We find shelter under some trees; stay there till daylight. Miata has brought food and blankets, and we make a shelter of bent branches and lie wrapped together all night. I put my hand on her belly but I can’t feel the baby – “Too young! Too soon!” says Miata, laughing – but I believe he is there with us, an unborn spirit, all three of us Kpelle, far from home. Miata and I kiss and talk and ask the spirits of this land to watch over us. We hear animals snuffling and grunting, but they don’t come near. In the morning we make a small offering of food to the spirits before we leave.
The day is fair and warm. We hear no pursuers. We feel happy. We wash in a stream and gather cherries to eat. We follow a trail. I think it is a trail of the Lenni Lenape people. It leads west, along the creek. We will go far from the new city, I decide. We will live in the forest, and the Lenni Lenape will be our neighbours.
Miata grows tired, and we stop to rest beside the trail. I remember how I lay low for a day on the other side of the river and my pursuers passed me by. We would be wise to do that again, I tell Miata. We leave the trail and find a sheltered place by the creek. Miata brings out the last of the food: cornmeal cakes and berries. She lays this food carefully on fresh leaves, and offers it to me. We eat, and talk quietly together. But all the time I keep watch and listen. I know men will be out searching for us now. Once, in the distance, I hear voices, and dogs barking, and my heart beats fast; but they are far off, and the sound grows no louder.
As night falls we feel safer. We huddle under the shelter of a fallen tree and wrap ourselves close in the blankets, trusting the spirits to protect us again.
Next morning we rise early and brush away all trace of our camp. Miata rolls up the blankets and ties them for carrying. We walk on. The trail leads deep into the forest, and we hear all around us sounds of birds and running water. Squirrels leap from tree to tree above us. Once, coming into an open glade, we startle several deer that run with a crash of branches into the cover of the trees. I know these sounds might alert our enemies. We pause, and listen, but hear only birds and rustling leaves. I think: Once we are far away from the white men’s settlements, once we are among the Lenni Lenape, we will be free. We will hunt. We can survive in this forest. And I stride out. I feel like a free man already.
A new sound startles me: a clink of metal?
I whirl round. “Miata –”
Voices, breaking branches – danger! We clasp hands and run, but they are all around us: men armed with ropes and shackles. They seize me, tear Miata’s hand from mine, bind my arms behind my back. Miata screams. She too is caught and tied.
These men are not like those others who blundered along with dogs so that I heard them coming. These are hunters, men who know how to move silently in the woods. I see now that they have been following our tracks, all the time we thought we were free. I turn to Miata, cry out that I’m sorry, and she sobs and struggles to reach me. But they force us apart. They march us back along the trail.