“Then perhaps I am English after all,” Wolf Tongue said with a smile. “For that is where I would go.”
They agreed to a north-westerly course and set out. Wolf Tongue spoke of a few different places they could journey, and Pyke suggested they scout the nearest location first. Then they were silent again.
The silence lead to reflection, and Pyke found himself replaying the events in the village. Fearing for his life, he had not wanted to leave himself in the hands of the savage in dealing with the Lenape. He was a British officer, which meant he should be resourceful and capable enough to get himself out of trouble. And, he didn’t entirely trust Wolf Tongue yet—a man’s trust had to be earned, after all. But in those panicked moments, he’d figured he needed the man’s help. An Indian to deal with Indians. Besides, that was why Wolf Tongue had been seconded in the first place. He was here to assist Pyke in dealing with the natives.
Still though, Pyke couldn’t help but think he would have been able to fend for himself. He’d given the slip to his captors and managed to grab a knife. He would have been able to liberate himself.
He shook his head. That was just pride talking. He knew he had to express his gratitude to Wolf Tongue, when the proper moment presented itself.
The forests eventually gave way to a stretch of plains that swept like waves to the horizon, and Pyke was grateful. In the looming distance, a range of mountains rose. They approached the mountains and decided to skirt them. They took to the woods again, rather than attempt to climb the sheer rock with Pyke’s horse.
Wolf Tongue had looked over his shoulder more than once since their leaving the Lenape. He did so again now but kept the pace.
“Are we followed?” Pyke asked.
“Perhaps,” Wolf Tongue said. “I’m not sure.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know.” Wolf Tongue frowned. “Perhaps the Lenape are having second thoughts.”
Pyke halted and surveyed the forest behind them. He could not see more than fifty yards through the thicket, in the weak light of the afternoon. And even with ears perked, he could hear nothing. “Let’s find some open ground. I prefer to see my enemy.”
The savage veered, taking them off their course. In a few minutes, they emerged from the woods into a clearing. They continued their march, every few minutes checking for their pursuers. They saw no one as the afternoon wore on.
As night approached, the smell of smoke hit them. The two men followed its scent, staying out of the woods as much as possible.
After cresting a hill, they spotted a farmstead. Smoke flitted out of its chimney. A feeder creek bubbled near the home. A pair of belled cows roamed the fields.
They were lucky to find this place. Farmsteads were rarer than hen’s teeth on the frontier. Hopefully they would also manage to secure shelter for the evening.
Pyke figured it was a Prussian home, because he could see where tree stumps and roots had been carved out of the earth. The Prussians prepared land for cultivation differently than the English, who preferred to strip the trees of bark and allow them to die in situ. They hacked their trees down, burned what could not be used, then grubbed the roots. It provided for a better field, Pyke was told, but it also made for back-breaking labor.
“Let’s see if we might find some Samaritans,” Pyke said.
The stars were dotting the dark horizon when they reached the farmstead. An empty vegetable garden sat between the home and feeder creek. Pyke fastened his horse to the porch and signaled for the savage to stay.
“Hold here a moment. I hear the frontiersmen are wary and guarded,” Pyke said. “I will do my best to make friends.”
The blanket covering the door was suddenly flicked aside, and a robust woman wearing a long black dress popped her head out. “Willkommen! Willkommen!”
Before Pyke could say anything, the Prussian woman was at his side. “English?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I am Lieutenant Hugh Pyke.” He offered her his hand, which she shook with two. He bobbed his head toward the savage. “This is my traveling companion, Wolf Tongue.”
The woman smiled excitedly at the Indian and started tugging at Pyke’s arm again. “Come inside once. We have supper. My daughters make, ja.”
Startled by her generosity, Pyke didn’t have time to respond before she all but yanked him inside. Wolf Tongue trailed him, and Pyke could see the Indian’s mocking smirk. Pyke himself couldn’t help but chuckle.
“My husband is at neighbor’s since two days. He won’t be back for dinner,” the woman said.
Pyke’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the cabin. A pair of tow-headed adolescent girls labored over a burning stove in the far corner. A fire flickered catty-corner to the stove, surrounding them with heat.
“Willkommen,” the girls chanted in unison.
Pyke didn’t see a table or benches anywhere, only chairs. Before he could even point to one, the woman was ushering him and forcing him to sit. Wolf Tongue took a seat next to him.
“My name is Wilhelmina,” the woman said. She pointed to the stove. “This is Alize, and this is Hedda.”
At the prompt of their names, the girls waved again.
“You are most kind, ma’am,” Pyke said. “Please call me Hugh.”
“And you.” She pointed at Wolf Tongue and grinned ear to ear. “How are you called?”
The girls had taken their eyes off the pot boiling on the stove and watched Wolf Tongue with fascination. He winked at them and said, “I have two names. My Indian name is Wolf Tongue, and my Christian name is Isaac.”
Wilhelmina tried out both names. Wolf Tongue became “Volf Tongue,” Isaac “Itzak.”
“You are Christian?” the woman asked.
The savage shook his head. “No. I honor the gods of the Susquehannock, those that lived here first.” He winked at the girls.
They were enthralled. Pyke suppressed a grin, surprised to be enjoying this banter.
“Show them your tomahawk,” Pyke said. “They’re probably dying to see it.”
Wolf Tongue smirked and rose. With a dramatic flourish, the savage swept aside his cloak to reveal the strange weapon at his side. He plucked it from his belt and held it out to glint in the firelight.
The girls approached with nervous fascination.
Wolf Tongue brandished the tomahawk, and the girls skittered away. The Indian grinned. “This is the best weapon a man can have. It can do all things. If you have a piece of flint, you can start a fire. It flies better than a knife, cuts better than a sword, bashes better than a club.” Wolf Tongue went on to extol the virtues of his curious weapon.
Wilhelmina clapped her thick hands in delight. “We do not have travelers much, Hugh. It can be lonely here.”
***
They passed the next few hours in conversation and over a dinner of stewed vegetables. The vegetables were stale but warm. Wilhelmina offered them some hum cap, a very old beer with a flavor new to Pyke. Wolf Tongue enjoyed his share as well.
The girls kept eyeing Wolf Tongue’s bandage, and he flashed them his palm quickly to show the wound. They each put their hands over their mouths and squealed in delight.
“And what you do here?” Wilhelmina asked Pyke.
“We are acting on Colonel Bennett’s orders, surveying the land and trying to locate some tribes,” Pyke said.
“Closest tribe is Delaware. Then there is strange English with all Indians.”
Pyke’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean, strange English?”
“English riding with Indians—” Wilhelmina suddenly tensed, thinking Pyke and Wolf Tongue might take offense by the tenor of her comment. “—not like you I mean, a white man living with Indians.”
Wolf Tongue sat forward in his seat. Pyke kept his manner loose and voice disinterested. “Really? Has this man been here?”
She nodded vigorously. “He talk to my husband, Gunther. He want supplies. Gunther did not want to give any, but the man came with Indians and
guns. Gunther is a brave man, but he was one and they were many.”
“How many?” Pyke asked. It was incredible to him that Gunther would leave his wife and two daughters alone for several days on the frontier. But the woman acted as if it was expected.
Wilhelmina thought about it. “Five men.”
“And they went away after this?”
“Yes. But he came again yesterday.”
Pyke was having a difficult time hiding his excitement. Yesterday! Good fortune was most definitely on their side! “Do you know where he was headed?”
“My neighbors have seen his camp. They say it is two days from here and the camp sits on a cliff.”
Pyke could feel Wolf Tongue’s eyes flicker over to him, but he didn’t face the savage, not wanting to reveal his interest. “Hmm. I wonder who this English man is. Which direction is their camp, do you know? I would like to see it myself out of curiosity.”
She shook her head no. “You must ask neighbor for direction. I do not know.”
Pyke let the subject of Azariah drop, not wanting to appear too eager. They passed another hour in idle chatter. Wolf Tongue told stories of his tribe, no doubt very tall tales, and spoke of his gods and their power in the decorations on his tomahawk. Pyke found himself laughing so much his stomach began to hurt.
Wilhelmina told of her fishing village near the Black Forest, a place Pyke had heard of before but didn’t know where to place on a map. She had been a peasant there; in this country, she was married to a landowner. The girls had been born in the Province.
“From London?” Wilhelmina asked him.
“Near there,” Pyke said. “My family is still there.”
“It is hard to leave family. My parents both are gone. So are Gunther’s. Why did you leave?”
Pyke felt Wolf Tongue’s curious eyes on him. “I wanted to serve the Crown, and this is where the Army stationed me.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Pyke would leave it at that.
The girls began falling asleep in their chairs, and Wilhelmina had stifled a few yawns. Pyke himself was worn out from the traveling, and he’d been waiting for the right opportunity. “My most gracious hostess, thank you for your hospitality, but I’m afraid I’m getting awfully tired. My companion and I must set out early tomorrow.”
Wilhelmina led the girls to the corner near the stove. In her language, she told them it was time for bed. Despite their obvious fatigue, they fussed till Wilhelmina snapped in German and then told them more calmly in English it was time for bed. The girls relented.
Wilhelmina prepared two mounds of straw for him and Wolf Tongue in the middle of the cabin. Before she was done, the girls were snoring. Wilhelmina finished her work and settled in next to her daughters.
Pyke laid down with achy joints. On his back, he looked up at the hole in the roof where the smoke filtered. He could barely make out the stars. Then he was dead to the world.
***
The next morning, they set out early. Pyke offered Wolf Tongue his canteen and the remains of Fletcher’s cider. The savage eyed him as if the offering were part of some joke, but then he gladly accepted it.
Pyke watched as the full light of day came out and a new cold wind swept the plain. Now was the time. A debt was owed. Most of the whites he knew wouldn’t think it necessary to repay a savage, for they weren’t considered men. But to Pyke, a debt was a debt, regardless of the lender.
“Listen, Wolf Tongue.” He kept leading his horse and glanced at the man.
Wolf Tongue had been playing with the fresh bandage wrapping around the palm of his hand. He stopped to give Pyke his full attention.
“A gentleman always thanks someone when …” Pyke struggled for the words. For a moment, his pride fought to get the better of him, but he swallowed it. “Thank you. I owe you my life. I’m not a man who would forget his debts.”
The savage eyed him silently for a long moment, then said, “So you admit then, it is the English who need Susquehannock help, and not the other way around?”
Pyke had a mind to wallop the man, until he saw the very familiar smirk playing on Wolf Tongue’s lips.
“Do you have any more of this drink?” Wolf Tongue asked, holding out the now empty canteen.
“I’m afraid not,” Pyke said. “We’re out of bub, but that’s probably for the best.”
“I’m amazed you English can make something taste so good.”
Pyke took the ribbing in stride. He would let the man have a little fun, because he had saved his life. But not too much fun. If this talk continued the rest of the day, he would have to remind the savage of the order of things.
“You took a blood oath yesterday?” He nodded at Wolf Tongue’s bandaged hand.
“I did.”
“It is a serious thing?”
“It is.”
“You swore to kill Azariah, and yet, you do not know the purpose of our mission. What if my orders are to bring him to the Colonel?”
Wolf Tongue kept walking but faced him. “I have a feeling we go to kill this man.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“It is what the English do to a man, when they don’t understand him.”
The savage went too far. Pyke stiffened. “And your people, they are without blood on their hands?”
Pyke watched as a lop-sided grin carved itself onto Wolf Tongue’s face. “No. I suppose we are no better.”
Pyke was surprised. He’d been expecting a sarcastic remark or some kind of joke, but none had come. It was probably still too soon to divulge the full scope of their mission to the savage, but Pyke was feeling generous and grateful for the man’s actions yesterday.
“Listen, it is time you knew because we are drawing closer. We are to kill this man.”
Wolf Tongue did not seem bothered by this. Instead, he said, “So, you need the help of the Susquehannock to kill one Englishman?”
Pyke could tell the man was joking, but he didn’t care for it. “The only reason we need your help is because he’s been getting help from Indians.”
He was grateful for the silence that followed. The savage was always prepared to strike with some verbal jab, and Pyke didn’t feel like taking the brunt of any more this morning.
It was two more miles to the neighbor’s farmstead. It was not unlike Wilhelmina’s property: a small cabin, belching smoke, sat next to the same meandering creek. Chickens scratched their way across the grounds, and a cow chewed on some grass. Before they drew near, two men emerged from the cabin. Pyke assumed one was Gunther and ordered the savage to hold fast while he went to speak with the men.
***
They moved quickly. Azariah had been at the neighbor’s home only the night before, so they had already made up ground. Gunther’s neighbor, another Prussian named Rudolf, had pointed them in the general direction of Azariah’s camp. Pyke figured Azariah and his men were headed home to find safe haven after the slaughter of the four Lenape.
Wolf Tongue moved with the speed of a jungle cat, but Pyke kept the pace. They covered much ground, because most of their morning was spent navigating relatively flat plains, for which Pyke was grateful.
The plains gave way to sloping hills, and finally, Wolf Tongue spotted a trail. Kneeling and pointing at the ground, he said, “Here. We are close.”
They went on. The forest soon overwhelmed them again, slowing their progress. They stopped only once, for lunch, and Pyke made sure to water his horse doubly. Then they set off again.
Wolf Tongue claimed to be following the trail of men, but Pyke had to trust him because he had difficulty discerning any signs of recent footfall amidst the endless piles of dead leaves and twigs.
The day wore on. The trail went cold, but Wolf Tongue picked it up again deeper in the woods. He slowed to a halt and signaled for Pyke to do the same.
Wolf Tongue approached him and whispered. “They are close. We must be quiet now.”
Pyke nodded, feeling the excitement and nervousness of the chase all at o
nce. The two men checked Pyke’s horse again for any objects that would make noise if dropped or rattled in the forest. With everything secured tightly to the horse, they started again.
The cumulative exhaustion of their journey gave way to the sudden rush of the moment. Pyke’s senses felt sharpened, and he moved as if he’d been resting for the last four days rather than constantly on the move.
The day was drawing to a close when Wolf Tongue stopped abruptly and held up a closed fist. Pyke halted his horse and tried to get his breath. His thighs and the backs of his legs were beginning to groan, as were his calves.
“They are near. Do you hear them?” the savage said.
Pyke stilled his breathing and listened. He couldn’t hear much of anything, just the wind, and the creak of the trees, and … there, a clatter of something. At this distance, the noise could have been anything, but whatever it was, it was not natural.
“How far?” Pyke asked.
“Two hundred paces at most. Sound does not carry through the wood.”
“Carefully, then.”
“We should leave your horse here,” Wolf Tongue said. “We will be able to move more easily and quietly.”
It was a good idea. Pyke tied the horse to a tree, scratched its ears, and then the two men were off again, this time picking their way as noiselessly as possible through the forest.
They cleaved to the trees and their feet found soft underbrush. Wolf Tongue moved so stealthily that Pyke had to admire the man’s footwork. He was able to keep the pace, but not as soundlessly.
They were running out of daylight when the forest thinned and became more of a grove. Without a word, they each slowed to a snail’s pace and crouched as they moved. The bare boles of the hardwoods and the pine needles seemed to catch fire in the dying afternoon light. He had heard the sounds of men grow louder on their approach. Suddenly, ahead of him, Wolf Tongue dropped to the ground and halted.
Pyke got to his knees and baby-crawled his way forward. The savage had taken position behind the carcass of a long-felled oak, and Pyke came up alongside him and peered out over it. Ahead, the forest broke and gave way to a grassy, sloping plain. A temporary camp had been set up just beyond the break of the forest.
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