Louis L'Amour (10 page)

What worried me most of all was that for the time I was virtually unarmed except for combat at close quarters. If seen, I should have to use every skill to avoid offering a target, and among these woods were enemies who knew every trick of woodcraft.

When there was a path, I ran, taking the usual easy pace of the Indian or woodsman in the days before horses were commonly used, for at this time there were no horses in the Massachusetts Bay area and few elsewhere aside from the Spanish colonies of the far south. Our own horses we had left in a secluded pasture where Macklin could from time to time attend to them.

I had no food, yet often had I gone without food for several days at a time and could endure. Nonetheless, I kept a wary eye for huckleberries or whatever the forest might offer and soon came upon a thick patch at the edge of a meadow.

There were bear tracks about, but I saw none, although it was a likely place for them, and I picked and ate for nearly an hour before I started on. Huckleberries were tasty enough, but I had need of meat.

Suddenly coming upon two red deer and having a goodly chance at the one, I measured the distance with my eye and let fly with my tomahawk. Many a time had I hit such small marks as the end of my thumb, but this time the fates were not with me, for the unkind beast turned his head, and I missed. The deer ran off,
and I went hungry to my tomahawk and returned it to my belt, mumbling a few unpleasantries the while.

No longer running, for I had come into an area of low hills, scattered rocks, and much fallen timber, I went carefully. It is a thing a man must forever guard, that he not twist an ankle badly or break a leg, for to be down and helpless is often to die. There was no sound but the wind in the leaves, no movement but small animals or birds. It had become suddenly warmer, and I tried for a look at the sky, but the foliage was thick, and I could see naught but patches of low gray cloud.

Several times I sat to think, to try to imagine where Yance and the others might be, but all I could surmise was that they were north of me and but a few miles off, yet I hoped our enemies were following me instead of them, and, rising, I went on.

Of Shawmut I knew nothing. It was not a settlement, merely a place, and of it I knew only that two or three men lived there. That it was close by to the sea and that a fair harbor was near, I did know, and some among those to whom I had talked at Jamestown or Williamsburg had suggested it might in some while become an important place. Such things are commonly said of this place or that along a coast newly discovered, always to be taken with a grain of salt.

Throughout the sultry afternoon I plodded on, lonely and a bit weary, my thoughts forever returning to Mistress Macklin, from whom I tried in vain to draw them away, at first by force and then by trickery. Neither would suffice.

Why should I think of her? I scarcely knew her. A likely maid, of course. Downright beautiful, when it came to that, and a lass of some poise and presence, and no more of a witch than most girls of her age, who are all up to some trickery or other.

Yet who was I to talk of women? I knew less of them than of deer or beaver, and they were much more chancy things from all I had heard.

Noelle was but a child when she left for England, so the little I knew of women was by observing the wife
of my brother or those of my friends, and they were not helpful. A woman who has trapped her game has a different way about her than one who is still on the stalk.

My ignorance of women I covered very well by a seeming indifference and by keeping my opinions to myself, most of which, had they been expressed, might well have been wrong. It was easy enough to see why the young men of the Cape Ann area might be doubtful of Diana, for she had a disconcerting way of looking at a man.

Yet aside from her beauty there was much in her to admire, for she was a quietly capable person who did not scream, faint, or cry so far as I had seen. She looked matters in the face and did something about them, and my mother had been such a woman, and Lila even more so.

The Indian girls I had seen among the Cherokees or Catawbas and the white girls I had met in Jamestown were much alike. They all knew how to move, to sit and to bend to show their figures to the best advantage, and I was used to that. Diana, with a better figure than any of them, did nothing of the kind, or did she? In some more subtle fashion? It worried me that she seemed innocent of guile, that she seemed only concerned with what was at hand. So I came to avoid her, while thinking about her.

Yet I was being foolish and very vain. Why should such a girl think to use such wiles on such as I? Who was I, after all, but a tall young woodsman from a strange wilderness to the south, a man without any of the graces of which I had heard women speak.

I was much too serious. Yance was full of laughter and fun and great at dancing. Kane O'Hara, who had won a Spanish wife, was a gifted talker, a storyteller, and a man with a ready smile and eyes that twinkled with merriment. Jeremy, my father's friend and Lila's husband, was every inch a gentleman. He carried himself with style and knew much of the world. People, and women especially, listened when he spoke.

And I? I talked little and at the dances sat along
the wall and watched, more at home in the forest than among people. No doubt I would live alone forever, for what woman would find me attractive? Who would want a tall man with high cheekbones and a face like a blunted wedge who knew nothing but hunting and tracking?

I would think of Diana no longer.

W
hen at last I came to Shawmut, it was to a cove inside of what was called Fort Hill, and I came by canoe with a friendly Indian who would accept no gift for the favor.

“There are good men here,” he said, and left me standing on the shore at the foot of a path that led to Beacon Hill.

Here all was still, a peaceful place indeed, with some trees off to the south beyond some sand hills and poor grass. On the ridge of Beacon Hill, before me, there were a few cedars and what appeared to be elms. Only the cry of sea birds gave sound to my hearing, and I walked along in my wet moccasins looking for the house of the Reverend Blaxton, which I heard was close by.

By some he was considered eccentric, for he wished only to live quietly here beyond the reach of too many voices and to walk along his hill, down by the sea, or to read his many books. A good life, I told myself, a very good life indeed.

The path wound along the hill, and no doubt he knew I was coming for some time before I reached his gate. A Pequot woman served to keep his house, and he had a sturdy man who had come to help from time to time. The house itself was of logs flattened a bit on top and bottom to fit more snugly and well thatched with flags, rushes, and sedge from the swamps below the hill and along the shore.

He met me at the door, a grave but pleasant young
man of about thirty years. “You are Reverend Blaxton?”

“I am.”

“I am Kin Ring Sackett from Carolina. My brother and I have been searching for the two maids who were lost.”

“Taken by Indians, it was said.”

“Indians are suspected of too many things they have not done,” I said, “nor were any Indians involved in this.”

He hesitated a moment, then said, “Will you come in? I entertain but rarely here.”

“It is a lovely place.” Indeed it was, with wild flowers all about a fine view of shore and bay. Walking up the hill, I had seen a profusion of plants. Blueberry, blackberry, strawberry, and wild grape vines seemed to abound everywhere. “I envy you.”

The comment seemed to please him, and when we stepped inside, it was quiet and cool. The floor had been paved with flagstone, neatly fitted, and there was a fine hearth and fireplace, with a small fire burning, enough to warm some soup.

“From Carolina, you say?” I was looking at his books. “It is far.”

“We are in the western country,” I said, “far out on the frontier. Beyond us are naught but Indians, although we hear of Frenchmen and Spanish wandering there.”

He glanced at me as I stood looking over the titles of his books but made no comment in that respect. “Why have you come to me, then?”

Turning, I said, “For advice, in part. Secondly, not to lead those who follow me too quickly to the house of Samuel Maverick.”

Then, accepting a cup of warm broth, I explained all to him. How Mistress Penney had sent for us and how we had come swiftly to help, how our efforts had resulted in finding the girls already escaped and in company with a black slave who was helping them and escaping himself.

“It is a serious matter, that,” Blaxton said. “I look upon slavery with no favor, but to help a slave escape is looked upon almost as thievery, for you deprive a man of property.”

“Aye, but they did not help him.”

“It will not be seen in that light. They were white. It will be assumed that because he left with them they aided him rather than otherwise.”

He sipped his broth, as I did mine, then asked, “They are with Maverick now?”

“I hope so. I had a brush with those who followed them and tried to lead them down the wrong path. They would have come along swiftly, for my brother Yance was with them.”

“Yance? Yance Sackett?” He smiled suddenly. “I have heard of him. Heard nothing good but much that I admired. Although I am a man of the cloth, the people of the congregation and I do not always agree.” He gestured. “I find it more pleasant here.”

After another brief silence he said, “If they were not taken by Indians, then by whom?”

“There were three white men, men of the sea, by all accounts, and two black slaves, one of whom helped them escape … a fine young man.”

“White men?”

“Slavers,” I said, “and obviously awaiting a slave ship to pick them up. The ship was overdue.”

“You did not see such a ship?”

“There was a ship offshore. She seemed to be coming in. We were at the mouth of the Merrimack,” I added, “a place used by traders and such.”

“I have heard of it. But you only saw a ship offshore.
Perhaps
it was coming in. You assume very much.”

For that matter he was correct. I sat, turning it over in my mind. It was true, we knew nothing. Even the maids assumed much, and we had only what Henry could tell us and what Diana believed.

“We believe Max Bauer was leading those who tried to intercept us,” I suggested.

He put his bowl down hard on the hearth. “You
believe!
If you are to mention such men, you must know.”

It nettled me, yet he was right. The girls had been taken away, the girls had escaped, but for whatever we suspected, we could prove nothing. We knew nothing; we had nothing.

“One of the men,” I added lamely, “was seen working on the shore for Joseph Pittingel.”

He smiled, an ironic smile. “You are, indeed, an innocent,” he remarked. “Joseph Pittingel is a man of many interests. He gives largely to the church. He is often called to advise in matters of the colonial administration. I fear the best thing you can do, or the girls themselves, for that matter, is to be still about what you surmise.”

He refilled my empty bowl. “I must speak to Samuel of this,” he commented. “He is a thoughtful and a knowing man. I am afraid the young miss is in trouble, also, this maid of Macklin's.”

“That she is suspected of being a witch? Surely you put no stock in that?”

“I do not, nor will Maverick, yet there will be others who will, and we must think of them.” He looked at me suddenly. “You have spoken with her. What kind of lass is she?”

“Beautiful,” I said quickly, “and sensitive, but she thinks. She has a good mind, an excellent mind, and far beyond her years in good sense.”

He chuckled suddenly, and I did not know why, but he glanced at me slyly. “It is not often I hear a young man comment on a woman's
mind.
”

“She is worthy of comment for her beauty,” I replied stiffly, “but among us a woman's mind is important. On the frontier a man and his wife are two. They walk beside each other. To survive, the two must work as one, sharing thoughts as well as work. It is not the same, I hear, in the cities of Europe.”

“You must guard your tongue,” Blaxton advised. “Joseph Pittingel is a shrewd and dangerous man,
skilled in the usages of power. He can have you deported, sent back to England.”

“Back?” I shook my head. “He could not send me back. This is my home, this is my country.”

He looked at me sharply. “This is your country!” He shook his head as if astonished. “It is the first time I have heard that said. ‘This is my country!' It has a nice sound, a fine sound, but most of us, you know, are English.”

“I was born here. I have not seen England. To me it is a land far off where a king reigns.”

“He reigns here, also,” Blaxton reminded. “It is not good to forget that.”

“Where I live,” I said, “is beyond the mountains where only Indians are. I do not think the king reigns there nor has power. It is a man himself who rules himself, and it is people working together. Perhaps you may think us wrong, but we do not often think of the king.”

He considered that, then smiled. “To tell you the truth, we do not often think of him, either, yet it is not well to forget. You can be sent home to be tried by his courts, sent to his prisons, or executed by his officers.”

We finished our broth and sat there in silence, enjoying each the company of the other. Finally he nodded to indicate the books. “Do you read, then?”

“I do. In our home there are many books, and my teacher was a good one.” I glanced at him. “You might not approve. He was an infidel, a Moslem.”

He shrugged. “I would say this to none but you and perhaps to Sam Maverick, but I have myself read a book by a Moslem and found it not at all bad. Did he speak of religion?”

“Only to say there were many paths, all directed to the same end, and he advised me not to be too quick to put my religion upon the Indian, for he had one of his own that served him well.”