It was a horrible mishap, and it was splitting the tribe in two; upon the discovery of Patrick, the chief was furious. Perhaps things wouldn’t have gone the way they did if the youth had never been shot. But he had been, and so Patrick was going to pay for his race’s crime. Abey, the chief, and much of the tribe were in favor of Patrick’s death as penance for what happened: a life for a life.

   But Patamon, his mother, and his sister Halona among a few others thought this was wrong. They protested the capture of Patrick and argued with anyone who would listen that since Patrick was not the shooter, he was not to be held accountable for it.

   “And besides,” Patamon said over dinner, “Why should we bring ourselves down to that level? They shot one of our family – why should we kill one of theirs?”

   “Patamon, I understand what you mean, but…” his mother trailed off.

   “But what?” He was angry and confused as to what he should do to keep Patrick from being killed.

   “I think you shouldn’t be the one to stop this,” his mother said cautiously. “You are in love with him, and so understandably angry. Angry passion is not what will get him released.”

   “Mother’s right, Patamon,” Halona chimed in. “If you’re going to free Patrick,” she struggled over the name, foreign as it was, “You must be calm and steady and have a well thought-out plan. Brashness will only help you fail.”   

   Patamon turned the other way so that his mother and sister wouldn’t see him cry; if he couldn’t save his beloved, who could?

   That night, Patamon had an idea: a wonderful, terrible, crazy idea. Patrick had friends – these friends would be reasonable, if they saw eye-to-eye with Patrick. He got up and left the hut, only to wander out to see Patrick. He got passed the guards and found Patrick, still awake and drooping; he was tied to one of the support poles.

   “Patrick,” said Pete and smiled when Patrick lifted his head.

   “Pete, you came to see me!” Patrick automatically pulled against his binds, but sank back onto his haunches because he couldn’t pull away. Pete hardly acknowledged the snort he heard from the guards in response to the English endearment.

   “Of course I did.”  But Pete wasted no time in prying about Patrick’s home here; the camp, the men, the life. When Patrick asked why Pete wanted to know, he simply said, “Because I am curious.” 

   Patrick had no idea he was simultaneously fueling his escape and his next adventure.

   Joe was on guard duty for the first shift of the night when it happened.

   “Hello.” A firm but cautious and inflected voice echoed out from behind him in the trees. “My name is Pete, and I mean you no harm.” Patamon figured that the English name might secure him some safety.

   Joe had snapped around quickly, frightened even when armed.

   “Please, drop your…rifle.” It took Patamon a great deal of struggle to get that word out. It was an easy word, but the sting was still there….

   “Who are you? Why have you come here?” Joe asked, too stunned to shoot – this…this Indian was standing before him, unarmed, and speaking…in English. Clear-as-day (if only slightly heavy) English!

   “I’ve told you, my name is Pete, as in Peter,” perhaps this would clear the misunderstanding, “and I am here to speak with an Andrew Hurley. I have news. News of Patrick Stump.”

   “Andy?” This was too surreal; Joe had dropped his rifle by now. “He…” he wasn’t sure if he should give up information to this Indian. Honesty, in the end, came through. “Andy’s with a search party, looking for Patrick. I…I’ll take you to his tent. But we must be discreet!”

   Patamon was having a harder time of making out Joe’s words because the connection was so incredibly fuzzy compared to what he had with Patrick. ‘Discreet’ took him almost two minutes to figure out. He followed Joe silently through camp and up to a canvas tent. There were lanterns and a makeshift desk and a cot. Papers and compasses cluttered the desk.

   “I’ll be right back – don’t go anywhere.”

   “Alright,” said Patamon politely as he watched Joe leave. He slowly examined the tent with his eyes, mentally pushing through papers and taking time to see what kind of life his lover lead without him. Joe was back quicker than Patamon had anticipated.

   “Okay, well, I sent someone else out on duty – I said I wasn’t feeling up to it. Now, tell me what you know of Patrick.”

   “Well…” and Patamon went on a verbal excursion, explaining and re-explaining his relationship with Patrick, how he’d come to meet Patrick, and most importantly, where Patrick was now.

   Joe stared blankly at Patamon, as if he were some kind of innocently invasive creature, unaware of the damage he could do.

   “You too?” he asked.

   “Me too what?” Patamon was puzzled as though he’d never been puzzled before.

   “You…and Patrick, my God….” Joe seemed shocked, but somehow relieved.

   “What? What did I say?”

   “You…and Patrick…oh thank goodness above I’m not the only one….”

   “Only one what?” Patamon was exasperated by the youth.

   “Nothing…nothing. But.” Joe leaned forward on his elbows. “Patrick is captured? Why did you come here? What are we to do?”

   “Tell your chief, make him rescue Patrick!” It had all seemed so simple in Patamon’s head. He would come and alert Patrick’s tribe and they would negotiate to have him released. Why wasn’t this happening? Why wasn’t there a peace-party out right now?

   “My…” Joe was interpreting the words. “I can’t tell Beckett. He’d slaughter you – all of you.” Joe thought for a moment and began pacing. “Andy. I’ll have to wait for Andy to come back. I’ll tell him and a few others…Gabe and Dirty.”

   “Dirty? That’s not a name, I don’t care where you’re from!”

   “No, nickname…his real name is Cecil, but you wouldn’t mind being called Dirty if that’s what your mother had named you.”

   A moment of brief silence penetrated the air.

   “Stay here, and I’ll go to take the shift again. When Andy comes back, I’ll bring him here and forewarn him about you. You’ll explain what’s going on, we’ll round up another ‘search party’ – for Beckett’s benefit – and then…you can help us get Patrick back.”

   “Alright then…” and with that, Patamon fell asleep on the empty cot, stressed and strained in his frustration. Joe went back to shift, to wait for his friends.