The Wilderness Road

by James Reasoner

  The question caught Davis by surprise. He answered, "Davis."

  "Well, Davis, old son, you been shot a couple of times, in case you were wonderin'. You got pinked in the side and creased on the noggin, but I reckon you'll be all right. Leastways, you would be if we wasn't plannin' on doin' what we're plannin' on doin'."

  "And what would . . . that be?" Davis forced himself to ask.

  Again the uproarious laugh came from Shadrach. Whatever he was about to say amused him so much that tears leaked from the corners of his deep-set dark eyes. "Why, we're goin' to give you to the Shawnees, old son. Ain't nothin' they like better'n a white man to torture and kill ever' now and then, and you sure enough fit the bill."

  The shock of the statement almost made Davis pass out again. He had survived two battles with the bandits, had lived through being shot, only to discover that he was still doomed. And if he died, Emily's hope of being rescued probably died with him.

  Captain Harding might send out another search party, but he might not. When Davis and the others didn't return, the captain might be so discouraged that he wouldn't risk the life of anyone else. He might even convince himself that Emily was already dead and the only choice remaining was to move on and get the wagon train to its destination.

  Davis doubted that Colonel Welles would send anyone else, either. The colonel had already lost his foreman and half a dozen of his workers. He would be for pushing on with the job at hand—and Davis couldn't blame him for feeling that way.

  "It'll be a while 'fore we turn you over to the savages, though," Shadrach went on. "You might as well get used to our hospitality. That little gal's been pitchin' a fit from wantin' to take care of you, so I reckon we'll let her do that. Just don't get no ideas. You're bound for a Shawnee fire, and you ain't endin' up nowheres else."

  Davis let his head slump back against the hard rock floor underneath him. Despite the grisly fate that awaited him, he was going to see Emily again. He could at least reassure himself that she was all right.

  Shadrach turned away and said to someone Davis couldn't see, "Untie the girl." The bandit leader walked across the cave, moving out of Davis's vision. A moment later, he was replaced by a much prettier sight, at least in Davis's estimation. Despite the fact that her face was smudged with dirt and a worried frown cut deep creases in her forehead, Emily looked positively lovely as she hurried over and knelt beside him.

  "Davis!" she said, catching hold of one of his bound hands. "Are you all right?"

  That was a pretty foolish question under the circumstances, but he managed to smile anyway. "Sure. I'm a little bunged up, that's all."

  "Shot up, you mean. Those . . . those devils nearly killed you."

  They had killed eleven other good men, Davis thought. It was only by sheer chance that he had not made it an even dozen.

  Or maybe it was more than that, he told himself. Maybe there was a reason he had been chosen to live. He hung on to that thought, because it meant that maybe there would be a chance for him and Emily to get out of here after all.

  "You poor man," she murmured. "Let me look at those wounds."

  Her probing fingers were as gentle as possible, but her touch still set off explosions of agony through his head as she explored the wound left above his ear by the rifle ball that had grazed him there. He gritted his teeth together to keep from crying out. Then she moved his shirt aside and examined the crease on his side, a procedure that was almost as painful as the first one. When she was done, she looked off to the side and asked, "Can I get a rag and some water?"

  "Sure," Shadrach's gravelly voice replied. "Fix him up good, darlin'. Don't want them Shawnees to think we're tryin' to trade 'em any shoddy goods."

  That was all he was to these bandits—goods to be traded to the Shawnee Indians. What Shadrach and the gang of highwaymen would get in return, Davis didn't know, but he would probably find out, and all too soon at that.

  Shadrach brought Emily a rag and a pan of hot water. As he set the water down beside her, his left side was turned toward Davis, and Davis saw something he hadn't noticed earlier. Shadrach was wearing a sheathed knife on his left hip, which came as no surprise. Most frontiersmen carried a knife. But this one had a distinctive silver knob on the end of its handle. Davis had seen one just like it somewhere before, but the rest of the memory eluded him.

  The next moment, he forgot about it entirely in the wave of pain that swept over him as Emily began cleaning his wounds. She swabbed away the dried blood from his head and side with the wet rag, and he saw the cloth turn red as she used it. He must have bled like a stuck pig, he thought.

  The ordeal lasted only a few minutes, and to tell the truth, Davis didn't even mind the pain that much. As long as Emily was kneeling beside him and leaning over him, as long as he could see her face and smell the light brown hair that occasionally brushed feather-soft against his features, he was content even though he was hurting.

  While she was close to him, he whispered, "Are you all right? Have they . . . hurt you?"

  She gave a tiny shake of her head and whispered in reply, "I'm fine. Just . . . scared. Very scared."

  Davis could understand that. He was frightened, too. There had been a time, not that long ago, when he had believed that he had nothing left in life to lose. Now he was beginning to understand just how wrong he had been.

  "That's enough," Shadrach said. "Don't go spoilin' him. The Shawnees won't treat him so gentle."

  Emily turned on the bandit leader, and the look on her face was fierce. "How can you do that?" she demanded angrily. "How can you just turn another white man over to the Indians to be . . . to be . . ." She couldn't bring herself to put Davis's fate into words.

  Shadrach shrugged. "It ain't a bit hard. The Shawnees like to have themselves some fun ever' now and then, and as long as we help 'em get what they want, they let us do pretty much what we want around here."

  "So you turn over your captives to them, and they let you raid wagon trains and settlements and then hide out here in this cave," Davis said.

  "That's right," Shadrach said. "It's a mighty fine arrangement, if you ask me."

  Davis wasn't going to debate that point with the bandit, especially when Shadrach reached down and took hold of Emily's arm, hauling her to her feet and being none too gentle about it. "Leave her alone!" Davis exclaimed.

  "You ain't in no position to be givin' orders, old son," Shadrach pointed out. "Lay there and keep your mouth shut, or we'll gag you. This little lady ain't goin' to be hurt. She's worth too much money the way she is."

  That should have been reassuring, Davis thought, but somehow it wasn't. Emily's face was pale and her expression was shaken as Shadrach dragged her away. Davis closed his eyes and tried not to give in to the surge of nausea that gripped him.

  It didn't matter how badly he was hurt or how much he was outnumbered, he told himself. He was alive and he was going to stay that way, and he was going to find some way to get them out of this danger. He had to, for Emily's sake.

  * * *

  The fact that his hands and feet were tied made it awkward, but after determining that the wall of the cave was right behind him, he was able to wriggle himself into a sitting position and lean back against the cold, damp stone. From there he could look around and see the entire cave.

  It had a high, vaulting ceiling and had evidently been naturally formed, judging from the water that still dripped from the ceiling here and there. The walls of the cave formed an irregular circle, and Davis estimated the diameter at fifty or sixty feet. On the other side of the cave, a narrow tunnel sloped upward toward the surface. The campfire was built in the center of the underground chamber. Smoke from the blaze rose straight up to curl around the ceiling and gradually dissipate. There had to be some natural chimneys up there through which the smoke filtered out of the cave. They would be too small to offer any hope of escape, however. The tunnel appeared to be the only practical way in or out of the place.

  Overturned crates
and large rocks served as seats around the fire, and more than a dozen men were gathered there eating a meal of pan bread, bear, and beans. The smell of the food made Davis's stomach growl and reminded him of how long it had been since he had eaten. Other men were sprawled on bedrolls scattered around the cave, dozing. Still others passed around a jug and played cards on a blanket that had been spread out on the floor. Shadrach was in this last group, and he had Emily sitting on a crate next to him, keeping her close since she hadn't been tied up again.

  Davis wondered where the gang's horses were. They probably kept the mounts in a hidden pen somewhere outside near the entrance of the cave, he thought. He supposed he should be grateful they didn't keep the animals here in the cave. The air was a little stale to start with, and it would soon get utterly rank if a herd of horses was in here as well.

  Shelves had been built along one wall, Davis noted, and they were full of supplies. Supplies that had no doubt been stolen from travelers or nearby settlements, he thought bitterly. The bandits had all the comforts of home here, and yet if the entrance to the cave was cleverly concealed, it would be very difficult to root them out of their hiding place. There was very little law around here to start with, so the gang could operate without having to worry too much about anything except the Indians.

  And as long as they paid off the savages with white captives to torture—like him—Shadrach and his men were safe even from that threat.

  Emily glanced across the cave at him, and Davis met her eyes squarely, gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod. He certainly didn't feel very confident. Everything he had seen in this cavern made his hopes ebb that much more. There was no way out, even if he could manage somehow to get free. All the bandits were roughly dressed and rugged looking, cut from the same ruthless cloth as Shadrach. And they were well armed. They could cut him down before he had taken three steps toward that tunnel.

  After a little while, Shadrach looked over toward the prisoner, saw that Davis was sitting up, and turned to speak to Emily. He inclined his head toward Davis and said, "You can take him something to eat if you want."

  Davis's stomach clenched again at the words.

  Emily was evidently thinking of escape, too, because she said, "His hands will have to be untied for him to eat."

  Shadrach grunted. "Not likely. You can feed him. I reckon he'll like that, anyway."

  Emily sighed and looked at Davis. He nodded. Regardless of whether his hands were tied or not, he had to eat, had to keep his strength up. When the opportunity he was waiting for finally came about, he didn't want to be too weak from hunger to take advantage of it.

  One of the men at the fire put some beans and fried bear on a tin plate and handed it to Emily along with a hunk of pan bread. She brought the food over to Davis and knelt beside him. "What are we going to do?" she hissed, too quietly for any of the bandits to overhear.

  "You're going to feed me," Davis said, forcing a degree of calm into his voice that he didn't really feel. "Then we're going to wait for a chance to get out of here."

  "Do you really think we will?"

  "Of course," he said, and he was a little surprised to discover that it wasn't a well-intentioned lie. Despite everything, he really did believe that they were going to escape. He couldn't allow himself to believe anything else.

  But he had believed that he and Faith would love each other forever, too, a perverse part of his brain reminded him.

  Davis shoved that thought out of his head and concentrated on the beans and chunks of bear that Emily spooned into his mouth, the bites of pan bread he chewed off the piece that she held up to his lips. The bread and the bear had both been cooked too long, and the beans hadn't been cooked long enough. But it all tasted good to Davis, because he could feel strength flowing back into his body from the food.

  "Do you know what they intend to do with you?" he asked Emily quietly. He didn't want to upset her, but he needed to know what the bandits were planning.

  She took the question calmly enough, evidently understanding why Davis had asked it. "The one called Shadrach said there's a man who comes over here from a big river somewhere to the west. He's a Spaniard, and he . . . he's a slave trader. Shadrach says they can get a good price for me."

  "When does he expect this Spaniard?"

  Emily shook her head. "I don't know. Not right away, though. I got the impression it'll be a while before the man comes through here again."

  "That gives us some time."

  "Not much," Emily said grimly. "He plans to turn you over to the Shawnees in less than a week."

  "We'll be long gone by then."

  "I hope so," Emily said. "I sure hope so, Davis. Because if anything happens to you . . . well, I don't intend to let them sell me to that Spaniard. I'll get my hands on Shadrach's knife and put it in my own heart before I'll let that happen."

  She still sounded calm enough, but the fervent tone of her whisper convinced Davis she was telling the truth. She might be better off dead than sold into slavery. He couldn't make that decision for her.

  But she had said if anything happens to you as if his life was just as important to her as her own.

  Davis didn't know what to make of that, didn't dare try to read too much into it. Not now, not when it looked like both he and Emily might be able to number the rest of their lives in mere days.

  "It won't come to that," he told her. "I'll get us out of here somehow. You just be ready when the time comes."

  She nodded, and he knew from the look in her eyes that he could depend on her. All they needed now was an opportunity . . .

  "Finish shovelin' that grub in him and get back over here," Shadrach called to Emily from his seat next to the card game. "My luck's gone to hell since you ain't been beside me, gal."

  Davis felt pretty much the same way. He knew that his luck—his life—had changed when he met Emily Harding.

  Reluctantly, Emily fed Davis the rest of the food and then stood up. "I'll get you something to drink," she said. Ignoring the glare Shadrach sent her way, she fetched a jug from one of the shelves and brought it over to Davis. There was water in the jug instead of whiskey, but that was all right with him. He wanted to keep his head clear. The water was stale and brackish, but it tasted good to him as it ran down his throat.

  After that, Emily had no choice but to resume her seat next to Shadrach. The bandit leader put his hand on her shoulder for a moment as she sat down, but he didn't try to paw her. Davis was grateful for that.

  The card game broke up a short while later, and more of the men headed for their bedrolls. Inside this cavern, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night outside, but from the way the bandits were acting, Davis was convinced it was night.

  Shadrach and another man came over to Davis, and the second man untied the ropes around his ankles. For a second, Davis thought about trying to jump them and get his hands on a gun, but he discarded the wild idea. His wrists were still tied, and his feet were so numb that he was pretty wobbly when Shadrach took hold of his arm and hauled him upright.

  "We'll take you outside and let you take care of your business," Shadrach said, "but don't get no ideas. There'll be a gun at your head the whole time."

  Davis nodded. Prodded along by the two bandits, he stumbled toward the mouth of the tunnel. The second man picked up a flaming brand from the fire to use as a torch.

  Davis was tall enough so that he had to stoop slightly to keep from scraping the top of his head on the ceiling of the tunnel. He followed it for perhaps fifty yards before it made a sharp turn and rose even more steeply. Davis had to put his hands down to steady himself as he climbed toward the surface. Shadrach and the second bandit were right behind him with their pistols drawn and ready.

  When he stepped out into the night, Davis drew a deep breath of air that had been washed clean by the afternoon's storm. It invigorated him, cleared away some of the cobwebs that had gathered in his brain during his underground captivity. He wished he could just cut and run.
Shadrach and the other man might miss their shots, and if they did, he could be out of range of the flintlock pistols before they could reload.

  But that would mean leaving Emily behind to face whatever fate they had in store for her, not to mention the anger they would feel at his escape. He couldn't condemn her to that, not even to save his own life.

  He unbuttoned his trousers and relieved himself, with the other two men flanking him. True to Shadrach's word, the bandit leader held his pistol pressed to Davis's head. Davis remembered something that had puzzled him earlier, so he said to Shadrach, "That's a mighty fine looking knife you're wearing. Where did you get it?"

  Shadrach chuckled. "You ain't goin' to have a chance to find one like it, Davis, even if there is another one anywhere in these parts, which I doubt."

  Davis fastened his trousers and shrugged. "Indulge my curiosity. What can it hurt?"

  "True enough." Shadrach lowered his pistol and took a step back. The clouds had all cleared away now, leaving the moon and stars shining brightly in the night sky overhead. The light glinted on the silver ball at the end of the knife's handle as Shadrach slipped it from its sheath. "Won it in a card game, I did."

  Davis's heart started to thud heavily in his chest. He thought he remembered now where he had seen a knife like that before. "From whom?"

  "Just a gent in a tavern over at Boonesborough. I don't like to go into the settlements much, but every so often a fella's got to have a roof over his head and sleep in a real bed with a willin' wench."

  "The man you won the knife from . . . what did he look like?"

  Shadrach frowned. "What the hell business is it of yours? He was just a fella I'd never seen before. Young, dressed pretty fancy for Kentucky. The trollops workin' in the tavern seemed to think he was handsome, the way they were flockin' around him and ignorin' the rest of us. I tell you, I was glad to clean him out in that card game." Shadrach paused, then went on, "What the hell's the matter with you? You ain't about to have a fit, are you?"