Joe fretted and paced backwards and forwards. Hop Sing was preparing the downstairs bedroom – his own room – changing the sheets, heating water, sterilising knives. Two of the men had gone to fetch his brother and father, while another had gone to tell Adam and Scamp. A fourth had set out for the doctor. He closed his eyes, close to retching. Hop Sing came out with the dirty sheets in his arms. They were due back any time. If he was to act, it had to be now. He would not get another chance. He strode to the gun cabinet and took his father's old rifle.
Hop Sing dropped the laundry and cleared the room in a flash. He took his arm as Joe checked the ammunition.
"What you do, Little Joe?"
"I'm going after them."
"Mr Ben know?" he asked suspiciously.
For the first time in his life Joe lied to him. "Of course he knows. He asked me to."
Hop Sing frowned. He had known Joe since he had first drawn breath and he knew it was not the truth. Joe was not a good liar as Hop Sing knew full well since the days of his childish little peccadilloes. Joe pulled away and he again took his wrist. "Little Joe - "
"Let go, Hop Sing!" he cried, shaking him off.
He was at the door, grabbing his coat and hat.