a ‘shuckster’ I believe, is the term,” Arabel said, recalling the words Eli’s parents had used to describe Jonty and his misdeeds.
                  Jonty hung his head. “Miss, I haven’t always been the most honest man about town but I never killed no one! I’m a salesman, I am, just trying to make a livin’ in hard times.”
                  “Why are you running then? Why don’t you stay to answer their questions? Get this all settled,” Arabel asked.
                  “Well, miss, I ain’t never killed no one, like I said, but y’know, there might be a score or two some folks want to settle with me and I reckon I’d best just leave town rather than stay and get lynched.”
                  Strangely, Arabel believed him. This man seemed to have no small amount of fear running through his veins and she sensed that an unabashed cowardice filled his body. Jonty did not seem to have the evil core necessary to commit murder or rape. It was clear that Jonty was a small time shuckster, a snake oil salesman, a petty thief and criminal. He did not share the dark energy force of the grey eyed man.
                  “Come on, then,” Arabel said and offered him a hand up onto Whipsie’s back.
                  Ira, the crow, cawed excitedly, and