Louis L'Amour (8 page)

They started on and had been going but a short distance when Carrie stumbled and fell. She got up, frightened. “Di! Don't leave me!”

“We won't leave you,” I said. “Here, let me give you a lift.” I swung her to my back. “Put your legs around my waist and hang to my shoulders.”

I started off again, walking as if unburdened, and they followed.

Yance was hanging back, bringing up the rear, keeping his eyes open for trouble. I did not look around, knowing he would be there; if there was trouble, Yance would give me a signal.

We were deeper into the forest now. All about us were huge old maples and clusters of oaks, some of them seven or eight feet in diameter. Here there was less undergrowth, and we could move with greater speed. I was almost running now, weaving a swift way through the forest.

She watched me constantly, and well I knew her reasons, for he is naught but a fool who trusts himself
too lightly to a stranger. Now the land was changing; there were more low, rolling hills, and suddenly we topped out on a rise and caught a glimpse of blue beyond.

The river? No. The look of the water was not right. A lake, then, or large pond. We came down to the shore among the willows, and I let Carrie slide from my back. She was not heavy, yet even with my strength the carrying of her was tiring.

Yance came in. “Had a glimpse back there. They gained on us.”

Carrie looked up at me. “Can't we go home now? Is it far?”

“Not far, Carrie,” I said, resting a hand on her shoulder, “but we cannot go there now. There are men close upon us. They are between us and your village.”

Yance disappeared in the woods, scouting a way. I lay down, resting, letting all my muscles relax completely and giving way to complete rest. It was something I had learned to do to conserve strength. Through the willows I could see the water, hear it lapping.

Resting, I was. Yet thinking as well. From the glimpse I had, the lake was a large one, and we had to go back to the east and then south.

Diana came up beside me and sank to the ground nearby. “We are due east of the Cape, I think?” she suggested.

“We are.”

“We cannot go east?”

“There are men coming toward us. Evil men, I think.” I paused. “Do you know Max Bauer?”

“What of him?”

“He is one of them, I think.”

She was silent for several minutes. “He is Joseph Pittingel's man.”

“Who has a ship that is overdue.”

“Maybe he is coming to help?” she suggested. “He was often in Carrie's home. She knows him.”

I shrugged. “They are saying in the settlement that Pequots took you. Pittingel says it. Bauer, also.”

“They are not eager to find me, I believe.” She spoke calmly. “I am sorry for Carrie that she was with me when they came.”

Yance came suddenly, soundlessly, from the willows. “Indians,” he said. “A lot of them, I think.”

F
ollowing him, I looked past his pointing finger at a thin column of Indians, all of whom seemed to be warriors, advancing along a trace from the southwest. Within the range of my vision, judging by their spacing, there were at least forty in the group.

“Wait,” I suggested, “and let them pass, then cut back behind them. It is our only chance.”

If we could do it. Leaving Yance to watch, I went back and explained quickly. “No sound,” I added, “and then when I say, we must move quickly and quietly.”

We waited then, watching them come. I knew not the clothing or the paint these warriors wore, for it was different than any I had seen. Were they Pequots? Mohawks? I held my musket ready, knowing that its one shot could mean but one enemy dead. I had pistols, and there might be a chance to reload.

My throat was tight, for fear was upon me. We were but three men against forty, and if they rushed, we should have small chance indeed. Two musket shots, then our pistols and knives, with Henry's spear, and I yet knew nothing of Henry, whether he could fight or even if he would. Yet he was stalwart, and he carried himself like one who knew his way with weapons.

Where they came from we had not yet been, so there were no tracks of ours, and if they held to the trace they now followed, they would still see no sign left by us. But—I smiled at the thought—if they held to the trace, they would surely come upon Bauer and those with him.

We held still, making not the slightest move, scarcely daring to breathe, and the first of them came abreast of us and not fifty yards away, flitting through the forest with scarcely a sound.

They were slim and wiry men rather than muscular, yet a few among them seemed powerful, and no doubt all were strong enough. They carried spears, but bows and arrows as well as the tomahawk were much in evidence.

Slowly they passed us by, and my first guess had been close, for I numbered them to be thirty-two and no signs of battle among them, so if it was a raid they were upon, it lay before them.

No sooner had the last of them disappeared in the forest than I straightened up and beckoned. We went down the slope, past some pines, and took the very trace they had followed, retracing their steps back to the way from which they had come.

We passed the lake, keeping it close on our right, and a half-dozen miles farther we made camp in a pleasant nook among giant oaks where we swiftly gathered some fallen twigs and branches and built a small, warm but almost smokeless fire. Hidden as we were in a deep place among the trees, the fire would not be seen beyond our circle of trees.

In a dish, hastily made of birch bark, we sliced up some venison; then, when it had been simmering for a half hour, I added a couple of handfuls of cattail pollen. Diana watched us curiously and somewhat skeptically, I thought, but she made no comment.

Yance put together two cones of birch bark and plugged the bottoms; then we filled each with the soup. One went to Carrie, the other to Diana. Carrie hesitated, looking doubtful, but hunger overcame the squeamishness at trying something new. Meanwhile, I mixed up more of the soup, adding to what had been left.

Glancing over at Henry, I said, “You've been in the woods before?”

“They were different.”

“You move like a woodsman.”

He looked at me, his head up. “I was a warrior in my own land. I led men in battle.”

“Looks like you may get a chance for battle,” I commented. “Was it in Africa?”

“I am Ashanti,” he said simply.

“A slaver?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “There was war. When the war was over, the victor had slaves, or he killed them so they could not attack again. Some of the slaves we sold for guns or cloth.”

“How'd you become a slave? Did you lose a war?”

“No, we took slaves aboard the ship, and there were not enough slaves for the ship, and then the wind started to come up. Suddenly I was pushed from behind, and I was a slave, also.”

“So now you know how it feels.”

He shrugged again. “Some win, some lose. I lost then; now I win. I am free; I will stay free.” He stared at us defiantly.

I smiled. “Why not? We are not slavers, nor are we owners of slaves. We do our own work.”

His look was disdainful. “A warrior does not work!”

“No? If you stay with us, you will help. You will work, and you will fight. Otherwise”—I pointed toward the woods—“there is freedom out there. Take what you will of it.”

He did not move; hands on hips, he stared at me. “I have told them I would help,” he said. “My promise is my blood. I will stay until they are safe.”

“Good! We can use you.”

A few minutes later Yance asked, “What did he mean, he was pushed from behind?”

“Pushed down a hatch, probably. It has happened before. Men who take slaves are not particular who they enslave. I had much talk of this with Sakim, who had once traveled from Cairo to Timbuktu.”

We gathered wood for the fire, and Henry did,
also. We kept it low, and every now and again one of us would move out into the woods, away from the fire and even the low sound of the voices there, to listen.

That night we stood watch, Yance, then Henry, finally I. At dawn we moved out, and I let Diana set the pace. Cape Ann and the settlements were east of us and a little north of east now.

We traveled slowly, for Carrie's strength was waning, and I feared for her. If Diana Macklin tired, I did not know, for she walked proudly, quietly, making no complaint but thoughtful always of Carrie Penney.

When we had two hours behind us, we again neared a small stream that ran northward into the river. There we stopped to rest, and Henry wandered down to the river. We found huckleberries growing in a few patches near the stream and busied ourselves with picking. Yance wandered about, restless and uneasy.

Glancing through the leaves, I could see Henry had rigged a pole and was fishing.

Yance paused near me. “Think we should try for the settlement? Can't be more'n nine, ten miles across there.”

I had been giving it thought but worried that we knew nothing of Max Bauer or where he was, or of the others, coming south with Lashan.

Had they given up? I decided they had not. The girls were precious to them, for such a girl as Diana would bring five or ten times what a stalwart young black man like Henry would bring. Also, they dared not let us escape, for once it was known that white girls were being taken, they would be hunted down.

The woods were thick, but there were streams to cross and meadows. Somewhere over there were the Indians who had passed us and no doubt Bauer and his men. Yet it must somehow be done.

I went to where Diana picked huckleberries. “Know you of any settlement on the great bay south of Cape Ann? It might be easier to reach.”

“My father has a friend at a place they call Shawmut. He is the Reverend Blaxton. He lives alone there, I think, with one servant.”

“Is he the only one?”

“There is another at Winnesimmet. Samuel Maverick has a fortified house there, a place with a palisade and several guns mounted.”

“A good man?”

“Yes, he is. A very kind, genial man, but he has great physical strength, and he is said to be absolutely fearless.”

“He knows you?”

She hesitated. “He may remember me. My father helped with the raising of some of the beams of Maverick's house, but I met him but once when I was a little girl.”

“It is good. We will try for his place.”

“We would be safe there if he would take us in, for they would fear him. Or be wary of him, at least. He is a man of reputation, well known in the colony and in England, and I think even Max Bauer would hesitate to face him.”

We picked berries a little longer. A thought came to me. “He is a married man?”

“He is. He married the widow of David Thomson, a very good woman. I have spoken to her.”

Henry came up from the edge of the stream. He had six good salmon and a large pickerel. “I will fix them,” he said. “It is better to eat them and carry the weight inside than out.”

We were eating the fish when Yance returned. He had gone off suddenly into the woods, and he squatted beside me when he got back, taking a piece of the fish, baked in the coals. “Found a trace … old one. Runs off south by east.”

“A likely way?”

“Aye. There be deadfalls here an' yon, but we could make two, three miles … maybe more.”

We moved out at dusk, taking the dim trace, and once we had gone into it, I left Yance to lead and fell back. At the campsite I studied it with what light was left; then I began carefully cutting out the tracks of two people.

There was no way to choose whose tracks, so I simply took those tracks of which there were fewest. Carrie had moved around mighty little, so with a little brushing here and there and then a sifting of dust and broken leaves, letting the slight breath of air dictate where it fell, I left behind a camp that showed only three people: Diana, Henry, and myself.

A really fine tracker, if he took the time, could read the true story, but they were going to be moving fast, and I wanted to mislead them. They had lost the trail, I was sure of that. Now they would find it again, but of only three people. Where were the other two? Or where was the other one, Carrie, and who was the stranger in moccasins, which was I.

At the entrance to the trace and for some way along it, I erased all sign of travel, scattering a few twigs, some bits of bark. Then I started running, a long, easy stride to overtake them, but it was full dark before I did, and when I felt I was close to where they might be, I slowed my pace to come upon them quietly. They had covered almost two miles and had stopped briefly near a small stream.

We moved on into the night, pausing frequently so that the girls might not tire too soon. At one stop I sat beside Diana.

“I liked your father,” I said.

She turned her face toward me. I could see the faint whiteness of it in the shadowed place. “He is a good man. I do not think shaped for this life, nor this country.”

“To make a country we need all kinds. He is a thoughtful man, and such are needed. He reads, he thinks. Too many of us are so busied with living that we do not.”

I gestured about us. “A man must think, but he has not enough to nudge his thinking. From morn 'till night we are busy with finding game, hunting food, cutting fuel, shaping wood for houses. Ours is too busy a world, and there is no time for considering.”

“I know … even father. There are days when he
has not the time to touch a book. There is no market where one can go and buy what is needed. It must be hunted, gathered, or made with the hands.”

“And at night,” I added, “a man is too tired. I fall asleep over my books, but we must read, not only for what we read but for what it makes us think. Shaping a country is not all done with the hands but with the mind as well.”

We were silent, and she dipped water from the stream and drank, then again.