Even then, Quehana's pace was deliberate, and urging his mentor along, Ironhawk pressed his horse a half-length ahead.
Quehana said, "Slower, Ironhawk. We have a mountain to climb, and who can tell how far we will ride thereafter. Ease the muscles of your face. Do not scowl, and do not squeeze the air from the horse with your knees. Save your strength, and turn your thoughts from worry. Before the sun is high we will be at the summit. Then we will use our skills to find what there is to find."
Despite his own words, Rob also felt the hunger to push ahead. There was nothing certain about his belief that the Shawnee would go to the mountain top. Truly clever warriors might trot along the mountain side for many hours of swift travel, and if they crossed the summit they could be cautious and leave no tracks.
There was an equal possibility that the Shawnee would simply camp in the forests before the mountain and wait for the arrival of whoever had planned the capturing.
During the night, Rob had pondered the probabilities, but without knowledge of a reason for Bright Morning's abduction he could be sure of nothing. It still seemed most likely that the Shawnee would hurry as far from Carlisle as they could get. If some sort of transfer were to occur nearby, it seemed unlikely that the elaborate scheme would ever have been concocted, and the whites would have snatched the girl themselves and ridden away.
Across the mountain made the most sense, and Rob Shatto hoped that he was right because the land beyond was his land, and he knew every ripple and every ridge. If he had to hunt, no valleys could offer him better chances.
At the mountain summit, a hunters' trail ran parallel with the crest. Kittatinny Mountain was not sharply ridged, and there were extensive flats at many points along the summit. During the hotter summer months deer could be found in the high meadows, and the hunters and their quarry's occasional passing kept the path open.
Rob dismounted and handed his reins to Ironhawk.
"The way we will start out is, I will stay ahead looking close. You keep back and bring the horses along. That way we won’t trample out sign that I can’t see from a saddle."
Ironhawk was pleased by Quehana’s rapid pace along the trail, but there was a long distance to retrace before they were more or less above the Shawnee’s starting point.
Rob paused once to inform his companion.
"From below I marked a large tree that stands above most others. I know that tree because during Pontiac's War a Delaware warrior called Long Knife kept a fire burning at the base of that tree. He wished to frighten the people in Carlisle, and I figure he pretty well succeeded because none of them gathered to climb the mountain and come to Fort Robinson's rescue.
"I figure from that tree on west is where the Shawnee will have reached the top, but I've got to keep looking because they might have slanted off and crossed closer to where we are."
At the fire tree, Quehana showed Ironhawk long dead embers where massive logs had been burned but moved quickly ahead.
They were well past the tree before Quehana waved the Hawk to a stop and knelt to carefully study the earth. After looking closely, he stepped off the path and edged along its disturbed surface still examining something with his nose close to the ground. Later, he left the path and searched the upper slope the Shawnee would have climbed.
Ironhawk waited with increasing impatience to learn what the tracker had discovered, but Quehana was in no hurry to share his finding.
Ironhawk heard the chuckle that he had learned indicated ironic appreciation of whatever Quehana was seeing. Only then did the guide wave his companion forward with a signal to dismount and to look for himself.
Together they stared at the trail, and Ironhawk could see the scuffing of moccasins, but the marks told him little more.
Rob said, "They are hard to see, Ironhawk, but follow my finger.
"Here is where the moccasin wearer stepped onto the trail, and you can see each step if you judge where the next print should be." Then, Ironhawk could see.
"Now, here is where the wearer left the trail and continued north and now downhill. Do you see that?" He did.
Quehana pointed again at the tracks. "There is more. Examine the wearer’s left foot. Does it not point outward as did the tracks of Bright Morning’s shoes?" With mounting excitement, Ironhawk believed that he did see.
Returning to the origin of the tracks, Quehana pointed toward the Carlisle side of the mountain. "Only a step or two within the woods is the rest of the explanation. There others turned aside, and I have found where two of them crossed by leaping the path."
He smiled with grim satisfaction into the worried features of Ironhawk. "There are no women's marks because . . ." Quehana allowed the suspense to run. "Because the limper carried Bright Morning in his arms so that no marks would appear."
Ironhawk was stunned. "How can you know this, Quehana?"
There was certainty in Rob Shatto’s voice.
"Because I have found her marks just below, and I saw the scrapings where Bright Morning’s moccasins dragged when she was lifted, and there are no other woman’s marks on the south side of the mountain. Do not doubt, Ironhawk. Bright Morning was carried across this path by someone who is very cautious and who thinks far ahead of most others. We will again see her moccasin prints."
They tied the horses, and Quehana led on foot along the dim traces of the limper's route. Only a rod within the forest that covered the mountain top the limper had lowered his burden. The pair had turned to the east, and soon more trails joined. Quehana was able to announce that they now followed the tracks of six. One of the moccasin wearers had the step of a woman.
Ironhawk asked the obvious. "How far ahead are they, Quehana?"
"Many hours, Hawk. These marks were made before the last dark. By now, the limper and his band have traveled far."
Rob scrubbed at his freshly shaven jaw before signaling Ironhawk to again follow. The trail continued east, and after only a little way, Rob said, "Fetch the horses, and walk them east along the hunter’s trail. I will stay on the limper's path. I will call now and then as an owl, so that you will not wonder where I am or draw too far ahead or fall behind."
Ironhawk hurried himself and had barely ridden when Quehana appeared in the path to signal him that there was something to see.
Only a short walk across the flattened mountain top Quehana halted at a crudely disguised fire pit. "Here was their night stop, Ironhawk."
The Hawk could see where sleeping places had been pressed into the leaves and forest humus. He tried but could not tell which had been Bright Morning’s.
Quehana said, "They hurry, Ironhawk., but the coals have heat, so they cooked this morning. They are cautious, but they are not worried or they would have hidden their resting place more thoroughly."
Rob said, "I will move more swiftly now. The trail continues along the mountain and always to the east. I wonder . . . ?" His eyes grew thoughtful, but he did not announce his thought.
Now Ironhawk had to keep the horses moving to stay even. It was clear that Quehana was running along the limper’s trail, and they quickly regained the road they had climbed and that plunged across the mountain through George Croghan’s Gap.
Rob again called a halt. "The limper moves on to the east, Ironhawk, but that way leads to the Cove Mountain and the Susquehanna River."
Before he again spoke, Ironhawk saw Quehana’s braids shake in exasperation.
"I cannot believe that the limper will take that route. If he continued, he would come out almost across from Fort Hunter, and that would be dangerous territory for anyone with a prisoner."
Rob studied the sky. "He must turn again to the north, and if I were he, I would turn immediately before I was pressed against the river. Unless . . .?" Again, Quehana did not choose to speak his thoughts.
He turned to face Ironhawk directly. "We must again try to read the mind of the limper. As we judged he would climb the mountain, so must we now determine his next direction.
"Do you remem
ber Blue Moccasin's words about the mind, Ironhawk? That was many seasons past, but now we must think like another who we do not even know."
The Hawk nodded, but his heart quailed. Fortunately, Quehana did his thinking for him.
"To our north, Sherman's Creek runs to the east. Except for the loop where Simon Girty once had a cabin, the valley of that creek runs directly to the Susquehanna. The limper could have a canoe waiting on the creek, but there are cabins along the creek, and it seems to me that he would wish to avoid the great river.
"On the other hand, if he could reach the Juniata, he could paddle up that lesser river ignoring anyone on the banks while appearing to be nothing more than six Indians traveling to the west."
Ironhawk could feel the mind of Quehana judging distances and directions, and the moments dragged before he again spoke.
"If I were escaping and in fear of being discovered, I would move north through the woods. I would stay to the higher ridges as I moved and avoid the valleys where there could be cabins and cleared fields. I would aim to strike the Juniata at a convenient point, and . . . I think that point would be where the river loops to the south."
Ironhawk had no real knowledge of the land, but he judged that Quehana was speaking of long distances.
"Where would the limper be now, Quehana?"
"If he thinks as I wish him to, he might now be past Sherman's Creek and be among the many hills and guts that fill the space before the river loops to the south."
To Ironhawk’s dismay, Quehana then shrugged resignedly before adding, "If he chooses another route, we may lose him for many days."
It was Ironhawk’s turn to examine the sky because he had seen what Quehana had examined. "There could be rain very soon, Quehana."
Rob again shrugged. "There will be rain, Hawk. So, what shall we do?"
Ironhawk had no idea, and he waited for Quehana's decision.
Beyond the instant offered to his companion Quehana did not hesitate.
"We will ride our horses swiftly to my lodge. There we will gather supplies, and we will hurry to the loop of the Juniata. At the river we will ask fishermen and settlers what they have seen on the river.
"We will also look for the marks of the limper. Following the rain he will no longer attempt to hide his trail because he will believe himself free of pursuit by trackers or by dogs."
Rob humphed to himself, "I do not believe that he feels himself hunted even now, and that too will make him less careful."
— — —
Zach Sheene heard Baumhauer's news as it spread through the village and finally trickled down to The Sign of Two Fingers.
Sheene wished he could gag. How in the hinges of hell had Rob Shatto gotten into the game? And worst of all, how had he tracked Yellow Jacket's people so that he could find the woman's dress?
Zach urged his boys into action. He announced their departure for Fort Hunter where supplies waited them. Then he would be off to the Iroquois towns along the branches of the Susquehanna for his last season of trading with the Redskins before he set up permanently—probably somewhere along the rivers.
Baumhauer saw the Sheenes trailing out of the village, and he recorded their departure, but he doubted there was a connection to Bright Morning's abduction. The Sheenes were unsavory, but they were known and surely could not have been involved in such a horrendous crime.
The blacksmith wondered when Rob would return, what would be found, and if his horse could be recovered?
Before noon, he and Mrs. Baumhauer paid a neighborly call on the still distraught Mrs. Pratt and listened patiently to her lengthy explanations of all that she had seen happen plus all that she had not, all that she might or might not have done, and—somewhere within the many descriptions, the widow mentioned how she had only a day or two before seen the Sheene man with the flattened face poking about near the very place where Bright Morning had been abducted.
Fritz Baumhauer felt his heart stagger, and his distrust of Rob Shatto's reasoning switched as if a lamp had been lit into speculation that he knew at least one of the people who had been involved in Bright Morning's capture.
When Rob returned, he would have something important to pass on. Baumhauer had never liked the Sheenes anyway.
Chapter Seventeen
The rain came hard as the riders turned at Gibson's Rock. The wind blew with violence, and for a half hour they sheltered within heavy timber, suffering the deluge, but safe from flying branches and twigs.
Rob studied the blackened sky beyond their heavy cover. "We'll have to hope that the Shawnee hole up at least as long as we do, Ironhawk. Their lead is many hours, and our way is longer."
"Our horses are faster, Quehana."
Rob harumphed. "Not much, Hawk. Our road will be a wallow after this downpour, but the Shawnee will be on deer paths that won't be affected."
Quehana was right, and the animals made heavy work of plodding away the miles. At Elan's meadows Rob saw Baumhauer's horse along the Little Juniata, and he went after it. The placid beast came to meet him, probably pleased to return to the safety of a pasture and grain feeding.
Rob said, "We will use this horse to reach the Juniata River. Our mounts are about done in, and I have no other riding animals."
He mused mostly to himself. "Perhaps I should purchase a pair of handsome animals like Blue Moccasin's horse. If I have to dash to Carlisle at every turning of the sun I will need something better than these beasts."
The sky cleared as suddenly as it had darkened, and they reached the Shatto Plantation with hours of sunlight remaining.
Rob wasted no time. His hail brought his people running, and they were at work even as the riders swung from their saddles.
George, Quehana's oldest son, emptied his father's rifle and recharged with fresh powder. When he had finished, Rob thanked him and handed over his two barreled pistol for similar freshing.
The saddles were stripped from the worn horses, and one was strapped to Baumhauer's mount. Ironhawk asked, "Will we have only one horse, Quehana?"
Rob said, "You will ride, and I will run, but if we pick up the Shawnees' tracks we may leave the horse, and stalk them on foot."
Ironhawk was insulted. "I, too, can run, Quehana."
Rob studied the youth, re-judging what he saw and attempting to put aside the boy he remembered. Two years at the forge had developed Ironhawk's arms and shoulders until they were handsomely muscled. The Hawk's waist was lean, and his body was taut with a young man’s whippy strength. Rob could not doubt Ironhawk’s determination, but the youth had been long away from the woods, and only runners could run. No other activity or exercise could prepare for running, and Ironhawk had rarely run the woods since his departure from the lodge of his brother.
Rob said, "You could not keep up for very long, Ironhawk, and you must remain strong and prepared to fight. By riding as far as possible, your strength will be saved, and we may need the provisions the horse can carry.”
Ironhawk wished to protest, and he doubted that even Quehana would badly outrun him. Youths could always outrun grown men. He had seen it a hundred times during his lodge seasons.
Rob wondered if it might not be best to leave the Hawk and take the trail alone. If they came onto the Shawnee, the youth was as likely to be killed or wounded as he was to kill his enemy. Except for horse holding or perhaps simple companionship on the trail, he could not expect Ironhawk to be of much use in recapturing Bright Morning.
Yet . . . yet, the young man deserved his chance. Every youth was believed too young or too fragile, but when called upon, most measured up, and how else was a man to learn?
Rob said, "Have you any experience with guns, Ironhawk?"
"I have seen them fired, as I saw yours, Quehana, but Fritz Baumhauer did not use guns, and I know little about them."
Rob turned to a corner filled with a thousand odd possessions, and in other times Ironhawk would have longed to paw through the many mysterious articles.
Quehana held f
orth a bow. "How are you with one of these, Ironhawk?”
The Hawk was thrilled. "Once I could shoot well, Quehana, but I have not drawn a bow for many moons." Rob passed him a quiver with arrows, and the Hawk left the lodge to test his new weapon.
The bow was short, but its pull was stronger than any Ironhawk had drawn. He notched an arrow and drew down on a large weed not too far distant. His fingers ached from the string’s pressure, but he held the draw without trembling, and his release was smooth without disturbing his aim.
The arrow flew high, but Rob was pleased. Given a few tries, Ironhawk would be good enough for the distances he would be shooting. The bow had been owned by a warrior killed in the attack on his home, and Rob was pleased to have it put to use. He had kept the bow because of its handy length and powerful pull. Ironhawk had indeed developed great strength to so readily handle a war bow.
Becky and Flat had laid out a meal which they devoured with the appreciation of hungry men, and Ironhawk was interested to rediscover Quehana's great lodge. When he had come as Young-Son, the house had seemed confining and somehow menacing. After two years within a white home, he could better judge the spaciousness and strength of Rob Shatto’s house.
Mighty was the lodge of Quehana, and Ironhawk believed that a house exactly like the Shatto place was what he and Bright Morning should build. He planned on asking Quehana how he had made the clay shingles that were his roof. The same way clay pots were made, he supposed, but there were so many!
Moving the great stones that were the lower walls had surely helped develop Quehana's giant body, and Ironhawk supposed that there had been many men to help in the building. The logs that walled the second floor were too thick for even a hand of men to raise, Ironhawk believed, and the roof timbers . . . There was much to see and learn at Quehana's, and when they had rescued Bright Morning he would return to see more.
Rob watched Ironhawk's eyes searching. He had seen the same reaction by most who came into his home. Even those who lived in city dwelling were impressed by the size and strength of the frontier lodging. Rob enjoyed their astonishment. He had labored hard and long in building the house and believed the admiration was warranted.
Ironhawk (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series Book 6) Page 17