| |
RED BEAR SET AN OILY, greasy salve to Elizabeth’s palm. He then flattened it to a wide stick and wrapped the whole of it with a rag. Thomas could do nothing but watch.
Once off Kittochiny Mountain, they rode west and hard across fairly level terrain. At noon they skirted south in a bow past Hagerstown. They forded Conocheague Creek just as the sun, which had chased their backs all day, started a slide to the west, burning their faces and blinding their sight. The horses had barely hoofed dry ground when Red Bear pulled them behind a line of trees and off the trail.
Within minutes, a party of ten or so Mingoes rumbled past. War paint flashed black as death in the sun and battle feathers stabbed at the air. Fresh scalps, dripping with blood, bounced and swayed in their hands. Horses’ hooves plodded through the bright red drops and smeared the trail with deadly ribbons. Had it not been for Red Bear’s arm around Elizabeth, Thomas was certain she would have fainted and fallen from the horse in her fear and loathing.
They camped that night east of Sideling Hill, and Thomas’ chances of getting help from the few settlers left in Hagerstown and along Conocheague Creek slipped past. The next two days they rode hard and long with rare and quick stops. Nee-swee Nipe, Green Water, spent far too much time focusing his crossed eyes on Elizabeth. Five more times they encountered war parties with old and fresh scalps. Each time, the lass’ eyes hollowed out a bit more, and there was nothing Thomas could do to stop the emptying. Being unable to speak only made matters worse.
By the fourth afternoon, with the Potomac River at their backs and Fort Cumberland within reach on the morrow, ‘twas obvious tonight was the last chance for an escape.
‘Twas equally apparent Thomas could not leave her behind.
That evening Red Bear led them to a secluded clearing beside a thin, waspish creek. The brave dismounted and pulled Elizabeth down after him. Tired lines wrinkled her eyes. A deep sunburn had cooked her face.
Thomas dismounted. As usual, he was roped by the neck and tied to a nearby sapling.
The Indians made camp and tended their horses. They gathered nearby berries and ate those and more pemmican. They whispered the other side of the fire from Thomas. Finally, they fell asleep.
When the waxing quarter moon stole its way past a midnight sky, Thomas slipped his joined hands to the sheath at his right leg. He pulled out the knife and lodged the handle between his feet. He slid his hands back and forth over the blade. The rope fell free.
Across the other side of the fire, a scream strangled tight.
His blood burst into his veins. He scraped his gaze left and right to see between the flames.
Elizabeth thrashed. Another scream was silenced.
The fat Indian lifted upward and over her?
Gràdhach Dia. Thomas seized the knife. He sliced the rope to his neck and feet.
The word no avalanched from deep inside her.
He stumbled to his feet. Around him, braves rose. He counted the needed revolutions. He flung the knife forward.
Slicing flesh hissed the heated air. The brave cried out, then collapsed.
Elizabeth’s scream curled Thomas’ insides.
He rushed forward. Something hit his head.
He stumbled. He stabbed his right elbow back and into ribs. Someone fisted his eye. He fell to his knees.
A heavy stick. At his feet.
He snatched it. He lurched upward. He swung left.
Another brave went down. He lowered his head and butted another to the side. His arms were seized. His elbows were yanked backward. His legs folded.
He crashed to his knees. Waves of heated pain blasted up his spine.
He somehow managed to lift his head.
Elizabeth stood before the braves, Thomas’ knife clutched in her hand. Had she pulled it from the brave’s back?
And how much longer could she stay aright with such shaking?
Red Bear lifted himself upward from the fat Indian’s head and turned. In his hands was a bloody tomahawk. So Thomas’ knife
had slowed the brave, but ‘twas Red Bear that took the final blow.
Cold fingers grabbed Thomas’ hair. His head was jerked backward. The blade of a scalping knife glistened in the firelight, then lifted to his forehead. His heart stopped.
“Mat-teh,” Red Bear cried.
Grunts of protest circled the group.
A wild look scuttled into Elizabeth’s eyes. She lifted the blade to her chest.
The panic shook Thomas’ gut. “She will hurt herself,” he said in Shawanese. Her memories of that last night in Acadia, and what Meggie had endured, were too sharp.
The last few minutes had not helped.
“And she is fearful you will take her.”
More angry words from Red Bear.
The knife lowered. Red Bear grabbed his arm and steadied him to his feet.
“Red Bear not take woman.” He pounded his palm on his chest. “Woman is to be saved for Iron Gun. This is why Green Water lives no more. And Black Fox have knife all this time?”
Thomas nodded.
“Why Black Fox not use?”
“I could not leave her.”
The brave’s mouth relaxed. Heavy lashes shaded his eyes.
Why such softness if he had first scared the lass out of her mind with the doll?
“Black Fox have another knife?”
“Nae. And I speak true.”
“What are ye speaking of?” Elizabeth cried. The knife, still pointing at her chest, shook.
“Elizabeth, please, at least lower it. For my sake.”
Instead, she thrust it outward. Her feet shifted left and right as if she might run at any moment.
Red Bear turned to him. “Black Fox get knife from woman. Red Bear give word she be safe.”
“And a marriage to Iron Gun?”
Thomas was nae certain, but he thought a look of pity crossed the man’s face. “Red Bear cannot stop if Iron Gun wishes it.”
Thomas thought not. “If I get it from her, may we at least speak to one another? ‘Twill help with her fear.”
Wrinkles rifled across the man’s forehead. ‘Twas clear he wanted to say yes.
“Black Fox promise not run?”
Thomas’ heart shrank inward. He could not.
He turned to Elizabeth. “Give me the knife and Red Bear will see ye are no harmed.”
Her fingers tightened on the handle. She stepped back.
This may be harder than he thought, and he was nae certain how much longer he could stand. His head swam. His shoulder was on fire. At least one rib was bruised, maybe cracked. He shuffled forward. “Red Bear is an old friend. He will keep his word.”
“He is an Indian. He has kidnapped us, and now you tell me to trust him?”
“War complicates things.”
“But what of Fort Cumberland? We can still go.” She shook the knife. “Now is our chance.”
“We would never make it.” Another step.
“But ‘tis so close.”
“Not close enough.” He gripped her wrist. He slipped the knife free. He lifted it backward. Red Bear took it.
Elizabeth’s face quivered.
Thomas yanked her against his chest. Her fingers dug into his back.
“Nae crying,” he rasped into her ear. “’Twill serve ye nae good.”
Rough hands grabbed his arms. He clutched at her head.
He was pulled from her. Her fingers clawed for him. Braves were between them, and he could see her nae more.
He may as well have been cleaved in half.
––––––––
THE INDIANS SPARED only a few hours to mourn Green Water.
Elizabeth mourned him not at all. Had she a knife, she would have killed him herself as he had heaved atop her.
After burying the brave, they moved north and into rocky hills. Sometimes they rode the horses. At other times they walked. They passed above a large fort straddling a peninsula to the south. Log parapets and soaring blockhouses baked in the sun. The waters of a river and a creek swirled at the fort’s feet.
Fort Cumberland.
Elizabeth’s hope further shattered.
The next few days they crawled over hills and mountains and in and out of valleys. This morning they wound around a skinny ridge that had dizzied Elizabeth senselessness before tossing her from the lush, knotted greening of the forest into a rich, level meadow.
Now, she sat opposite a Frenchman she wished with all her heart would get back on his scrawny horse and lose himself in the trees. Behind him rolled the Youghiogheny River, although she had yet to say it correctly.
She twisted her head over her shoulder. Thomas lay several feet away at the base of a tree, his neck roped to the trunk, his red eyes spearing her. Red Bear’s large hand capped her head. He turned her from Thomas and back to the Frenchman.
The man’s portly belly stretched a dingy blue hunting shirt. Greasy deerskin leggings strained against chubby knees. He scratched his matted beard, probably because it was filled with pests and vermin. He smiled.
She lowered her gaze.
The long looks he gave her, while speaking rapid-fire Shawanese to Red Bear, sickened her. She had tired of the man the minute he had walked into their camp several hours ago. At least Red Bear had made good on his promise to see she was not hurt, for he had kept her close to his side since the man’s arrival.
Her head nearly turned back to Thomas, but she caught herself.
She had tried to speak with Red Bear for three days now with words and a combination of signs and gestures. Sometimes he frowned and rolled his eyes. At other times he laughed and mimicked her actions before turning away and shaking his head.
All the while Thomas was wasting before her eyes, and Red Bear did nothing but drag him along behind the horse.
The Frenchman winked at her. “Voulez-vous venir avec moi?”
No, she did not wish to go with him. She would take her chances with Red Bear. That did not mean, however, that the man could not serve a useful purpose. “Tell Red Bear that if he does not let me tend that man over there he will never make it to Iron Gun.”
The Frenchman smiled.
“Elizabeth,” Thomas whispered from behind. “No.”
“Mademoiselle—”
“Tell him.” She hated the desperation in the French she spoke. “And no, I will not show you any favors.”
“Ce que vous dites, mademoiselle?” he teased. What say you? He lifted his hands. He shrugged his shoulders.
Oh! She shoved her hand into the slit at the side of her skirt and reached for the pockets tied around her waist. She brought out the pounds Alex had paid her right before leaving. Why the Indians had not confiscated her pockets she knew not. “Here. You can have all of it.”
The man’s eyes fattened. He plunged stubby fingers toward it.
She yanked it back. “Tell him first.”
He frowned. He turned to Red Bear and spoke.
He turned back to her and held out his hand. “He says you can do what you wish, but the man is not to be untied.”
“Merci.” She placed the bills into his hand.
“And Mademoiselle?”
She stood to her feet.
“You are still not to speak to him.”
––––––––
ELIZABETH SET THE HOLLOWED out tree bole onto the grass before her. The Frenchman shot a glance at her back and smiled.
Thomas’ skin crawled.
“We are not supposed to talk.” Her lips barely moved.
“Ye took a chance asking to help me,” he muttered. “Ye should no have done so.”
“I could stand it no more.” She brought the rag out of the water, twisted it, then pressed it to his temple. He winced. Three days of crusted blood, dirt, and skin oils were not going to come off easily.
She sighed. “And why they are worried about an escape now I know not.”
“My reputation goes along of me, Lass. I have been known to get out of worse scrapes than this.” For the moment, the Frenchman occupied Red Bear’s attention. To Thomas’ right, two Indians stripped bark for a canoe. Young Corn and Big Wind had slipped into the woods a while back, probably to hunt.
Thomas lowered his hand to the ground and crawled his fingertips toward Elizabeth. He grabbed her knee. The heat shot through the thinning green fabric and into his arm.
His gut somersaulted.
Her lashes fluttered. A smile teased her lips, but she stiffened her face against it. She moved her care to his bearded jaw.
“Ye look tired, Lass. Ye have to sleep to face the next day.”
“Every time I close my eyes . . .” She pressed the rag to his bearded jaw.
“You see Green Water?”
She nodded.
“Ye are safe with Red Bear.”
She lowered the rag to the water. “How is that so? And how can he be an old friend?”
“’Tis the war, Elizabeth. It sets men to opposing sides even as they hang onto their honor.”
She lifted the wet rag from the water and squeezed it over his beard. “How are your ribs?”
“I am managing.” Had he the luxury of binding them they would have fared better.
She reached for the rope around his neck and lifted it upward. A shadow fell over them.
Red Bear.
Elizabeth’s eyes smoldered. She tossed the rag into the water and jolted to her feet.
Thomas grabbed at the hem of her dress to pull her back to the ground. She swirled this way and that. The fabric slipped through his fingers.
“The rope cuts.” She slashed her hand across her own throat. “It festers.” She wiggled her fingers as if something were boiling. “Eventually it kills.” She grabbed her neck with her hand and stuck out her tongue. She bugged her eyes forward and tilted her head to the side.
The Frenchman’s laugh and the Shawanese words echoed through the valley of Braddock’s Run. “The girl has a point.”
Red Bear was not amused.
The Frenchman waddled toward them. The words raked from his throat. “Even Thomas McQueen has a breaking point. If Red Bear not careful, Red Bear find it.” He winked. “And then how will he claim Iron Gun’s daughter for his own?”
In his person, Thomas was far from his breaking point.
His mind, however, now that they were past Fort Cumberland, was a different matter entirely. If only he could speak with Elizabeth, then mayhap he could find some sane ground to trench his feet into.
Elizabeth turned to the Frenchman. “Tell Red Bear that I go to get fresh water to tend the wounds from the rope. They are bad.
They might even be infecting.”
They were?
The Frenchman did as she bade. She pointed to the river.
“Tell him I am going to pick yarrow over there.” She pointed to three Indians coming out of the thickest part of the trees.
“And when those rabbits are roasted, we will eat because I am tired of pemmican, and we will also share some with this man.”
The Frenchman translated again.
Red Bear frowned. He turned to Thomas and grunted the words in Shawanese. “Is Squithetha Nenothtu always so full of fight?”
The lass now had a name?
“Usually,” Thomas muttered. She was not good at following orders either.
She stalked toward the river. She bent and gathered the yarrow. Red Bear and the Frenchman slipped back to the fire and fattened it. The other braves set to skinning their kills.
Elizabeth came back toward him and sat again.
“We need a way to communicate, Squithetha Nenothtu.”
“What?”
“’Tis the name Red Bear has given ye. Girl Warrior.”
She frowned. She lifted the rope and pressed the rag to his neck. “I do not know whether to be offended or honored.”
“The latter.” He winced. “Do ye remember at the farm when ye first came and ye pretended to not know any French? And we used our hands?”
“Oui.”
“We must do the same now.”
“They will see us.”
“We can do things that seem natural to them, but they will mean something to us. For example, if I lift my index finger upward I am asking how ye fare. If ye are fine, then lift yers. If ye are no, point it to the ground.”
While Elizabeth slung his arm, they went through others. Blinking twice if scared. Tugging an ear if hurting. Rubbing their fingers together if they had just worked their beads through prayer.
After a few more signals, Thomas fisted his hand, bounced it twice, then splayed his fingers. “I love you,” he mouthed.
Her face reddened.
“Red Bear comes this way,” Thomas murmured.
She grabbed the bowl and stood. She turned toward the river. Halfway there she gripped her fist, bounced it twice, then stretched her fingers outward.