Black Eagle

by Karen Kay

  Bringing war to a man or to a tribe that had done you an injustice was another reason that might excuse murder, although the injustice had to be great, since the action of taking another man’s life was akin to entombing oneself in an eternal conflict with another’s soul.

  But a white man could be bought with the Englishman’s gold nuggets.

  Black Eagle frowned. The concept was foreign to an Indian mind. However, Black Eagle had often heard William Johnson talk of this sort of arrangement.

  Had another person enlisted Thompson to kill Marisa?

  It would explain much if this were so, the lack of a driving cause, the underhanded manner in which the deeds were being attempted, the method by which Thompson sought to blame another, thus bringing doubt upon Black Eagle’s character.

  Yet if another had hired Thompson to do his dirty work, who was this unknown person?

  Black Eagle shook his head. It was unlikely he would know such a person’s identification, since he did not have knowledge of Ahweyoh’s acquaintances. However, one condition was certain: If someone had lured Thompson into committing murder, that person would likely be situated in Albany. And if this were so, then that city was not a safe place for his Ahweyoh.

  Wah-ah! This made the dilemma even more complex.

  To push ahead without solving the matter of the cinches was to put Ahweyoh into constant contact with a killer. But conversely, to return to Albany would be to put her in contact with the real killer.

  What to do?

  To Black Eagle’s mind, such matters should be handled in a straightforward manner. Therefore, in his consideration, there was only one action to take: confront Thompson. Confront him and send him away, back to Albany. And do it as soon as possible.

  Glancing toward the women now, he made up his mind to tell them his plans as soon as the chance provided itself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Miss Marisa, mightn’t I have a moment of yer time?”

  With his three-cornered hat in his hand, Thompson approached Marisa as she stood off to the side of the horses. She was placing their silver dishes, which she had recently dried, into their trunk.

  Looking up, Marisa glanced right and left. Where was everybody? Where were Sarah and Black Eagle?

  Ah, there they were. She caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye. They were close to the water, too far away to provide an excuse to avoid Thompson.

  She sighed. Traveling as they were afforded them all with little opportunity to appreciate the finer qualities of life. But Thompson’s clothes remained continually greasy and smelled sour, his face was unshaven, his hair was uncombed and his breath would have stopped a rattlesnake’s bite.

  Indeed, the furthest thing from her mind was to speak to Richard Thompson. Lucklessly, she could think of no valid reason to deny him a chance to present his cause, whatever that cause might be. After closing the trunk that carried their dishes, she sat upon its lid and said, “Yes? What is it, Mr. Thompson?”

  “It’s about our Indian scout, Miss Marisa.”

  “Yes?”

  “I seen ye two together.”

  Marisa hesitated. “Yes, I know. Have you an objection?”

  “No, miss, exceptin’ for this. If’n yer thinkin’ of marriage to him, it’ll never be.”

  “Mr. Thompson, I—”

  “I know them kind of Indians,” he interrupted, “and they don’t rightly have real marriages. Two people get together to have children, but afterward, the man can go about his business and have all the women he wants.”

  “Mr. Thompson.” Marisa stood. “I think I must remind you that this sort of talk is out of line.”

  “But if’n I don’t tell ye that them Indians don’t rightly hold to the same kinda morals as us English, then who’s to tell ye?”

  “Who, indeed? I thank you for your concern, Mr. Thompson. Your advice is kindly taken, but that will be all for now.”

  “But, Miss Marisa, ye’re judging a savage as though he was all civilized, and he ain’t. Now, I can see this scout’s weaved his spell over ye, but he canna be trusted. These Indians are pagans, savages. Have ye considered that maybe he deliberately let those cinches turn to dust?”

  Marisa exhaled on a snort. “Hardly. Sir Eagle has proved himself to be quite competent. Besides, what possible reason would he have to do so?”

  “So as he could save ye to get yer favor.”

  Marisa sneered. “Letting them turn to dust would hardly buy my favor, I assure you. This is nonsense, Mr. Thompson. He risked his life to save me. That alone has won my regard.”

  “But that’s exactly what I be sayin’. He cuts the cinches, keeps himself close by to ye, and then when they give, he rushes back to save ye.”

  “’Tis utter nonsense. And what about the other times Sir Eagle has come to my aid?”

  “Same thing, miss.”

  Marisa sighed. “Again I thank you very much for your concern. But I think you have missed the mark on this. Good day.”

  Thompson’s face screwed up into a frown. “Do ye not see? It’s workin’ on ye.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” Then sternly, “That will be all.”

  Thompson slammed on his hat and turned away, but as he left, he muttered, “Yep, I’d say he has yer favor.”

  Marisa watched Thompson’s retreating back as she fanned the air around her in an attempt to rid herself of the stench of bad breath and unwashed flesh. Perhaps she would lend the man her perfume.

  However, Marisa was also frowning. It couldn’t possibly be true that these accidents were being caused by Black Eagle.

  After all, look at who was telling the tale. It simply was not possible.

  The Lake-that-turns-to-rapids appeared to be a calm body of water from Marisa’s view of it. It wasn’t terribly wide at this section, although Marisa could see that farther east it became wider and perhaps deeper. But from her position, the lake appeared to be utterly calm—and teeming with fish.

  Their evening supper had consisted of a delicacy of salmon, a welcome surprise from the steady diet of corn cakes and jerky they’d been subsisting on for the past few days. However, with what had been a pleasure also came a responsibility—there were dishes to be washed.

  The sun was still fairly high in the sky, though it was starting its descent toward the western horizon. At present, she and Sarah were huddled next to the water, washing up their sterling-silver dishes. Marisa sighed, then sat up and stretched. Both her elbow and her hip were still sore.

  “Are you feeling well enough to be doing this?” Sarah had pulled her brows together in a frown.

  “I am fine.”

  “You’re certain? Because if you need to rest, ’tis not necessary that you help with the cleanup. I can do this by myself.”

  “I promise you that I am well enough. I’ve fallen from a horse before and little fuss was made over me then. ’Tis nothing to be concerned with now.” Marisa stretched again, then lowered her arms and massaged her elbow. “Sarah, what is your opinion on the events that have happened today? Richard Thompson has made the point that Black Eagle should be blamed for the accident. He also spoke to me earlier, and he said quite plainly that he suspected Black Eagle had let the leather rot deliberately—so he could rescue me. Of course it’s ridiculous. But still, if I might, I’d like your opinion.”

  As if choosing her words carefully, Sarah spoke slowly. “I engaged Black Eagle in conversation a little earlier this afternoon, and I saw and touched the cinches that broke. He is at present repairing them. In truth, Black Eagle believes the cinches were deliberately cut.”

  “What?”

  “’Tis true. He said our saddles were new when we started out, that it isn’t possible they would wear so quickly. Of course he could be saying that to cover up his own negligence, but…”

  “You say they
were purposefully cut? But that would mean… I find that hard to believe.” Marisa frowned.

  “I too. While I hardly trust Thompson, I did see the severed leather, and it appeared to me that it was old and much used. Not the sort of saddle one would trust. Yet I see no point in denying that Black Eagle might have a more discerning eye than I do.”

  Marisa remained silent, although after a moment, she said, “This is rather disconcerting.”

  Sarah laid her hand over Marisa’s. “So it is. If true, it would mean the action was consciously done.”

  “Yes. But it can’t possibly be true. Richard Thompson has no reason to have done it. I barely know the man.”

  “I know.” Sarah shook her head. “It is possible that Black Eagle is in error about the leather straps. These Mohawk Indians are not as acquainted with horses as we are, the horse having been in their possession for only a few years. Perhaps Black Eagle overlooked the weathering of the straps and is trying to place the deed at Thompson’s feet.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  “To gain your favor, perhaps.”

  “Richard Thompson said much the same thing.” At first Marisa became very still, then she looked down and murmured, “But he would have no need to do it. He knows he already has my favor.”

  “Does he? And yet today I warned him away from you.”

  “But you did so after the accident, didn’t you?”

  “True. Still, since Richard Thompson has accused him of negligence, Black Eagle might try to soften the blow, for I believe he has feelings for you.”

  “Did he say that to you?”

  Sarah nodded. “In truth, he did not, but it was clear to me that he holds you in high esteem.”

  Looking down, Marisa couldn’t help but smile.

  Sarah reached out to touch Marisa’s arm. “Marisa, think. I fear it is not wise to encourage Black Eagle overly much. He acts as though he is besotted with you, and although his embrace might be pleasant to you now, you must think of the future. If he were to convince you to marry him, where would you live? How would you live?” Sarah paused. “After your upbringing, I doubt you would be pleased to set up house in a log cabin for the rest of your life, and if you were to take Black Eagle as your husband, I fear that a log cabin would be your fate.”

  “With my trust fund so soon at hand? Besides, he will not convince me to marry him. I have not changed my opinion in my regard for that institution. I appreciate your concern, my friend, but I doubt he would commit an act that would go against either his people or his grandmother.”

  “Still,” persisted Sarah, “there is danger in your association with him. It is possible that if you both continue as you now are, you might fall in love with him.”

  Marisa sighed. “Your warning is too late. I already am in love with him.”

  “Marisa!”

  “But fear not. Even if my heart were breaking, I would not change my mind about the institution of marriage, which I have detested for so long.”

  Sarah nodded. “Perhaps not. Yet the man is handsome, and despite all the reasons he should not do so, he still admires you, which is appealing in its own right. There is a strength about him, an independence, if you will, that is alluring, I must admit.”

  Marisa smiled at her friend. “If you are attempting to dissuade me from my affection for him, you are not aiding your cause.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. ’Tis too bad you are who you are and he is who he is.”

  “Yes.”

  “For my part, I will continue to do my duty then and protect you against Sir Eagle or any other man who might take it into his head to lavish you with praise.”

  Marisa squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Yes, but do not do your duty too well. I am in love with him.”

  The two women fell into silence, until Sarah suggested, “Perhaps we should return to Albany. Neither of us knew of the exact hardships we would face on the trail. I know ’tis not what you have planned, but…”

  “Return to Albany?” Marisa repeated. “That would, indeed, be wise, if Richard Thompson’s version of the story is to be trusted. But if he is not, and Sir Eagle is innocent, then the only motive I can fathom for Mr. Thompson’s behavior is that of…of murder. In that case, I am not safe here, and certainly not in Albany.”

  Both women fell into silence.

  “Do you think I may have angered someone in Albany who might have hired Thompson? Perhaps some suitor? I have not always been particularly kind to them.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I doubt that a rebuff alone could account for attempted murder. But I fear I have come to the same conclusion you have, although I hardly wish to think of its truth.”

  The lake and air around them were calm, which made the war whoop off in the distance all the more chilling.

  Sarah and Marisa looked up and eastward. Marisa barely suppressed a scream. In the distance were two canoes full of what appeared to be Frenchmen and native warriors.

  Then came Black Eagle’s voice. “Ahweyoh! Miss Sarah! Fall down! Stay low!”

  They both obeyed at once, and with horror, Marisa saw Black Eagle sprinting down the shoreline, darting toward them, though he was stooped over as he ran. As soon as he reached them, he fell to the ground.

  “You must be so quiet that even a mouse would not hear you—we are going to seek cover. Perhaps they didn’t see you or hear you. Using only your elbows, we are going to crawl into the bushes. Do you understand? Can you do that?”

  Both women nodded.

  He led the procession, scooting inch by inch toward the shelter of the trees that lined the shore. Immediately, the scent of the earth and the feel of the sharp rocks as they scraped at her hands and at her skirts became as real as the danger they were facing.

  At last the bushes and trees of the shoreline beckoned. Only a few scant inches remained.

  Black Eagle was the first to reach the cover of the trees, and as he hid behind the bushes, he reached out to pull the women to safety, pushing them down into the grass and weeds.

  “Do not arise,” he said. “Lie quietly. It is to be hoped that they will go on by without seeing us.”

  Neither woman said a word back to him. But it seemed to be too much to hope for. From the shoreline, they all watched as both Frenchmen and Indians came canoeing softly into view, paddling on by them.

  “Ottawa!” whispered Black Eagle.

  How Black Eagle could tell the tribe of those Indians from his vantage point, Marisa might never know, but she wasn’t about to contradict him. All things considered, they might have managed to avoid detection, had it not been for a silver dish left indiscriminately next to the river.

  It glittered and sparkled in the sunlight.

  “They have seen it,” murmured Black Eagle.

  “What?” whispered Marisa.

  “The dish. It is only a matter of time before they come to the shore to discover what it is, and with that, they will find us. Go to the horses, mount them and get away from here. Ride away as fast as you can. Ride toward Albany. That will be safest.”

  “And leave you?”

  “Yes, leave me, and at once. I will hold them off for as long as I can.” He was already loading his musket full of powder and lead.

  Marisa placed her hand on Black Eagle’s arm. “I cannot leave you.”

  “You must,” he said, pausing only briefly in loading. “If you stay, you might be killed accidently. Now go. Both of you.”

  Sarah was already scooting away, but Marisa lingered. She placed her hand over his, if only briefly.

  “Go!”

  “I will, but before I go, I want you to know that I love you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I know. Now go!”

  Marisa quietly backed away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There were eight of them, two Frenc
h, six Ottawa.

  All were armed heavily: muskets, tomahawks, hatchets and knives, some carrying two muskets. Black Eagle had only the one musket, his hatchet, tomahawk and several knives.

  He waited, trying to conceive of any possible advantage he might have over his enemy. He could think of none, not even the element of surprise. Perhaps the enemy would paddle on by without investigating.

  It was too much to hope for. One of the canoes, the one carrying the two Frenchmen, carried on forward, while the other canoe turned to shore. Black Eagle watched, preparing himself mentally and physically for what was to come.

  In the distance and behind him, he heard the women saddling the horses, and he listened for the sound of their leaving. There was jostling, the neighing of the animals, scampering feet, then came the welcome clamor of the horses being set to a run. Without looking behind him, Black Eagle drew a deep breath. At least the women would survive.

  Perhaps, if he were lucky, the Ottawa would examine the dish next to the shore and do no more than be happy with the treasure. But even as he thought it, Black Eagle knew it would not be so. The warriors would see that the tracks on the shoreline were fresh; they would know that the imprints were made by the English and that he, their enemy, was among them.

  Black Eagle checked his weapons, and clutching his knife in his hand, he waited.

  “Sir Eagle.”

  What was this? The whispered voice of Ahweyoh?

  Briefly he swung his head around to look. It was, indeed, Ahweyoh. “Why are you not gone?” he asked. “I told you to leave.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot do so,” she muttered as quietly as possible. “I fear that Mr. Thompson intervened, and before we had even attained our seat on the horses, he shooed them off.”

  This was not good. “Where is Thompson now?”