Lorenzo's Secret Mission (11 page)

I jumped up and turned. A kindly, wrinkled face smiled at me.

“I am here to represent Chief of the Three Forks.” With practiced ease, I repeated the line Cornflower had taught me.

“A long and tiring journey. You must be hungry. Eat.” He pointed toward the cauldron.

I picked up a bowl and helped myself to the stew. Before I finished ladling it, two British soldiers, one an officer, the other Saber-Scar, emerged from a wooden building and strode toward me.

For a second, my heart refused to beat. Should I make a dash for safety? Stay still and hope Saber-Scar wouldn't notice me? Casually stroll away?

Amazingly, they brushed past me, hardly glancing in my direction. To them, I was just one more Indian brave.

In spite of my wobbly knees, I managed to return to my seat.

The British officer stationed himself in front of the fire and laced his hands behind his back. “Greetings, my brothers. On behalf of His Britannic Majesty, King George the Third, I welcome you.” He paused.

A short, squat Indian leaned toward an elderly chief and whispered a translation in his ear.

The chief replied in Choctaw, and his Indian interpreter put his speech in acceptable English.

The words reached me, but I only half-listened to the
standard greetings and exchange of gifts. I was too busy memorizing every detail to tell William later. I suddenly realized why they hadn't attacked us. There were fortythree of us and only a handful of British soldiers.

In a long ceremony that involved speech after speech, Indians and British exchanged tokens of friendship. The elderly chief stood unsteadily and leaned on a brave's arm to deliver an address thanking the British for their hospitality. “By dawn's first light,” he ended by saying, “we will return to our village.”

Upon hearing that, the British officer stamped his foot like a spoiled child, and my attention snapped back to the proceedings.

“We fight a common enemy,” he snarled. “An enemy who steals your land. Even now, they move up the Father of Waters on big boats. Have you seen them?”

The Indians shook their heads.

My spine tingled with alarm. Colonel De Gálvez was right. The British had learned of our departure and were searching for us.

“Your British father, King George, wishes us to live in peace, but there will be no peace if supplies reach the Evil Ones who invade your land and hunt your game. He expects you to fight.”

A muscle worked in the old chief's jaw when he heard the translation. “Many braves have died for you,” the chief responded. “We will die no more.”

“By the new moon,” the British officer countered, “King George will bring many soldiers to capture the rebels. There will be much honor to share and a double bounty for each rebel scalp.”

The old chief seemed to consider that. “When the moon is new, we will return.”

The new moon. Of course. That made sense. Under a new moon, troops could use the darkness to move into position undetected. Had the British finally learned how easy it was to spot their scarlet coats in the woods?

The flatboat flotilla had to leave now. If we waited too long, British reinforcements would arrive before we rowed past this fort.

The peace pipe passed from man to man, each one in the inner circle taking a draw, holding it, then expelling a long, gray plume. I'd heard of smoking the peace pipe, but had never seen it. I watched, fascinated, and took a draw when it was my turn.

The ceremony over, each Indian rolled himself in his blanket and made himself comfortable as best he could. The parade ground, littered with multicolored blankets, looked like a living patchwork quilt.

For some time, I watched the spangled sky and waited for the deep, rhythmic breaths that told me everyone had fallen asleep. I eased up and crept toward the supply door, hoping to find it unlocked. It was. At my touch, the door creaked open an inch. I hurried inside and gently closed it behind me.

Footsteps approached, heavy-booted British footsteps, not an Indian's soft patter. I held my breath and waited for the soldiers to pass by. Unfortunately, they decided to pause at the storeroom door for a chat. I wished I could see what they were doing. Worried that they might come in, I scrunched down behind a big barrel.

“Can we trust these savages?” That was the British officer speaking.

“If they say they haven't seen flatboats, then no flatboats have passed by.”

I recognized Saber-Scar's voice at once.

“Where are those damn rebels?”

“We'll find them easy enough, sir. A half-breed boy named Lorenzo Bannister disappeared from New Orleans the night Gibson's Lambs slipped away. It's a good bet he's with them.”

“A half-breed, you say?”

“He was raised in New Spain. Looks like he was
fathered off a Mexican woman. He's only about fivefoot-six, and the men with him are all over six feet tall. He's the darkest one of the lot and will stand out like a sparrow among cardinals.”

Saber-Scar didn't seem to know about the Spanish soldiers with the flotilla. At least he hadn't mentioned them so far. But he planned to use me as the way to distinguish our flatboat from others going up the Mississippi. What if we were captured because of me? The thought sickened me.

“Catching the rebels is all good and well,” Saber-Scar went on in a low, confidential tone. “It will do wonders for our military careers. But the real prize is Little Lord Lorenzo.”

“How so?”

“His grandfather is Judge Armand Bannister.”

“Judge Bannister of Virginia has a half-breed grandson working with the rebels?” the officer asked in an amazed voice. “I know Armand Bannister. I know him well. He has never said he had a grandson.” He chuckled. “So Armand's son mixed his blood with a Mexican. And a woman with Indian blood to boot. I don't wonder that Armand kept
that
secret.”

“Before I left New Orleans,” Saber-Scar said, “I wrote Judge Bannister and told him I'd found his long-lost grandson living in New Orleans. He offered to pay me handsomely for him.”

“Of course he did. Judge Bannister is the richest man in Albemarle County.” The British officer uttered a terrible curse. “You've fallen into a gold mine. I want a piece of this. If you and I deliver his grandson, we could retire from military service and live like kings. At all cost, we must capture the boy.”

Not a shred of light penetrated the storeroom. The air around me grew close and hot. Even so, a chill surged
through me when I heard those words. After a moment, I heard Saber-Scar and the British officer walk away.

First things first, I told myself. As soon as I returned to Fort Arkansas, I'd tell William why we had to leave immediately. Right now, I had to concentrate on finding the medicine and getting back downriver.

Like a blind man, I felt my way around the room until I touched glass, cold and smooth. Afraid that a light would give me away, I resorted to pulling out the stoppers and taking a gentle whiff to determine the contents of the bottles. I tested vial after vial, rejecting some, slipping others into my gunny sack. As quiet as a rabbit, I headed toward the now-smoldering campfire to find a way out of the fort.

The sight of a sentry on patrol at the front gate stopped me short. On the second-story platform, a guard leaned over the east wall scanning the forest. His musket rested against the upright logs sharpened to a point. I wheeled around in the shadows and climbed a wooden ladder to an unguarded platform along the opposite wall. I leaned forward. Casting a quick eye over the ground below, I judged the drop to be seven feet or so. I saw nothing that resembled a soft landing spot. The jump wouldn't kill me, but I might twist an ankle or break a leg. I decided to look for a better way out. I turned around in time to see Saber-Scar saunter out of the barracks. He unbuttoned his pants to relieve himself on a post and looked up. Straight at me.

Our eyes made contact. He angled his head questioningly and started toward me. Steeling myself and clutching the gunny sack to my chest, I climbed between two sharp-pointed logs. Just before I dropped over the side, Saber-Scar shouted, “Guard!”

I landed with a bone-jarring thud, picked myself up, and trotted toward the forest. Worry and fear for my life spurred me on. I had to get back and warn William. We had to set out at once or we would be captured.

At the edge of the clearing, with the fort about fifty yards behind me and the safety of the woods a few yards away, I heard a loud pop and felt a burning sensation in my back.

I'd been shot.

The bullet's impact pitched me forward, face down in the leaves carpeting the forest floor. Instinct urged me to get up, but pain as hot as a branding iron shot through me every time I moved.

Back at the fort, confusion reigned. Someone bellowed out, “Who fired that shot?” while another voice roared, “Bugler! Sound the alarm!”

I heard the muffled sound of feet running toward me. Someone knelt beside me and muttered curse after curse. He lifted me as if I were no heavier than a feather pillow and cradled me in his arms.

My head lolled back. Overhead I saw twining tree branches move at a dizzying speed. I was only vaguely aware he was taking me into the woods, in the direction of the river. And then I heard a second man, barely visible in the starlight, urging him on in broken English.

Every footfall brought a sharp stab of pain. I bit my lower lip rather than cry out. I could think of nothing, other than how much I hurt. I raised my head and for the first time realized who was carrying me.

“Red,” I mumbled.

“Hold on, Mr. Bannister. We're almost there.”

At the riverfront, he laid me on my stomach in a canoe.

The second man whispered in Spanish, “Lorenzo. It's me. Héctor. Héctor Calderón. Brace yourself. This is going to hurt.” He packed leaves into my wound and pressed his hand to my back to stop the flow of blood.

A thrashing sound, no doubt pursuers coming through the woods, drew closer.

“Shove off,” Calderón said to Red in a panic-filled voice.

Red obeyed without question.

Slap! Slap! Paddles struck water with the greatest urgency.

A bullet ripped through the canoe's side above the water line. One after another plopped into the water around us, sending up misty sprays.

I struggled to stay conscious so I could make Calderón understand the danger we were in. “British troops. The new moon. Must go now. Saber-Scar's here. Trap.”

“By all the saints,” Calderón whispered. “I understand. Just relax, Lorenzo.”

Darkness covered me like a shroud.

A cool rag gently wiped sweat from my forehead.

“Everyone! He comes to.”

I winced at Calderón's loud, stilted English.

Bright sunlight streamed through an open window and hurt my eyes. With it came the beat of oars against water.

Disoriented, I scanned my surroundings. To my surprise, I found myself in the flatboat cabin, lying on my side in bed. Someone had wedged pillows around me to keep me from rolling over on my wound. The room's slow rocking motion suggested we were once again under way.

Several Lambs hovered over me, concern written in their expressions, while Calderón sat in a wooden chair by my head. In spite of their scraggly beards, unwashed faces, and uncombed hair, they had never looked so
good. Even Calderón, who usually looked princely, hadn't bothered to shave.

Red squatted beside my bed, which put us at eye level. “How you feelin', Mr. Bannister?”

“Like I've been shot in the back.”

Red glanced up at the other Lambs and grinned.

William leaned over me. “Red said you were running toward the forest when a big Redcoat on the ramparts saw you. Shot you with a pistol. Lucky it wasn't a musket. That would have done lots more damage. The Redcoat was hopping mad and cussing up a storm.”

“Saber-Scar,” I muttered.

“We dug out the bullet and saved it. Before you know it, you'll be good as new. This will leave you with a dandy scar.”

“Thanks for sending Red and Calderón.”

My rescuers shared a quick look and shifted nervously.

William shook his head, his mouth drawn tight in disgust. “I didn't send them. They followed you on their own and against my explicit orders. I should shoot them both for desertion and stealing military property. That canoe was not theirs to take.”

“I'm glad they followed me.”

Nothing in their expressions showed remorse for disobeying orders. To the contrary, they looked rather pleased with themselves.

“Well, yeah,” William said with a slight smile. “They're lucky it worked out all right. But do you know what makes me maddest about the whole affair?” He continued on without giving me a chance to respond. “They went on this exciting adventure and didn't invite me along.”

His remark broke the tension in the room. The Lambs grinned at each other.

William turned to the men crowding around my bed. “Don't you have something to do other than hanging around here?”