Fair Blows the Wind

by Louis L'Amour

  “Let me take the other gems,” the captain suggested. “I will have our friends here to speak with you within the next few hours.”

  Hidden in my clothes was the slip of paper on which was written the name and the place where I could communicate with the mysterious lady.

  “You go ashore, Captain?”

  “There is much to do, Chantry. Much.”

  “I wish to send a note ashore with you. Can you deliver it to Saint Paul’s Walk?”

  “Aye, I shall be nigh to it.”

  From my sash I took a bit of paper brought from the table in the cabin. On it I wrote: All is begun. “Tell him who sent it, that is all.”

  A week later, I was at sea, bound for the New World.

  CHAPTER 29

  A HAND PRESSED DOWN on my shoulder, and lips whispered, “Ssh! Not a sound!”

  Confused, I lay perfectly quiet. The man beside me was Silliman Turley. Slowly, my mind sorted out the pattern. I was ashore in the New World. The Good Catherine had sailed off without me. Close by was the camp of the party who had seized the Spanish people of whom one was Guadalupe Romana.

  I lay still and I listened. At first there was only the faint rustle of leaves overhead, the breathing of Turley, and then a sound of voices, not too far off. I could smell the damp earth, the rotting leaves. Near me on a piece of bark, an ant struggled with some tiny bit of fodder.

  The voices came again, and they were very close by. “I tell you, there is nothing! She’s hard aground in the river and it will take high water to float her free. She’s made a little water and it looks like somebody has gone through her. Things scattered about like a search was made of what must have been the woman’s quarters.”

  “Nothing at all?” The voice was faintly familiar. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Like I say, somebody’s been through it. But then she never got where she is by herself. Look, Cap, that passage through the outer island is narrow, and you can bet all you’ve got that somebody steered through.”

  “There’s nobody aboard?”

  “Not so much as a rat. We went over her, stem to stern. The current’s not strong in that river this time of year and she had some tide behind her and the wind. She went into the river and jammed herself into the sand, hard and fast aground.”

  “No sign of the crew?”

  “Like I told you. I found a camp ashore. There’d been some men camped there but they’d been attacked. Savages, it looked like. We found eight dead men, dead three or four days. They might have been a part of her crew.”

  “Why savages?”

  “One had an arrow in him and the bodies were stripped and mutilated.”

  There was a silence. “Say nothing of this to anyone. You can find the ship again?”

  “I can.” Again there was a pause. Finally the second voice said, “Cap? Looks to me like you had it pegged. The sinking ship was a trick to get them off her and ashore while she was looted, only something went wrong.

  “I think those men I found dead were supposed to get back aboard her but they never made it. Savages killed them first. Then the tide, wind, currents, whatever, moved that ship. Maybe somebody helped.”

  Leaves rustled. They could be no more than twenty or thirty feet away.

  “Do you believe that story about the other man? The one who was fixing their boat?”

  “The boat is gone, you said. If there was not such a man, what happened to it?”

  “Savages?”

  “Mayhap. I like none of it, Andrew. There is much going on. The ship gone through, the boat missing—”

  “Aye,” Andrew replied gloomily, “and the vessel of Don Manuel is soon to be here, if the stories be true. We must be ready for them.

  “Cap, I say slit the throats of this lot, or take what they have and leave them to the savages. Then take Don Manuel’s vessel, strip what’s worth having from the San Juan de Dios, and be off. We are short of hands as it is and no need to lose more fighting the savages.”

  “Andrew, I want those chests! Our information was good. Part of it was the girl’s dowry, part was to the King of Spain. It was placed aboard the San Juan de Dios. It was seen to go aboard. The vessel has stopped nowhere until now. If it is not aboard then it is here, and I mean to have it!

  “Andrew, much is at stake. I mean to go back—”

  “They will hang you, Captain. Sure as you set foot in England again, they will hang you.”

  “Gold can buy much, Andrew, and the Queen needs gold. By the time we return the way will be smoothed, and when we proffer a gift here and there…do not worry, Andrew. I know whereof I speak.”

  “We kill them, then?”

  “When we have milked them of all they know. Someone knows where the chests are, and I think it to be one of these.”

  “You would kill the woman, too?”

  “Though she knows where Inca gold may be, what is that to us? They can move about in Peru, as they are Spanish, and perhaps they can find it. We could not move freely there, for we should be discovered and killed. Unless she knows something of the chests she is of no use to us, and could be much trouble.”

  “You are still thinking of England?” Andrew said gloomily. “I still say you should find another place, an island of our own from which we can sail our ships. Even a place on the shores of France. I know a—”

  “Talk no more to me of that! England is my home and it is England where I would be.” They moved off, talking still.

  Turley lifted his hand from my shoulder. “I was a-feared you’d come awake, noisylike. They was right over us.”

  “We’ve got to think of something, or they will kill them all.”

  “Aye,” Turley agreed, “a bloody lot they are! But there’s two of us—not enough to do much.”

  We waited and watched, yet nothing offered us a chance. We must do something, alarm them, create a diversion….Ideas came and were discarded, yet there had to be a way.

  Guadalupe was alerted, for I was positive she had seen me, that her signal had been based on something she knew. There must be some reason for our holding back. I saw Conchita bring a cup of something, coffee probably, to Guadalupe. They whispered together, I was sure, although they did not seem to do so. Conchita left, carefully not looking toward us.

  Soon Armand, the Basque, came to the fire and squatted beside it, taking a piece of meat that had been broiling. As he ate he looked across the fire and up at the slope where we were hidden.

  Conchita had gone back to where Guadalupe Romana was sitting, and was straightening some clothes she had washed, folding them, taking her time.

  Armand straightened up from the fire, wiping his hands on his pants. At that moment Felipe came from the trees bringing an armful of firewood. He dropped it, dusted off his hands, and walked away toward the woods past the two girls. Armand followed.

  “Turley!” I touched his arm. “Look! They are going to try to escape! Can you create a diversion? Distract the others?”

  He glanced at the camp, and then like a ghost he was gone into the woods.

  How he moved so swiftly I could not guess, but suddenly, at least two hundred yards off, I heard the cry of a wolf. A long, quavering howl that rose, quivered in the still air, then died away. It was such a howl as made the hair stand on the neck. Even I who knew—or suspected—that the wolf was Silliman Turley, was startled.

  An instant later a large stone suddenly landed in the very center of the fire, scattering burning logs and embers. A series of weird whooping calls came from the woods.

  And below in the camp, all was turmoil. Some of the captors ran for their muskets, which had been left rather carelessly stacked against a tree. Others drew their swords, rushing to the edge of camp.

  A quick glance toward where Guadalupe had been showed that she, Conchita, Armand, and Felipe had vanished.<
br />
  Moving quickly, I took a route that I calculated might intersect theirs. I was not as good in the forest as Turley, but even the few days I had been there had taught me a little. I ran—as swiftly and silently as possible.

  They had run into the thickest of the woods and now I came upon them. Without doubt their captors were already searching for them. I must get them far away, or into some kind of hiding. Turley’s place was best, but I knew I could not find it, nor could I find him, so I must trust him to find us.

  Leading them through a shallow stream and up the opposite bank, I turned downstream as swiftly as possible, weaving a way among the close-growing trees.

  All the while my mind raced ahead. The captors would be able to put no more than a few men to hunting for us. Some of their people must be left to guard Don Diego and his party. Nonetheless, they could be upon us within minutes.

  We came into a thick stand of what Turley had called chestnut oaks, fine, tall trees growing very straight and thick. There was little brush there and we ran more swiftly, yet I kept looking around at the girls to see how they came. Despite their skirts, which they gathered in their hands and held high, they both ran well.

  I saw an opening between the trees and led the way off along the hillside. Glancing back, I saw that Conchita had fallen, but was getting up. I could see Guadalupe’s breast heaving with effort. “I am afraid…I cannot…”

  “We will go slower,” I told her. Then we went over the ridge into the forest beyond. That we were pursued I had no doubt.

  Suddenly I was face to face with Silliman Turley.

  “How far is it to your place in the swamp?” I asked him.

  He hesitated, suddenly uneasy. “ ’T’aint far, only—”

  “Only what?”

  “Don’t think I’m backin’ off, but a place that will hide one man who does mighty little movin’ around mayn’t hide all of us. The savages never found that place o’ mine, but surely as I take so many in, they will. Be no use to me more, an’ it’s a tidy spot.”

  “You won’t need it much longer, Turley. You’ll be coming away with us.”

  “Don’t cal’clate on it. This here’s a good land. I been thinkin’ a sight since you showed up and I ain’t a-tall sure I want to leave. Maybe they’ll fetch my scalp sometime, but this here’s a good country.

  “There’s plenty of fish, there’s game in the woods for the takin’, an’ you know, back to home a man could get hanged for killin’ a deer or even a rabbit. All the game back there belongs to the Queen or the gentry. Here I got only to kill it and butcher it. Then there’s roots, nuts, fruit about, whatever a man could want. Of course, I do miss the bread, and I miss settin’ over a glass with friends. I do miss that.”

  “There will be settlements here,” I commented. “It won’t be long.”

  “Here? You’re mad. Who’d want to leave all that behind and come out here where there’s nothin’ to drink but branch water? Maybe a few wild ones like me, but—”

  “Let’s go to your place, Turley. We don’t have any choice. They’ll be finding us soon.”

  “All right,” he agreed reluctantly.

  The brush was thick the way he went, and he wove an intricate pattern, turning back and forth, doubling on his way, occasionally returning to straighten up grass and conceal the trail.

  After a half-hour of steady travel, we paused. Glancing at Turley, I said, “Where are you taking us? This way doesn’t ever seem to have been traveled.”

  “It ain’t been. That’s why the savages can’t find me. I never use the same route twice.”

  We walked on and now he seemed to be seeking something along the river’s bank. He turned abruptly and walked into the water. Halfway across he said, “Walk right behind me. But take a step wrong right or left and you’ll go into thirty feet of water.”

  Two feet below the surface of the water were two logs, side by side, a bridge hidden underwater and virtually invisible.

  One by one we crossed, following him closely. Had he not guided us, we could never have found our way.

  Almost two-thirds of the way across, he stopped. “This here is pretty fancy. You see that blaze on the tree? The one over on the point?”

  “I see it.”

  “When that blaze is faced right toward you, stop. Then feel underwater on the side toward the blaze. You’ll find more logs. Track turns at right angles there. Then you got to count. Take ten steps, no more, no less. Then you feel on the side nearest the nigh bank an’ you’ll find the rest of the bridge. Once a body knows his way you can just about run it if you’re surefooted.”

  When we reached the bank he led us into the swamp. Here and there were hummocks of earth, usually carrying a stand of cypress. Turley still twisted and turned. Most of the time we were on dry ground, occasionally wading through thick patches of reed, often a tangle of trumpet vine.

  We came at last to a narrow hummock of earth and a narrow path through thick brush. At the end of the path was a body of deep water. Beyond the water lay acres upon acres of reeds, growing very tall. Turley went past me and moved off to the left a dozen feet, then put his hand in the water alongside a rotting log. When his hand lifted it held a rope which arose from the water across the narrows. Water fell dripping from the rope as he held it; then he gave a tug and a log slid from among the reeds. He reeled in the rope, pulling the log across, and when the end of the rope reached him he guided it into a notch in the rotting log where the rope had lain.

  Then, he walked out on the log and we followed, balancing as best we could, to reach the far side of the water. Once there, he drew the log back into the reeds.

  He led us through the reeds along a muddy ridge we had not seen from the opposite side, until we reached a raft of logs moored in an open place among the reeds. On the raft was built a crude circular hut of branches and slabs of bark, and close to it a lean-to. On a rack nearby a hide was stretched—deer, I presumed.

  Under the lean-to were baskets of chinkapin and hickory nuts. Turley had told me the Indians used them not only to eat as they were but to make bread from the meal or thicken their soup. We tried it that night and a very wholesome thing it was, and goodly to eat.

  Once upon the raft we rested, for all were weary from much walking up and down dale and through swamp and brush. Nor were we free from fear, for our enemies would not soon give up their chase.

  The big man, their leader, had been abroad searching for the San Juan de Dios—or else our escape might have ended in disaster. He had taken a number of his men with him. My own treasure worried me, for hidden though it was, they might come upon it. I reflected how a man cannot be free until he has possessions—and then he is no longer free but bound by them.

  Now I had but one desire—to be free of this land, to secure my treasure and escape to sea where we might come upon a ship, even the Good Catherine, for their intent was to trade along this shore.

  Guadalupe Romana looked upon me with cool eyes. “You have freed us from them,” she said. “Now what do you propose to do?”

  “Get away to the sea. Find there a ship that will take us to England or some foreign land. Once there we can be secure and arrange for our futures.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You would plan my future?”

  “Nothing would please me more,” I said, surprising myself at the words, but adding very hastily, “yet I would hesitate to more than suggest. Safety in England would give us time to plan, and perhaps we can arrange for you to return to Peru.”

  She shrugged. “I was not safe there before. Why should I be again?”

  “Perhaps to return to one of those hidden places still maintained by the Incas,” I suggested.

  “I escaped from there, too,” she admitted, “nor can I well return.”

  “All this can be decided at another time. Now it is enough to bring you alive i
nto England, and with our friends.”

  For a moment there was silence and then I said, “Señorita, I, too, know what it means to escape. I had to flee my own land. Even in England, if they discovered who I was, I would be in danger. I would say this to none but you, but I wish you to know that I do understand.”

  We rested, then ate, then rested some more. Silliman Turley and I talked, and from time to time I translated for Armand and Felipe, although the former, having been a fisherman, had picked up some words of English.

  The original plan of the Good Catherine had been to trade to the south as far as the mouth of the Savannah River, avoiding any contact with the Spanish, and then to turn about and come back up the coast. This she might already have done, although I’d been but a few days ashore and doubted there had been time. There was every chance she might come again along the coast.

  She might and she might not. In any case, I must recover my boat and its treasure!

  CHAPTER 30

  “BEFORE THE FIRST light,” I suggested, and they agreed, content now to rest.

  Over a slight fire, built upon a bed of flat stones, Turley with Conchita’s help made a gruel and some cakes, using the nuts for meal. There was smoked fish as well, and we were hungry.

  It was a tidy place he had here, and it spoke well for Silliman Turley. He was no idler, but a workman competent with many skills.

  “I have a boat,” I said, “a ship’s boat. It is loaded but will still carry us all if we can reach it.”

  With the fire out the night was very dark, yet bright with stars. We heard vague sounds, and a sort of whoosh as some great bird, an owl no doubt, swept by on wide, slow-moving wings. The girls could have slept in the house, if such it could be called, but they preferred the cooler outside air.