It was an ancient beech, like the great trees he was familiar with in his own Breton woods, and he thought that heaven must be on his side for often, when these trees were very old, there was a hollow in the main fork big enough for a man to hide in. Gilles wasted no more time. He started to climb.
The beech was tall but Gilles climbed it in record time, spurred on by his danger, for his pursuers must be getting perilously close although he could hear no sounds of pursuit. With a sigh of relief he saw that there was, as he had hoped, a deep, cradle-shaped hollow at the top of the trunk and he settled into it contentedly. From below, he must be quite invisible and the cool moss that lined his refuge was particularly pleasant to his sore back, where the skin was still tender from his recent flogging. Nor had he vanished from the face of the earth a moment too soon…
No additional sound made itself heard, but silent forms had appeared between the trees, gliding like ghosts in their light deerskin moccasins. The Senecas had picked up the fugitive's trail all too easily.
They were moving up the stream, just as he had done, and were evidently studying the banks for signs that he had left it. Tall as it was, the great beech barely earned a glance from them as they passed beneath its shade. Not for a moment did it occur to them that their quarry was holding his breath in the giant's crown. In a minute or two they were gone, making no more disturbance than a ripple on the water.
For a long time after they had gone, Gilles stayed huddled in his mossy haven, alert for the slightest rustle of leaves, the softest cry, staring into the green depths of the forest, waiting for the Indians to come back before he moved. But nothing came, nothing but sleep which took his tired body without warning, so that he lost all sense of time as of all else in the world.
He woke shivering with cold and fever. The sun had gone and moisture was creeping up from the bottom of the valley. The heat of the day had given way to the breeze of evening. Gilles stretched his cramped limbs cautiously. He must find another hiding place at once for the nights were getting colder as the year wore on and to spend one half-naked at the top of a tree with nothing but a bit of blanket for covering was sheer madness. Moreover, it was becoming urgent to find something to eat. Never had his stomach felt so empty.
He began to make his way down carefully. It was infinitely more difficult than the ascent had been because of his aching muscles and the shivering which made him clumsy. But once on the ground he began to run to try and warm himself a little. His intention was to head back to the river, since he could not hope to cross the mountains by night with no other weapon than his knife, at the mercy of the first wild beast he met. Better the vicinity of the camp – and its maize fields – in spite of the danger. There might be a cave to shelter in where the feet of the mountains ran right down to the Susquehanna.
He did not have to look for long before he made out a dark crack in the gathering darkness. He approached it as cautiously as any Indian, entered and was felled unconscious by a blow from an unseen hand.
When he surfaced again, it was to feel himself in paradise, despite the thunderous ringing in his head, for the voice cursing so fluently beside him was Tim's.
'God damn it all! That was a pretty fright you gave us! What the devil possessed you to go into the hut, you crazy fool, instead of taking to your heels along with us? We'd have been miles away by now! And instead of that, here's me and this brave little gal here been racking our brains for two days to think of a way to save your skin. And all for the sake of some damned dusky maiden—'
Gilles had never seen him so angry. He was literally foaming at the mouth and his voice rang harshly in the small cave into which he had dragged his friend's helpless body. It made Gilles' head ache. He felt it gingerly. There was a respectable lump forming. Meanwhile his eyes took in his surroundings. He was in a small cave which must run back a long way because the entrance was out of sight. Moreover a fire of brushwood was burning there, warming his chilled body pleasantly. The escaped slave, Gunilla, was crouching by it, paying no more heed to the two men than if they had not existed. Her arms were wrapped round her knees and with her dirty hair straggling over her face, she looked more than ever like a drab, grey bundle. She was too dirty to arouse much human sympathy but Gilles was too happy to have found Tim again to bother with such minor details. With his friend's quiet strength all things were possible.
'Bawl at me as much as you like,' he said, laughing. 'You're right all along the line. But why the devil did you knock me on the head?'
'I took you for a Seneca. I saw a naked figure in the shadows. And with that paint on you, you must admit you look just like one! What happened to you? I could see from up there—' he jerked his head towards the mountain above them, 'what was going on in the village. I saw Sagoyewatha come back – just as I was beginning to wonder whether I shouldn't try and put a bullet through your head, even at this distance. I saw Cornplanter and those red devils of his arrive as well and then I saw the whole lot of them set off arm in arm this morning – but I didn't see you escape. So I was preparing to make a little raid on the village on my own account tonight, since you seemed disposed to stay there.'
'I was a fool, I know,' Gilles said gruffly. 'But I couldn't help myself. It was stronger than I was. I just had to speak to her. But you'll see that I've not done quite as badly as it seems.'
As faithfully as he could, he repeated the strange news that Cornplanter had brought to Sagoyewatha's camp, then waited for an explosion of rage and an indignant outburst from Tim. But he waited in vain. Instead, Tim's usually cheerful face turned a curious greenish colour and assumed a rigid expression. For a moment he looked like a man who had received his death blow and Gilles wondered in alarm whether he might not be going to faint dead away. But it was only for a moment. Then Tim turned away from his friend and let out a great sigh which showed how greatly he was upset.
'You're right,' he said at last. 'It was worth staying a bit longer to learn that. Only we've wasted enough time. We must get away from here, quickly! Washington must be warned. But you'll have to make do with your paint and your blanket to cover you until we reach civilization. I'll just try—'
He broke off, for Gunilla, who had slipped out when Gilles began speaking, came running back then and began hurriedly stamping out the fire.
'Hey!' Tim protested. 'What's the matter? What are you up to? You've left us in the dark!'
'Would you rather they spotted us? There is a canoe on the river with four Iroquois in it, making for the village. They are making no noise and seem to be keeping in the shadows, for the night is not very dark. I don't understand what they can be after.'
'I can,' Gilles said, already on his feet and feeling his way to the entrance while his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. 'They have been sent by Cornplanter to carry off Sitapanoki, and Hiakin is certainly not going to stop them. I'll wager the water gate to the camp has been left open. Damned scoundrels!'
The river was clearly visible in the light of countless stars but it needed a good pair of eyes to make out the shape of the canoe, close up against the far bank, gliding along on the current with no help from the paddles. In a few more seconds it would be out of sight behind the palisade round the village.
'They are going to take her,' Gilles raged. 'We can't let them—'
'Why not?' Tim said flatly. 'Let them take her, if that's what they want. What difference does it make to us? Sagoyewatha wouldn't heed our warnings, he'll only get what he deserves. Besides, Cornplanter will be doing us a good turn by confirming what we said. Our mission will have succeeded, thanks to him – and beyond all our hopes. It's time we took advantage of it to be off! In a little while, the Iroquois will be tearing each other apart. It will be the Trojan war all over again—'
'Are you quite sure Sagoyewatha is going to blame his brother in arms? Hiakin is too cunning for that. I'm beginning to wonder whether my escape wasn't just a little too easy. How do you know they won't blame me for abducting her and that, through me, Sagoyewa
tha won't hold Washington responsible? You go and tell him what's in store for him at West Point! It doesn't need the two of us for that. I'm staying here.'
'You fool, what are you going to do? Launch an attack on a whole battalion of Iroquois singlehanded, with nothing but a knife and your good intentions? Get yourself stupidly killed, just for a squaw?'
'It's my problem and it's my life! I'm not letting those savages carry off Sitapanoki.'
'And what is she but a savage herself?'
The whispered argument flung to and fro. The two young men faced one another, friendship and common goals forgotten, ready to come to blows each on behalf of his own point of view. Gunilla came between them.
'Are you both mad? Why not shout aloud? The valley has an echo and the Iroquois have ears like wolves! Just because you can't see them any more, that doesn't mean they won't hear you.'
Tim and Gilles came back to earth and held their breath. The canoe had indeed disappeared and all around them was only silence, the heavy silence that falls when all nature seems to hold its breath before some great calamity.
'Let's go,' Tim muttered. 'It's none of our business.'
But he stayed where he was, held by the ex-slave's grip upon his arm, which had grown suddenly urgent.
'Sitapanoki is good,' she said, 'and Cornplanter is nothing but a brute.'
Startled, Gilles turned to look at her, seeing his new ally for the first time. The moon had sailed out from behind the mountain and in another moment it would be behind a pale cloud, but in its light he saw two grey eyes smiling timidly.
'I'll help you, if you like,' Gunilla said simply.
Tim sighed deeply enough to fill the sails of a man-of-war but he did not hesitate. He began stripping off his clothes.
'And of course I'm going to let you walk right into the frightful business,' he grumbled. 'I've always said one should choose one's friends carefully and keep clear of fools. It will serve me right! Come on! Into the water! They'll be back soon, I shouldn't wonder. In any case, you could do with a bath—'
A moment later, the two young men had slipped noiselessly into the cold waters of the Susquehanna, taking care to keep close to the bank, for the moon had come out from behind the clouds. From where they were, they could see the canoe waiting close by the gateway into the Indian village. One man was still sitting in it, keeping watch, although there was probably no need, for Sagoyewatha's camp seemed unusually silent. Even the guards had disappeared.
'I told you that scoundrel Hiakin was in league with them,' Gilles muttered. 'I'm willing to wager he's already drugged the poor woman unconscious so that her screams won't give the alarm. Wait, look!'
The Iroquois were coming back. One of them was carrying an apparently motionless white figure over his shoulder.
'It'll be up to us,' Tim breathed. 'Can you swim under water?'
'I'm a Breton,' came the fetor. 'That means I'm half a fish!'
A swift word or two decided the plan they were to follow, then, taking a deep breath, the two boys dived as one and disappeared beneath the surface, each holding a knife between his teeth. Meanwhile Gunilla crouched among the long grass on the bank and resigned herself to waiting.
The canoe came fast, even against the current, propelled by strong arms. The Iroquois were in a hurry. Very soon they came level with Gunilla's lookout post. After that, it all happened very quickly. The fragile craft tipped suddenly, overturned by unseen hands, throwing its occupants into the river. The surprise was complete. One of the Indians toppled almost into Gilles' arms. He raised his knife and struck, then wrenched the weapon free just in time to meet another adversary. This time, he had to fight for it. The Iroquois was evidently a big man and this did not seem to be the first time he had fought in the water. But Gilles was in his element and he had speed and agility on his side. He slid out of the grip that was seeking his throat, turned and struck with all his strength. The blade sank up to the hilt in the man's stomach and he uttered a brief grunt which was immediately stifled by the water. Gilles shot up to the surface and looked about him. They had done it. Four bodies were drifting with the current and over by the bank Tim was towing something that showed as a white shape beneath the water.
Gilles grabbed hastily at one of the dead Indians and began pulling him ashore. The man's scanty clothing, and especially his moccasins, were what he needed, to say nothing of his weapons.
When he reached the bank, Gunilla was helping Tim to pull Sitapanoki's still body out of the water and stretch it on the grass. It lay quite still.
'You were right,' Tim said to his friend. 'The thing was planned. This woman is unconscious. She's been drugged.'
'You're quite sure? She's not—?'
'Not a bit of it! She's breathing. But it's no help to us. I had hoped to persuade her to go back to the camp as though nothing had—'
'Go back? Are you out of your senses? So that Hiakin can do tomorrow what he has failed in today? Our only chance of saving Sitapanoki from Cornplanter is to take her with us.'
'Take her with us? Carry her, you mean. Because God knows how long she'll sleep for.'
'Very well. I'll carry her.'
Gilles had forgotten his weariness, his wounds and the hunger which had been gnawing at him all afternoon. All clothed in silver by the moon, the slim white figure which lay at his feet, the sweet face with its closed eyelids and the thought of the hours of her company which lay ahead all acted on him like a salve, or like a wonderful tonic. He felt in himself the strength of ten and a heart great enough to fight an army single-handed, like the warriors of the Venetiae, his forebears, for whom to be matched against an equal number of foes was almost a dishonour.
It took him a few seconds only to strip the man he had killed of his deerskin trousers, moccasins and belt. This last still had a long knife and a heavy tomahawk thrust into it. All these, Gilles put on, then he bent his back.
'Put her over my shoulders,' he said simply. 'And then we'll be on our way. We'll need to have gone some distance already before dawn.'
The girl was no light weight but Gilles' heart was light and full of joy as he began the long climb up the mountainside.
Chapter Ten
The House of the Mennonite
The storm broke with unexpected violence. The rain nailed down upon the fugitives in almost horizontal squalls, adding to the exhaustion of nearly forty-eight hours' uninterrupted march. For, in their anxiety to put as much distance as possible between them and their probable pursuers and their equally strong desire to reach the banks of the Hudson River as soon as possible, Tim and Gilles had set their companions a killing pace, allowing them only an occasional hour or two of rest. Not that either had uttered a single word of protest.
Gunilla walked with bent back and eyes on the ground, in an attitude more reminiscent of a pack animal than a human being. It was as though she could not help it and it was a poignant reminder of the grinding servitude the girl (she had told them her age was sixteen) had endured in the four long years since her parents' small farm by the Allegheny had been sacked and burned by the Senecas. She belonged to one of the Swedish families that had originally founded Fort Christina, on the banks of the Delaware. In order to escape from the domination of William Penn's Quakers, who left them defenceless against the Atlantic pirates, they had preferred to retreat inland when the hand of authority grew too heavy, and live a lonely but at least a peaceful life.
When Tim had asked her if she wanted to go back to her home, Gunilla had regarded him with something like horror.
'There is nothing there, nothing but ashes. I never want to see it again. But I think I have an aunt in New York. I might go to her, perhaps…'
No more had been said on the subject and since then the girl had behaved as though her presence with the young men was a matter of course. She was brave and hardy and not a single word of complaint ever passed her lips. For Gilles, at least, she had become a kind of familiar shadow, not absolutely indispensable but pleasant to have o
n hand.
Sitapanoki's attitude was quite different. When the effects of the drug with which Hiakin had dosed her food wore off, she had been deceived by appearances into a violent display of anger. She had reproached them bitterly for conspiring to abduct her, a fate which in her view both dishonoured her and laid her open to a frightful retribution.
'Sagoyewatha is great and powerful,' she cried. 'He will never bear such an insult. He will not rest until he has found me. And then nothing, least of all you, you young madman, for you he will put to death in torment, nothing can save me from the punishment meted out to unfaithful wives. They will slit my nostrils, they will slash my face and I shall be nothing but an object of revulsion to all men, condemned to the most menial labour.'
She began to cry at the thought, like a child in disgrace, already mourning her vanished beauty. Gilles was distressed, recalling that he had seen two or three women who had been treated in such a way about the camp, and he tried to comfort her and reassure her by promising that his intention was to place her under the protection of General Washington, but he was wasting his breath, Sitapanoki did not mean to be soothed.
At this point, Gunilla broke silence and took matters in hand.
'The daughter of the Algonquin squeals like a stuck turkey, which gives one no great opinion of her breeding,' she said contemptuously. 'If you would rather become Cornplanter's concubine, you can easily go to him, since that was the fate which awaited you before we intervened. Go to Schoharie. There, by the smoking walls and the bodies of the farmers, you will find the man who can save your face.'
The deliberate roughness of her tone got through to the other woman and, as she looked up at her in sudden doubt, the one-time slave continued quietly:
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 26