The Scent of Betrayal

by David Donachie

  Tucker thought for a moment, his head dropped to his chest. When he looked up his eyes were twinkling with amusement. He picked up his long rifle, encased in its buckskin sheath. ‘Seems to me, if some of that bullion is coming my way, that Practical John and I ought to be there to see it returned to its rightful owners.’

  Harry held out his hand. ‘I’ll be glad to have you both along.’

  Leaving the boat, even though they’d been forewarned, rattled the French. It was as though the hull provided a security that they were loath to surrender, and the surrounding countryside, dense and unfamiliar, reinforced it. Brissot started the argument, but it was rapidly taken up by some of the others; and though it was never actually stated, it was certainly implied that if Harry wanted to get rid of them then this was a perfect place to do so. He took no part in the discussion, leaving Lampin and Couvruer to sort it out, aware that if they’d come this far, they wouldn’t turn back, and prepared to accept that they were only moaning to let him know he wasn’t, yet, entirely trusted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  FINDING the Natchez Trace was a job for a man who could read a compass. The dense forest provided ample trails, all wide enough to accommodate the party of horsemen in single file, but the lack of sunlight added to their winding nature made certainty of direction difficult. Tucker, a riverboatman, having no need for such a device, had never used one. Harry’d lived with the constant presence of that instrument since he was a shaver, and using it to steer by was second nature. Initially they’d had to manoeuvre their way through low swamp or marshland. But within a couple of miles the ground began to rise, to become firm and dry. Near the river, and the rich alluvial soil provided by the Mississippi, lay substantial plantations, but the uplands, being less fertile, were sparsely populated. The houses, log cabins in the main, seemed rough and ready compared to the dwellings they’d left behind. Harry did his best to avoid coming in sight of these homesteads. A party of forty horsemen would not go unremarked, and their sudden appearance would cause a fear that could send ripples of alarm around the countryside.

  McGillivray’s instructions took them slightly south, to join the Trace at the nearest point to the Bayou Pierre. Though not a road in the proper sense, it was wide enough, and straight enough, to allow them to increase speed, and being a major route to the northern states it was dotted with the occasional post-house. Mean-looking affairs in the main, with avaricious owners, they all had two vital functions: the corrals contained remounts, while the ostlers who ran them knew of everyone who’d passed ahead of them. De Guerin, no doubt feeling safe in the Mississippi Territory, made little attempt to conceal himself en route. Not that he gave anything away – to avoid excessive curiosity he stopped only to exchange horses which were weak or lame – but enough had been left behind to satisfy Harry that, with frequent remounts of his own, he was still overhauling the Spaniards.

  Not all the Frenchmen were happy on horseback, which slowed them somewhat, but none was as bad as Pender, who disliked the beasts with a passion born of total discomfort mixed with genuine fear. Harry had never seen him faced down by any man, nor step backwards when presented with the prospect of action. Indeed he was always to the fore, generally the first to board, and to be found at the heart of any mêlée which ensued. Dogs and children responded to him with affection, but to see him choosing a horse was to observe clear evidence that no human being lacked an Achilles’ heel. Great care was taken to find the quietest animal, but lacking true knowledge of the equine temperament, he had an uncanny knack of picking out the one beast that was docile only as long as no one was on its back, and that was compounded by a lack of any skill once mounted.

  ‘Give me a leakin’ barky any day,’ he moaned. He’d slipped sideways as they were fording a river, sliding out of the saddle into the deep mud created by those who’d preceded him, and this on an animal that he’d only been up on for half an hour.

  ‘Let me choose the next beast, for God’s sake,’ Harry snapped.

  ‘Never in life, Capt’n. I trusted Thankful Tucker to sort out this bastard for me, an’ I ain’t gone a single mile without falling off.’

  A sudden burst of translation came from the bank above their heads, where the rest of the party were lined up waiting. That was followed by laughter. Looking up, Harry could see Tucker beaming at Pender, a man made happy by a jest that had paid the proper dividend.

  ‘Damn you, Tucker, we’ve no time for this,’ Harry shouted.

  But his voice lacked any passion, indeed he’d only made the remark to avoid openly joining in the laughter. They were close to de Guerin, very close, a fact that had emerged at the last post-house. The Spaniard had been forced to exchange two lame horses, with the ostler adding that most of the rest of the mounts, barring the pack-animals, looked under-nourished and blown. If he was pushing hard, that meant he was either late for a rendezvous or so close to it that the state of his horses mattered little. Harry dismounted to help Pender back aboard, checked his girth, and adjusted his stirrups, all this accompanied by an injunction to use his damned knees.

  ‘Next stop I’m going to take a mule,’ Pender growled.

  ‘Ludlow,’ said Tucker. Harry spun round. Whatever humour had been in the American’s voice was gone now. ‘I think you might have a messenger coming.’

  Harry grabbed his horse’s reins, as well as Pender’s, pulling both up the steep embankment. He saw the lone figure riding towards them through the avenue created by the encroaching forest. He was sure, just as Tucker had been, that he was an Indian. The long feathers that protruded above his head were one indication, but more telling was the way the man rode his horse, as though he and the beast were one, which could only mean that he was bareback. As he came closer, and the canopy of trees thinned to allow some sunlight, Harry could see his copper-coloured skin, and by the time he reined in his horse, several yards away, Harry was aware of the slightly slanting black eyes, set in an unsmiling face. Reaching into his coat, the Indian produced yet another letter. But he was determined that the recipient should come and get it, clearly not even prepared to dismount to effect its delivery.

  ‘He’s camped near a place called Doak’s Stand, which is less than a mile ahead.’ Tucker shook his head, indicating that the name meant nothing to him. Harry waved the letter. ‘This says he’s settling in, including digging a latrine.’

  Tucker dismounted. ‘So he’s not stopped for the night.’

  Harry showed the American the second page, which had a rough drawing of what he assumed to be the area ahead. It showed the Natchez Trace clearly, running through a valley. There was a small copse off to the western side, behind which de Guerin had set his camp, and judging by the indicated elevation, that gave him a view of the road with a modicum of concealment to protect him from anyone not actually seeking him out. ‘Which explains the horses,’ he said.

  ‘But why change the lame animals?’

  ‘Perhaps he wants to ensure a swift retreat.’

  ‘According to that ostler he’s got plenty of pack-horses.’

  Harry gave the American a wolfish smile. ‘They won’t be going back with him, obviously.’

  ‘You to come with me,’ said the Indian, pointing to Harry. Still mounted, he looked even more unfriendly than he had when he’d arrived. ‘You only.’

  ‘Pender,’ Harry said quietly. ‘Follow on foot.’

  His servant slid gratefully to the ground, then bent over to rub his aching thighs. ‘Aye, aye, Capt’n.’

  ‘Tucker,’ Harry continued, his eyes still on the stony-faced Indian, ‘any danger and I will fire off one of my pistols. If you hear it, put the river between you and us then prepare to defend the crossing.’

  ‘Will do,’ he replied. ‘If all else fails how do I get the Frenchies to run?’

  ‘Just shout sauve qui peut.’

  The Indian spun his mount and trotted off up the trail. Harry mounted and went after him. Pender, moving off to the side to get some cover, followed easi
ly. The Indian left the trail after about a quarter of a mile, heading into the forest. Soon they were working their way uphill through the trees, following a well-worn animal path covered in pine needles that deadened the sound of their hoofs. Twenty minutes brought them near to the edge of the treeline, where his guide finally dismounted. Harry did likewise. To say that the Indian smiled when he looked back down the trail would be an exaggeration. But his lips did part, which lessened the near permanent scowl. His eyes swung to Harry and the head moved in what was clearly a gesture of disbelief. They stood for several minutes before Harry heard Pender. To his sailor’s mind, he was making little noise. To this Indian, who’d picked up the sound of his progress a lot sooner, Pender must sound like a charging bull.

  ‘Stop him,’ the man commanded.

  ‘No,’ Harry replied, with a look just as hard as the one he was getting.

  They stood for a moment, staring at each other. Then the Indian shrugged and turned round. Crouching down, he edged forward to a point where a round of deep undergrowth fringed the copse. Harry waited till Pender was in sight, held up a restraining hand, then slid forward himself. De Guerin’s camp lay below them behind the line of trees, shown on the map, that overlooked the road. His men were employed putting up tents or gathering wood. The horses, well spaced out in their lines, grazed contentedly, cropping the thick grass that covered the slope. The Indian indicated a newly dug trench that lay off to one side of the horse-lines, right by the opposite line of trees. This was part of the same wood which, arching towards the top of the slope, continued down the other side of the pasture.

  The Indian pointed to the trees behind the latrine, made the two-fingered sign for ‘walking man,’ this followed by a grip on his nose. That was followed by a hand round his ear and four fingers to denote a horse. Then he covered his eyes and swept his hand through an imaginary sky. He was proposing that their line of approach should be from the trees opposite, coming in behind the latrines so that the horses, even if the wind blew towards the camp, wouldn’t pick up their scent. Likewise, the noise of the animals would deaden any hint of their movements, and beasts accustomed to humans would not react overmuch once they were in amongst them. All of which should take place in darkness, when the moon had crossed the sky. In other words, just before dawn. Harry repeated every gesture till his guide was sure he understood. Then the Indian stood up, went back to his horse, mounted, and without so much as a backward glance, rode away.

  ‘Do you have a knife, Pender?’ Harry asked, his eyes on the retreating back.

  ‘Aye, aye, Capt’n.’

  ‘Good. Mark the trees as we make our way back to the road. We’ve got to come back this way. And when we get to the river bank, fill up a saddlebag with some of that mud.’

  Moving over thirty armed men through the woods was a great deal more difficult than his own previous journey. Unused to humans, the forest creatures had shown no evidence of fear, but such a large group couldn’t maintain silence – they’d scare off even a bear. Harry changed the direction of their approach to avoid alerting the Spaniards, who couldn’t fail to see the startled wildlife, mainly birds, if they came too close to the edge of the forest. He led them in a wide circle, till they were facing downhill, then walked them into their final positions in twos, having first streaked their faces with mud. Pender and Tucker were first, with an injunction to keep an eye on their quarry.

  ‘You can use the telescope from here, because the sun is now behind us. It will be near dark by the time I’ve got everyone in place. Locate the sentries and time the changes.’

  ‘I reckon de Guerin must be in that tent,’ said Tucker, pointing to the largest piece of canvas, a square structure that sat in the centre of the neat row that lay behind the trees.

  ‘Along with the bags they took off the pack-horses,’ added Pender.

  ‘They’ve stacked their weapons, regulation fashion,’ Tucker added. ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t taken more precautions.’

  ‘He doesn’t know we’re here, does he? And if he has made his rendezvous, the people he’s expecting are coming in from the north.’

  ‘I’m afire to find out who it is.’

  Harry shook his head at Tucker. ‘With luck, we’ll never know. We’ll be gone before they arrive.’

  Harry paid them several visits during the remaining two hours, to gather information with which he could direct the rest of the men. They were correct about de Guerin’s occupancy of the large tent, and he’d set his guards in the trees to watch the road. Really the Spaniard had too few men to mount a complete picket, so what he’d done wasn’t as stupid as it first appeared. It was dark by the time Harry finally joined, with only a faint glim of the low moon breaking through the canopy of trees. He too had muddied his face. He’d also removed his coat and smeared his shirt-front, so that from the rear it showed white. Below them the large fires created great pools of light around the tents, the white of which reflected it over an even wider area. The Spaniard’s men sat round talking quietly, occasionally pushing food on a bayonet into the flames.

  ‘We’ve got a good six hours,’ Harry whispered, ‘before we move in. I’ve told everyone to get some rest, one at a time. You two do the same.’

  ‘And you?’ Tucker asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tucker. I’ll sleep as well. But you go first.’

  He woke the American, and with Pender still slumbering, he took a chance to deflect him from joining in the coming action.

  ‘I intend that no one should be harmed, which means that come daylight they are going to be able to see our faces.’

  ‘And if they spot me in New Orleans one day?’ The sentence didn’t need to be completed.

  ‘It would be best if you stayed here.’

  Tucker rubbed his rifle. ‘Then Practical John and I’d miss all the fun, Ludlow. You say that you intend no bloodshed, but those men down there are soldiers, some of the best the Spanish army has got. Even if you surprise them there’s going to be a fight.’

  ‘Which you want to be part of?’

  ‘Come to that, you have to go back to New Orleans. And though I’m willin’ to take on your Frenchies, I don’t see that having a load of Walloon Guards on board is goin’ to keep my face a mystery.’

  Harry nodded agreement, remaining silent while he sought a solution.

  ‘We will have horses, they won’t. Nor will they be left with the means to buy any. All they’ll have is food and their boots. We’ll take them far enough south to make sure that they don’t meet whoever is coming from the north, then abandon them.’

  ‘So let me take part. I promise I’ll be out of sight by sun-up.’

  ‘Your turn to watch,’ Harry replied, moving back into the undergrowth. ‘Don’t use the telescope. The light from the fires will reflect in it.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Capt’n,’ said Tucker, turning away.

  He didn’t see, or hear, Harry shake Pender awake. His servant’s eyes opened immediately. They exchanged a glance, Pender nodded and raised himself on one elbow. Liking Thankful Tucker and trusting him, in the presence of so much money, were two different things. Harry knew very well what gold did to men. That wasn’t evidence of piety. It had a similar effect on him.

  Men moved silently out of the trees as soon as they saw the white of Harry’s shirt. With the moon now low in the sky behind him it was like a beacon. Every one of them had been assigned a tent, with instructions to use no knives unless threatened, and to employ their firearms as clubs. Harry was carrying a twisted lump of wood, his pistols stuck into his belt. Only Tucker and those assigned to subdue the sentries had muskets. The distance between the latrine and the horse-lines, around a hundred yards, was critical. Harry had told them to avoid too much stealth, but it was impossible not to crouch down and attempt to move forward silently. He found it so himself, and the combined approach of thirty men in the same mode spooked some of the more nervous beasts. The remaining glow from the fires was insufficient for humans, but a horse has good ni
ght vision, as well as acute hearing. He dashed forward, followed by those closest to him, and grabbed at the halter of one of the more nervous beasts. Those who knew horses pulled their heads down, then covered their nostrils with their hands. Pender, not by any means the sole offender, did the opposite, which allowed the animal he was trying to quieten to rear instead. It whinnied loudly, something which was bound to bring the sentries to investigate, suspecting the presence of something like a puma or a bear. But they wouldn’t have to get too close to realise that their mounts were spooked by humans.

  The cry that came from his throat had every horse in the lines dragging at their halters. As he rushed through, heading for de Guerin’s tent, he saw one animal kick out wildly. Its hoof caught one of the Frenchmen right in the back, just below the neck. It sent him flying. The man rolled several times then lay still. He was the only silent man in the clearing. Every attacker was yelling as they charged forward, their cries echoed by the panicky screams of men suddenly awakened and unready for combat. A flash of orange light shot out from the downhill trees and Harry felt the air move as the ball whipped past his head. A grunt from behind indicated that the man who’d fired had found flesh, but there was no time to stop and investigate.

  They were good soldiers. Not one forgot his duty by trying to mount an individual defence. Each trooper, once he’d retrieved his weapon, fell back towards the main tent in an attempt to form a line. The man Harry assumed to be de Guerin was out, sword in hand, shouting clear orders, his demeanour the very antithesis of panic. The two sentries had moved sideways to give themselves a clear chance to fire, and two more flashes lit the night sky. Half a minute’s grace would have allowed the Spaniards to succeed, and the attackers might have run headlong into a frisson of bayonets. But with the slope in their favour, Harry and his men didn’t grant them the time. With Pender on one side and Tucker on the other, he crashed into the still disorganised Walloons, clubbing everyone who stood in his path. Muskets were fired from behind him to subdue the sentries, and these, passing close to the packed ranks, increased their disorder.