by Gen Bailey
Marisa didn’t respond. And when it appeared that she would add nothing to the conversation, Sarah went on to say, “If you wish to continue to live in the style to which you have been raised, I feel it fair to warn you not to associate with Sir Eagle too closely. There is danger in doing so, since you might fall in love with him. Have you considered that possibility?”
Marisa sighed. “Sarah, your warning is too late. I already am in love with him.”
“Marisa!”
“But fear not. I have no intention of marrying him, though I must admit that the idea of doing so is pleasurable, indeed. However, as obstinate as my guardian is, I am and will always be loyal to him. And truly, I believe he would be most displeased to have Black Eagle as a nephew.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes. As much as I dislike and fear John Rathburn, I am aware that you are devoted to him. And since this be the case, please, try to keep your distance from Sir Eagle. The man is a handsome man, after all, and he admires you, which is appealing in its own right. There is a strength about him, as well, 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 that you are who you are and he is who he is. But I also know that your sense of duty to your step-uncle would not allow you peace of mind if you were to rebel against him permanently.”
“Yes.”
“I will do my duty, then, and protect you against Sir Eagle,” continued Sarah, “or any other man who might take it into his head to ravish you with praise.”
Marisa squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Yes, but do not do your duty too well. I am in love with him.”
This said, 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 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, perhaps some suitor? I have not always been particularly kind to them.”
Sarah nodded. “I doubt that a rebuff, alone, could account for attempted murder. But I fear I have come to the same conclusion as you have, although I hardly wish to think of its truth.”
The lake was calm, the air was calm, which made the war whoop, off in the distance all the more chilling.
Both Sarah and Marisa looked up. Both looked eastward. Marisa barely suppressed a scream. There, 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 looking up, 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 to the bushes. Do you understand? Can you do that?”
“Yes.” 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 scrapped 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 himself 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 and discover it, and with it, 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,” he said. “Now go!”
And Marisa quietly backed away.
Fifteen
There were eight of them, two French, 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 what 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, 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; 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 that lay 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 overpowered us and before we had even attained our seat on the horses, he shooed them off.”
This was not good. “Where is Thompson now?”
“He rode away on one of the horses. But before he left, I was able to secure this.” She held up a musket.
“Do you know how to use it?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Sarah does, too.”
His glance took in the fact that within Sarah’s grasp was a pistol. “Both of you,” he ordered beneath his breath, “move back behind me,” he commanded. �
�Stay down. Fire only if you have a good shot; otherwise, do no more than watch. If I go down, do not fight the enemy. Yield to them. It is doubtful that they will kill you. Do you understand? Do nothing.”
Nodding, the women backed away.
Meanwhile, the canoe slid silently to shore. Black Eagle watched as the warriors disembarked cautiously, keeping themselves low. Slowly, quietly, they brought their canoe inland, anchoring it on the rocks that lined the shore.
Stepping onto the ground, one of the warriors bent down, examining the tracks over the rocks. Another warrior crept forward toward the bushes, where Black Eagle and the women were hiding. The two other warriors were sneaking toward the item that had gained their attention: the silver dish.
Black Eagle waited until the warrior who was stealing toward the bushes was almost upon him. He waited. Then crying out, he jumped up, the savage attack and the element of surprise in his favor. The ploy worked, but only for a fraction of a second. Still it was enough: Black Eagle thrust his tomahawk into the warrior’s neck.
However, with the first war cry, the three other warriors went instantly into action. Black Eagle had known that they would, and he was ready for them. With musket in his left hand, he fired a shot toward one of them. An almost instant scream, and another warrior, hit the ground.
Without thought, Black Eagle shot forward toward the other two. They, however, were prepared with muskets ready.
What they didn’t know was that women were hiding in the bushes. One of the women fired. It was a good shot, carefully aimed, and another one of the warriors fell.
However, Black Eagle didn’t wait to see if the shot had made its mark, instead, he hurled himself toward the remaining warrior. The Ottawa was ready for him, and thrust out at him with his tomahawk. It was a deadly joust, but Black Eagle had expected it and he threw himself down, turning a somersault underneath the man’s arm. Coming up on the other side of the man, and with a back hand, Black Eagle rammed his tomahawk into the back of his opponent. The warrior was thrown off balance. Gaining his feet, Black Eagle finished the job, and slammed his hatchet into the warrior’s arm, disabling the man.
But still the Ottawa was standing, and taking hold of his tomahawk, Black Eagle dealt the man a clean blow to his chest. The Ottawa went down.
Not wasting an instant, Black Eagle shouted to the women, “Come!” He pointed toward the lake. “Their friends have come back to investigate. Hurry to the canoe. We’ll take our chances on the water.”
Both women came instantly to their feet, and shooting out of the bushes, they made a line to the canoe. Black Eagle had already set the canoe out into the lake and the women hurriedly splashed toward it.
Once he was waist deep in the water, he shouted, “Get in. Pick up a paddle.”
Already, shots from the oncoming canoe were hitting the water around them, their barrage a deadly reminder of what was to be if they didn’t escape. The women had attained their seat in the boat, and were picking up paddles, when Thompson suddenly splashed into the water, and pulling himself up alongside of the canoe, he plopped himself into it. He picked up a paddle.
“Let’s get out of here!” he yelled and Black Eagle didn’t argue. Hoisting himself up into the boat, and settling his paddle into the water, Black Eagle guided the boat out into the deepest part of the lake, heading west, toward the rapids.
It was their only possible advantage. They were already outnumbered, the two men, against the four of the enemy, two French and two Ottawa warriors. Worse, Thompson was an obvious traitor, whose actions could not be trusted. Still, it was Thompson’s neck as well as their own.
His plan was a risk. Black Eagle was counting on the fact that the French might not follow them into the rapids, it being well-known that only a fool, or one with no other choice, would deliberately seek out mountain-high waterfalls, which, with its deadly rocks awaiting, spoke of an untimely end.
“Faster!”
Arrows, aimed at them, hit the water beside them. Seeing them, Black Eagle wondered if this spoke of a possible advantage. Was their powder wet? Was that why they were using arrows and not firing on them?
“Faster!” he yelled again.
They had almost gained the passage to the rapids. Meanwhile the other canoe was speeding up on them, and it was a test to see which would come first: the watery death on the rapids, or death at the sure hand of the Ottawas.
And then there was no going back. The current took hold of them, pushing them on at an ever faster and faster rate toward what had to be a waterfall.
It was a double-edged sword: What was taking them away from their enemy held a certain death, as well.
Black Eagle chanced a look over his shoulder. The French and Ottawa were turning back, paddling toward the southern shore. It was surely a truth that if the falls didn’t kill them, the Ottawa, tracking them, would.
Their only likelihood of survival was to paddle to the opposite shoreline and then run. Run for their lives.
Black Eagle set the canoe toward the northern shoreline, but the currents pulled him back.
“Damn!” he muttered, using the English cussword. With all his strength, he set his paddle in the water, and headed again toward the northern shoreline. But he had no more than set his course, when an unseen eddy took hold of their canoe and swung them round.
Suddenly another unforeseen force made itself felt upon them: The canoe rocked back and forth unnaturally, and Black Eagle, looking back over his shoulder, beheld Thompson, who had come up onto his knees, had taken hold of Ahweyoh and was struggling with her, attempting to throw her out of the boat and into the lethal undercurrents of the eddy.
Marisa was screaming and fighting, Sarah was yelling and beating on Thompson, but it was all for naught. Thompson was too strong.
Black Eagle faced around, and keeping low, surged back toward the struggle to confront Thompson.
Let the traitor do battle with someone not quite so weak, thought Black Eagle.
Thompson was big. He was strong. But Black Eagle was more determined. He was also in the right.
The two men wrestled. Thompson raised a knife, Black Eagle blocked his hand, raising Thompson’s arm high in the air. Both came up to their feet, even though the canoe lurched precariously against the currents.
Their struggle pitched the canoe out of the eddy, but only into the rushing stream of the currents, washing them steadily toward an even deadlier end. Mountain-high falls awaited.
But the two men didn’t notice. Thompson launched out at Black Eagle, socking him in the jaw. Black Eagle was sent backward, but he recovered; he shot forward and caught hold of Thompson’s arm, raising it again high in the air.
Both men fell down into the canoe, Thompson looked up, and Black Eagle glimpsed the horror on Thompson’s face. Without further pretense at the fight, Thompson let go of Black Eagle and dived over the edge of the canoe, disappearing into the water.
Black Eagle, still in the throes of battle, felt urged to do the same, and take their battle into the water’s fatal depths, but with a quick look about him, sanity returned. There were women here to protect.
Glancing forward, he, too, experienced Thompson’s terror. Their boat was on a one-way path to the falls.
This was it. They were doomed.
Black Eagle gazed at Marisa with all the love and admiration in his heart. If this were to be his last moment on this earth, by looks alone, he would shower her with adoration. As her look mirrored his, he knew a fraction of a second of happiness. How fleeting it was.
Ripping his glance away from hers, and scanning forward, however, he saw a thing that both he and Thompson had missed previously. It gave them a chance . . .
“Take Sarah’s arm!” he yelled. “Don’t let go!”
Marisa instantly took hold of Sarah.
With his left hand, Black Eagle grasped hold of Marisa’s arm. “Hold tight to me!” he ordered. “Use all your strength. Use everything in you, but don’t let go!”
Ma
risa nodded.
And then their boat, caught in the currents, tipped over the edge of the falls. But there was a branch—a sturdy oak branch—that was extending out over the falls. It was a risk, but if he could grasp hold of it with his arm . . .
Using his right arm, he grabbed hold of the branch as their canoe carried them past it. It worked, he held on with the crook of his arm. The force of the movement swung both Marisa and Sarah up and out, but Black Eagle held on tight. However, there they hung, delicately balanced, he holding Ahweyoh, and Ahweyoh clutching at Sarah.
Glancing toward shore, Black Eagle used the momentum of the natural force of their swing to aim them back toward the shore. It wasn’t that far away.
“Hold on! I’m going to swing you both to shore!”
“I can’t keep hold! It’s too slippery!” It was Sarah yelling, crying.
“Nyoh, you can! You must!”
“I’m trying to, but—”
“She’s slipping away from me!”
“I’ve got you!” He yelled at her. “Keep hold! Keep hold!”
But Sarah’s hand was loosening. And though he was swinging them with all his might, Sarah’s grip was failing. He could see it happening.
But Marisa wouldn’t let go.
“Sarah!”
With a deafening scream, Sarah fell, and Marisa, casting a fated look up at Black Eagle, let her grip on Black Eagle’s arm slacken but maintained her hold of Sarah. Black Eagle reached down to tighten his hold over Marisa. But it was too late. She had already let go of him, her screams echoing in his ears.
They were gone. Gone, into the sheet of water that was the falls. Not willing to assign them to their fate without his possible aid, Black Eagle let go of the tree limb. Whatever their destiny might be, so, too, would it be his own.
Somewhere between plummeting down the length of the falls and into the water, Sarah’s hand became separated from Marisa’s own. Had they not become dislodged during the fall, however, the force of the impact into the water would have accomplished it.
“Sarah!”