The Warrior's Path (1980) s-3

by Louis L'Amour

  He brought me some slices of cold meat then and some boiled eggs as well as slices of melon and plantain. I only tasted the rum, and it was not bad, but strong for my taste and too heady for a man in my position. From here on I must have my head about me, for whatever had been done until now showed little evidence of the fine hand of either Pittingel or Bauer. They had been clumsy efforts at assassination and ambush, but now they would know better, and their efforts would be more devious.

  Nonetheless, all I wished for now was to have the business completed and be on my way back to Carolina and my own mountains. The air was heavy, hot and still, with a suggestion of storm. Mopping the perspiration from my face, I looked out the window.

  Had I visited here at any other time, I was sure I would have enjoyed this island of Jamaica, but there was no time to see more than the lush beauty of the place and some of the people. There was only time to think of keeping alive while I tried to end the trade that was ruining the lives of innocent girls. Slavery itself must end, although it was worldwide. At this time many Europeans were enslaved in North Africa and elsewhere. Africans were enslaved here, and slavery of one kind or another existed over much of the world. Even the poor of Europe lived lives but little different from those of slaves, and in many cases they were worse off. Slaves were at least fed and clothed by their masters, and the poor of Europe had no such care.

  Finishing my meal and still alone in the room, I took time to recharge the saddle pistols that I had carried into the room in their scabbards, no unusual thing for travelers in that day and time.

  The proprietor came in, glanced at the pistols. "You are a friend to Master Legare?"

  "I am."

  His manner warmed visibly. He was a stout man with a round, pinkish face and a fringe of red hair. "A good man," he said, "and a shrewd one, although his quiet manner leads some to misunderstand him."

  "You know the pistols?"

  He smiled. "And the horse. I saw you ride up." He glanced meaningly at the pistols. "There has been trouble?"

  "The roads are unsafe everywhere," I commented. "It was nothing."

  "There have been strangers about," he advised, "some of that scum from Port Royal, I think. You had best be on your guard."

  "Aye," I got to my feet. "I shall be ready."

  It was but six miles from Santiago de la Vega to the little cluster of huts and a fort that stood at the mouth of the Rio Cobre. "Leave the horse and the pistols with Senor Sandoval if you wish to ride there," the innkeeper advised. "I shall see them returned."

  Dropping the guns into their scabbards, I mounted and turned the black horse down the trail toward Rio Cobre. Black people passed me, great bundles or baskets on their heads; most of them gave me greeting in their quiet voices. Several obviously knew the horse, and they looked from him to me, knowing I was a friend of Legare.

  Where was Henry? For hours now I had seen nothing of him. A rider passed me going in the same direction. There was something familiar about his back and shoulders, yet nothing I could place. A moment later I heard horses behind me, and glancing back, saw two men riding together who were not over fifty yards behind.

  Up ahead of me were several black people walking along the road with their bundles. A carriage coming toward me drew up and stopped, and a man got down from the driver's seat and went to the horses' heads and began adjusting something.

  Glancing back, I saw that the two riders were now closer, not more than thirty yards back. The rider who had passed me had stopped and was talking to somebody in the waiting carriage.

  It was a lonely stretch, yet by now we could be no more than three miles, perhaps a bit less, from the Rio Cobre. Then I noticed something else that I had not seen before. Just beyond the carriage two men sat beside the road sharing a bottle. A bundle lay on the bank beside one of them.

  What was the matter with me? I was getting altogether too jumpy. I eased myself in the saddle, loosening one of the pistols a bit.

  As I drew up to the carriage, the man standing beside it turned to look at me, and the man on the horse did, also. Both of them were smiling. The man on the horse gestured. "Something here to interest you, Captain."

  "What?" I was startled and turned to look.

  Diana! Diana Macklin, her face white and strained, and in the seat beside her, Joseph Pittingel.

  "I thought you should see that we had her," he said, "before you die."

  It was not a time for speech or for thinking, nor could I have thought fast enough. My heels slammed into the ribs of the black horse, and I leaped him straight at the rider, who was broadside to me, blocking the way.

  My black was the larger horse and was driven by the leap; smashing into the other horse, it knocked it sprawling, its rider falling free. Turning the black on his hind legs, I grabbed at the door of the carriage, and it came open.

  "Out! Out, Diana!"

  Men were closing in. The two on the bank had leaped to their feet, but they had to come around the fallen horse, which was kicking and struggling. The man at the horse's head turned toward me, but I leaped the black at him, and springing back to avoid the lunge, he fell.

  Diana had leaped from the carriage, leaving a part of her dress in Pittingel's frantically clutching hand. As I swung the horse once more, I dropped a hand to her, and she caught it, managing a toe in the stirrup as I swung her up. We leaped the horse past them, and I grabbed a pistol, firing at the first man before me. He staggered and went back; whether hit or not, I did not know.

  Down the road before me were four men, spreading out now, obviously more of Pittingel's lot. I dropped the pistol into the holster and put the black up the bank. He went up, scrambling, barely reaching the top, then over and into the trees beyond. It was a wild tangle, no place to ride a horse, so we dropped from him and squirmed through the trees. I wished only to make the shore. We ran, fell, scrambled up, and ran again.

  Behind us we heard shouts and curses, the loudest of them from Pittingel himself. "Get them, damn you!" he screamed. "Get them or I'll have you flayed!"

  The jungle was thick. Underfoot there was mud. It was a tangle of creepers and vines. Turning at right angles, I led the way through what seemed to be an opening. I still held the remaining horse pistol, which was unfired. We moved quickly.

  There was no chance to speak to Diana, only to escape if such we could do at all. Only my reflexes, trained by much trial and danger, had saved us, and now the moment was past, we had small chance. Even as we moved, I knew this. We were close to the water now. Suddenly we emerged upon a rocky, pebble-strewn shore. Beyond the bay lay Port Royal, and several fishermen's boats lay not far off, but to my wild waves they paid little attention.

  Suddenly, far off, I glimpsed one. Surely that--I waved wildly. The boat seemed to fall still in the water, then turned abruptly toward us.

  Waving, I gestured him on. Diana released my hand suddenly. "Kin, they are coming. It is too late."

  Four men had come from the jungle, four men who immediately spread out and started for us. A dozen yards farther along another appeared and then another. My pistol came up, and they hesitated, then came on, and I threatened first one and then another with the pistol.

  They were not fifteen yards away now, the closest of them. "Diana," I spoke softly, "you cannot help me, and your presence will make me protect two rather than just myself. Can you swim?"

  "I can."

  "Then swim out to him. Swim to the boat. It is Andrew, and I know him."

  "All right."

  She wasted no time in pleas or farewells but went down to the water's edge and stripped off her outer gown. Then she walked into the water.

  There was a shout of rage from one of the men, and they started to run. Instantly I fired at the nearest. He threw up his arms and fell to the rocks. Throwing the pistol to make them dodge, I drew one of my own from my waistband. This they had not suspected, and they halted suddenly. They were close enough for me not to miss, and they knew it.

  One of them dr
ew a pistol, also. I suspected their orders had been to take us alive if possible but not to permit us to escape in any event. Behind me I could hear the chunking of the oar. I had two pistols of my own now that Legare's heavy horse pistols were gone, but I also had a sword.

  Taking a step back on the slippery rocks, I drew the second pistol, holding one in either hand. The man with the pistol hesitated no longer but lifted his to take careful aim. That was all very well, but we who lived in the forest and must ever be ready for attack by the red men often had no time for such things. I shot from where my gun was held, and the man dropped his pistol and went to a knee. He started to grope for the fallen gun, and I fired again. Then, thrusting both guns back into my waistband, I drew my sword and backed into the water.

  None of the others seemed to be armed with firearms. The water raised about me, and I heard a voice say, "Here, Captain, behind you."

  The boat was there, and Diana, very wet, was already aboard. I climbed in over the gunwale and dropped to the bottom. Instantly Andrew pushed us away, and I sat up slowly.

  "One shillin', suh," Andrew suggested, "I will need to have a shillin'."

  Chapter XVI

  And now suddenly all changed.

  Legare came into the room as I ate breakfast, and Henry was with him. My gesture invited them to join us, and they did so. In many places in the islands the presence of a black at the table would not have been permitted, but in the pirate city of Port Royal there were no distinctions as to race.

  "Adele has spoken to me of your need for some kind of a statement," he said. "She thought only of protecting my good name, but there is more at stake here, and despite her wish to protect me, my good name rests on no such shaky foundation. I married Adele, and she is my lady, and that is enough. If more is wanted, there is a field of honor where I can bring those who question my judgment.

  "Now--" He drew from his pocket a rolled sheet of parchment. "A statement sworn to before a notary. This is her story. Names are named here, that of Joseph Pittingel among them. If you need more, I shall myself come to Cape Ann or Shawmut or wherever and make my statement."

  "Thank you. I am sure this will be sufficient." At that moment there was a tap at the door. "You are in time to meet Diana Macklin, who was taken for the second time by Pittingel's men."

  Opening the door, I admitted Diana and a maid I had hastily secured for her through the good offices of Augustus Jayne.

  Legare bowed over her hand. "Adele has spoken of you," he said. "May I express my regrets for all that has happened? With the statement he now has, Kin Sackett may soon put an end to all this."

  She turned quickly to me. "Please! Can we go home? My father was wounded when they took me, and I have no idea if he is alive or dead."

  "We will go. My friend John Tilly will be in port tomorrow, returning from the outer islands. At least, so he has planned."

  "You are sure you will not need me?" Legare asked.

  "I think not," I said. "And I am sure Adele will."

  He smiled quickly, shyly for a man who had proved to be so unexpectedly bold and swift in action. "She is my first and greatest happiness."

  "And you?" I looked over at Henry. "You are among your people now. Will you stay here?"

  He shook his head. "My place is with you if you will have me along. These people are of my race and my blood, but I have always been a man alone. I like the way you fight and the way you think. Mayhap our roads are the same."

  "If you wish it," I agreed. He was a good man and a strong man, and wherever I would go, such would be needed.

  Legare extended his hand. "Enough, then. They know me in Port Royal, and what you need, you may have if you will but speak. I cannot thank you enough."

  When they were gone, and Diana and I were alone but for the maid, I said, "Have you eaten? I had just begun."

  "I waited for you. I thought ... well, I thought you might not wish to eat alone."

  I held a chair for her. "I hope," I said, "never to eat alone again."

  Her face was faintly pink, and she looked up to meet my eyes, hers twinkling a little. "That might be taken as a proposal."

  "I hope it is," I said seriously, "because I would not be very good at such a thing. I'm afraid I'd be clumsy. You see, I know very little of women. Ours is a lovely land but a lonely one and a hard one, and such a life leaves very little time for thinking of women or learning about them."

  We sat long over breakfast and talked of many things, none of them important, I fear, but each one a means of learning about each other. Yet as we talked, I could not help but remember Joseph Pittingel and Max Bauer. They were both about, both free, and there was no authority in Port Royal to take exception to what they had done. I must be on my guard, for they must kill me to survive themselves, and they would now wish to kill Diana.

  John Tilly might arrive within the next few hours, but much as Pittingel worried me, I had no wish to remain penned up in this room. Outside there was much to see in this wild, unruly, rich, and bloody town. And I had a wish to see it for myself.

  There was much else to see, including the Walks, a well-known drive along some rocky cliffs that I had promised myself to see. Yet a worry lay upon me, for I knew that Max Bauer was somewhere about, and I knew only one or two of his men by sight.

  Diana wished to do some shopping, and the maid Jayne had sent would accompany her. I must needs go to the waterfront to inquire after John Tilly and the Abigail.

  The maid, whose name was Bett, had gone out and bought a few things for Diana. As she had served ladies before, she knew well enough what was needed, but Diana wished to choose clothes for herself, beyond her immediate needs.

  While they prepared themselves for the shopping, I went down to the lower floor and looked out upon the street. It was crowded as usual, but I saw a tall, slim black man loitering near the door. He looked familiar, and I gestured to him. He had the look of a maroon, and I was sure he had been placed there by Henry.

  He came into the room when I gestured to him. "Can you get two or three stout fellows to be around while Mistress Macklin goes among the shops? Our enemies are still about."

  He smiled. "Henry speak to us, suh. They may go where they wish. We will be all about."

  "Good! I have much to do along the shore."

  He gave me a sidelong glance. "It is no good place to be, suh. It is bad-man place."

  "I must go."

  "Ships come, ships go. Who know what happen, suh? Sometimes man go. Never again see. You take short steps, suh."

  Upon these streets all men wore arms, and I would not be without mine. To learn of the Abigail was my first wish, but I will not deny it was in my mind to see Port Royal with my own eyes, for this was ever my way, to see, to know, to learn. To go from place to place and taste the food and wine of the country, to look about, to see.

  We who walk the woodland paths know that although all men look, not many see. It is not only to keep the eyes open but to see what is there and to understand. Jamestown I knew but little else. I had seen no towns, although my father and Jeremy talked much of London and Bristol, and Kane O'Hara was forever speaking of Dublin and Cork. This was the first town of my experience that was wider than a village.

  When I had donned fresh garments, I looked upon myself in the glass and admitted myself pleased. Not with myself, for I was, as always, a tall, tanned young man with the wide shoulders hard work had earned for me and a shock of curly black hair. My face was wedge shaped, cheekbones high; my eyes were green. The outfit I wore fitted me well, and that was the important thing. I looked the gentleman without any of the flash and color of the pirates I'd seen. Not that I did not look upon their clothes with some envy but would have been embarrassed to wear the like myself.

  Thinking of that, I chuckled at the thought of Yance. He would have outdone the flashiest of the pirates, for he was a lover of color in his clothes, although we'd little enough chance for anything of the kind, living as we did. I felt regret for him now. He'
d have loved this wild, unruly, pirate town, its dark streets, its motley population, its crowds, tinkle of glasses and clink of coins, a town of blood, gold, gems, and lust, and all of it clad in silk and leather, often enough soiled, sometimes stained with blood, for the pirates I'd seen were rarely overclean.

  It was a shouting, swearing, wine-guzzling, rum-swilling town with more powder than brains and every hand ready to grasp a blade. Murder was a small thing. A man might be stabbed and killed on a dance floor, and not a man would stop for his body, nor would the music cease to play. They'd merely dance around him. Every night bodies were found in the streets, and no man inquired whose they were or how they came to be there. It was every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.

  The black man who was one of those who would guard Diana was waiting at the door. He looked around at me. "Have you a knife?" he asked.

  "I have a sword," I said, "and a pair of pistols when it comes to that."

  "It is no place for either, although you may use them." From his waistband he drew a knife and scabbard. "Take this." I observed two more in that same waistband. "It is a good blade. At close quarters, in a dark place, it is better than a sword."

  He handed it to me, and I tossed it up and caught it deftly by the hilt, wishing to get the feel of its weight and balance. It was a lovely thing, a two-edged blade and long, with a point like a needle.

  "I am grateful," I said. "It is a lovely thing."

  He flashed white teeth at me in a quick smile. "Ah, yes, suh! Lovely, indeed."

  With the knife in my sash I went down the street to the waterfront where the long ships lay.

  Sails furled, dripping a little from a quick shower, creaking as they rode the tide, fine, long, lovely ships, like things alive, made for speed and all lined with guns. I remembered the time long since when Yance and I had slipped aboard the pirate ship of Jonathan Delve, that old enemy of my father, and spiked his guns as the ship lay in the river at Jamestown.