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 tight lips she said, "Tell me the truth, Doctor. Do you think he'll get better?" "One man in four survives such a wound, Miss Hale." Nancy's shoulders slumped. This man could do nothing more. "Good night, then, Dr. Surrey." Back in the bedroom, Nancy could hear the crackling that was Auguste's breathing, as blood bubbled in his pierced lung. His face beeswax-yellow in the candlelight, he lay under the canopy of Elysee's four-poster, covered to his chest by a quilt. His arms lay stretched out on either side, his fingers slightly curled. _His breathing is so noisy, at least we'll know when he stops._ Nancy felt as if she herself were being swept away on a black tide of sorrow.