by Gen Bailey
What they didn’t know was that Sarah had taken aim toward them. She dare not miss. She fired. It was a good shot. Another one of the warriors fell.
Unfortunately, Black Eagle hadn’t waited to see if the shot made its mark. Instead, he hurled himself toward the remaining warrior. The Ottawa was ready for him, and thrust out at Black Eagle with his tomahawk.
Marisa gasped, for it was a deadly joust but Black Eagle was agile and quick. He threw himself down, turning a somersault underneath the man’s arm. Coming up on the other side of the man, and with a backhand, Black Eagle rammed his tomahawk into the back of his opponent. The warrior was thrown off balance. Regaining his feet, Black Eagle finished the job. Using his hatchet, he landed a disabling blow into the warrior’s arm.
Still, the Ottawa was standing; taking hold of his tomahawk, Black Eagle dealt the man a clean blow to his chest. That finished it. The Ottawa went down.
But it seemed the ordeal wasn’t over. Already, Black Eagle was shouting at the two women.
“Come!” He pointed toward the lake. “Do you see? Their friends have come back to investigate. Hurry to the canoe. We’ll take our chances on the water.”
Both Sarah and Marisa jumped instantly to their feet. Springing out of the bushes, they made a line to the canoe. Black Eagle had already set the boat out into the lake and both women hurriedly splashed toward it.
By this time, Black Eagle was waist deep in the water and shouting, “Get in. Pick up a paddle.”
Already, shots from the oncoming canoe were hitting the water around them, the barrage a deadly reminder of what was to be if they three didn’t escape. Sarah plopped herself into a seat and reached out to help Marisa. But Marisa needed little assistance. She, too, was already seated. Quickly they each picked up a paddle and had no more than set them in the water when the oddest thing happened.
Thompson suddenly reappeared, splashing his way toward them. Sarah reached toward Marisa’s weapon, for Sarah had already fired off her one shot.
But Marisa stayed her hand. She said, “Maybe he has come to his senses and will help us.”
“I fear your heart is too kind!” exclaimed Sarah over the noise of the water and the oncoming enemy. However, Sarah hesitated.
Meanwhile, Thompson had pulled himself up alongside the canoe, and he plopped himself into it. He even picked up a paddle. Maybe she was wrong, thought Sarah. Amidst all the adversity, perhaps the man had changed the color of his stripes.
“Let’s get out of here!” Thompson 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, away from the enemy, but in the direction of a sound that had Sarah’s heartbeat picking up such speed that she could feel it in her throat.
It was a waterfall, and from the sound of it, a large one. Was this their only advantage?
Perhaps it was so, for they were outnumbered. In a fight, it would be the two men against four of the enemy, two French, two Ottawa. Worse, Thompson was an obvious traitor whose actions could not be trusted. Still, now that he was back among them, it was Thompson’s neck as well as their own.
“Faster!” yelled Black Eagle.
Arrows, aimed at their speeding canoe, hit the water beside them with deadly force. Marisa’s paddle hit the water at an angle, causing her to tip dangerously toward the water. Sarah threw down her paddle and pulled Marisa back against her with one arm while she gripped the side of wet canoe with her other; though her fingers slipped, Sarah held on fast.
As she nestled Marisa into her arms, the two women sat silently in the canoe, riding out the jerks and sways of the boat.
The scent of Thompson’s unwashed body assailed Sarah, causing her to wonder that a human being could emit such odor. Why was Mr. Thompson back? she wondered. And though she feared it was for no good, Sarah held her tongue.
“Faster!” Black Eagle yelled again.
Behind them the French and Ottawa kept up a steady stream of fire, the arrows landing dangerously close. It was impossible. The odds were against Black Eagle. And yet, he must escape. They all must. If they didn’t get away . . .
How had they gotten themselves into this? Suddenly the idea of journeying to New Hampshire to visit friends seemed a bad idea indeed. Was it only minutes ago—perhaps no more than thirty—when Sarah and her ward had been seated beside the lake, calmly washing up after their noonday meal? It seemed hours ago.
But that was when they had first caught a glimpse of the enemy. Had it not been for the silver dish that she had left at the water’s edge, the enemy might have passed them by. But it was not to be.
The Ottawa had spotted the dish. They had investigated. And now, because of her own error, she had taken another’s life.
The killing of another human being was not an action to be entered into lightly. But it had been kill or be killed. Ultimately for her, there was no going back now.
The sound of rushing water, of the pounding roar of the waterfall, drowned out her thoughts. Indeed, she could now see the danger. Rapids. Surely Black Eagle wasn’t thinking of braving the rapids, was he?
Instinctively, Sarah leaned toward the shoreline, as though by sheer inclination alone she might steer the boat in that direction. An arrow hit at the water, scraping her hand. Close; much too close. Perhaps the rapids were their only means of escape after all. Black Eagle must be thinking so, for he was steering their canoe directly toward the source of that noise.
Again Sarah’s heart jumped into her throat.
Meanwhile the canoe picked up speed, heading toward the waterfall at a pace Sarah knew was deadly. Marisa was still leaning back into Sarah’s arms, and Sarah instinctively tightened her hold on her friend. There was no changing course now. The speed of the water had them within its grips.
Sarah threw a look over her shoulder. Even now the enemy was almost upon them.
Truly it was a test. Which would come first: the watery death on the rapids, or the sure hand of the Ottawas?
The velocity of the current pushed at them and thrust them one way and then the other, taking them into an ever faster speed toward the noise that signified the end: the waterfall.
Another well-aimed arrow knocked against the canoe’s lining, barely missing Sarah’s shoulder. Was the enemy, too, chancing the rapids? Sarah glanced back again, this time hurriedly. No, the French and Ottawa were turning back, paddling their boat toward the southern shore of the lake. Sarah inhaled deeply. But her relief was short-lived.
Before them lay perhaps a greater danger and surely as deadly a hazard as the Ottawa.
Sarah watched as Black Eagle struggled to turn their canoe toward the northern shoreline, away from the enemy, but the currents pulled him back.
“Damn!” Black Eagle muttered. The curse word seemed unusual coming from his lips. In all their adventures so far on the trail, Sarah had never heard him utter anything but the more formal speech. She watched helplessly as Black Eagle set his paddle into the water once again, struggling toward the northern shoreline. But he had no more than set his course when a hidden eddy took hold of their canoe and swung it round and round.
Then the worst happened: The canoe rocked back and forth unnaturally, and Sarah, looking back over her shoulder, was startled that Thompson had come up onto his knees and was struggling forward. Then it came. Reaching down, he grabbed Marisa out of Sarah’s grasp.
Instinctively, Sarah tugged at Marisa, trying to keep hold of her. When that failed, she used all her strength to pummel Thompson with her fists, but he was much too big and strong, and he kept a grasp on Marisa despite all of Sarah’s attempts to thwart him. It looked bad. He raised Marisa up high, to his shoulder level, and would have thrown her from the canoe, into the lethal undercurrents of the eddy had Sarah not bitten his arm.
Thompson and Marisa screamed at the same time, but Sarah clutched at Marisa and Marisa fell back into the canoe, guided by Sarah’s hand. Bu
t Thompson didn’t give up. He grabbed hold of Marisa again.
At last Black Eagle, who seemed to have had been centering his effort in the struggle to save their canoe, became aware of the fight. Throwing down his paddle, he surged back toward the skirmish to confront Thompson.
Thompson had no choice now but to let Marisa go, and the two men, fighting in an upright position, sent the boat rocking so greatly that Sarah feared it would tip over and throw them all into the tumultuous water.
By the good luck of the Lord, it didn’t happen. However, their fate appeared to hang on the ability of a single man, Black Eagle, to best a man who was both bigger and stronger than he.
Thompson raised a knife; Black Eagle blocked Thompson’s hand, thrusting the man’s arm high in the air. Each struggled for supremacy. The canoe lurched precariously against the currents, and both Sarah and Marisa used their energy to keep the boat afloat.
The struggle pitched the canoe out of the eddy. However, the forceful motion hurled the boat more furiously than ever into the rushing current, washing the canoe steadily toward the thundering sound of the rapids. Just how high was this waterfall?
The two men didn’t notice, locked as they were in their own deadly struggle. Thompson launched out at Black Eagle, socking him in the jaw. The blow knocked Black Eagle backward, but he recovered easily and shot forward, catching hold of Thompson’s arm and raising it again high in the air.
Both men fell down into the canoe, Thompson looked up, and Sarah was witness to the horror that came instantly onto his face. Without further pretense at the fight, Thompson let go of Black Eagle. Immediately, he dived over the edge of the canoe, disappearing into swirling streams of water.
Black Eagle, who was still obviously in the throes of battle, must have briefly felt the urge to do the same—to take the conflict into the water’s fatal depths. But with a quick look about him, sanity must have returned to him.
Glancing forward, Sarah beheld the look of dread that fell over Black Eagle’s features. It was obvious: Their boat was on a one-way path to the falls.
They were doomed.
Sarah watched as Black Eagle knelt down beside Marisa. Within his gaze was so much love and admiration that Sarah felt as though she were an intruder in something utterly private. It was as if Black Eagle were saying to Marisa that were this to be his last moment on earth, by looks alone, he would shower her with adoration.
And Marisa appeared to be of a similar frame of mind. Her look matched his. Sarah glanced away, feeling as if she were trespassing.
It couldn’t last, however. Time wouldn’t allow it. When Black Eagle at last jerked his gaze away, Sarah watched as he scanned the scene in front of the group. Instantly he sat up, alert.
“Take Sarah’s arm!” he yelled to Marisa. “Don’t let go!” He stood to his feet.
Marisa and Sarah exchanged a gaze. They immediately took hold of each other.
Then it happened. Sarah watched as Black Eagle grasped hold of Marisa’s arm. “Hold tight to me!” he ordered. “Use all your strength, both of you. Use everything in you, but don’t let go!”
Marisa and Sarah nodded.
Meanwhile, their boat, caught in the currents, tipped over the edge of the falls. Both Marisa and Sarah screamed. But it wasn’t over, not yet.
There was a branch that Sarah hadn’t noticed. It was a strong and sturdy part of a mighty oak tree. The branch had extended out over the falls. If Black Eagle could but hold of it with his arm . . .
He did it. Black Eagle seized hold of the tree limb at the same moment their canoe would have carried them past it.
The force of the motion jerked all three from the canoe, and there they hung, each one dangling from the other’s grasp. Were they saved? Sarah couldn’t say with certainty. She was holding on precariously to Marisa, who was, in turn, grasping Black Eagle. But the force of the movement out of the canoe swung both the women back and forth, causing Sarah’s grip to slacken.
There they hung. Thank goodness Indians were conditioned to carry heavy loads, for Black Eagle held them both with only one arm. Then, using their natural momentum, Black Eagle began to swing them both toward the shore. Sarah looked. It wasn’t that far away.
“Hold on!” Black Eagle shouted. “I’m going to sweep you both to shore!”
She slipped.
“I can’t!” hollered Sarah, crying, bringing up her other hand to obtain a better grip. “I can’t keep hold. It’s too slippery!”
“Nyoh, you can! You must!”
“I’m trying to, but—”
“She’s slipping away from me!” It was Marisa.
“I’ve got you!” Black Eagle yelled at her. “Keep hold! Keep hold!”
But Sarah’s hands were too wet, as were Marisa’s. Though Sarah tried with all her might, her grip was loosening. Meanwhile, Black Eagle was pitching them toward shore with all his might, but Sarah’s strength was failing. She was crying.
However, Marisa wouldn’t let go. “Sarah! Keep hold!”
It was not to be. With a deafening scream, Sarah’s grip broke and she fell, her screams echoing over the rushing water, drowning out for the moment the sounds of the pounding weight of the falls.
The last thought she had as she swooped down into the water was that she had failed in her duty—she would not be there to chaperone Marisa and Black Eagle. Indeed, her fate now lay elsewhere.
Two
The sun was a low, pinkish-orange orb in the sky, announcing its departure from the day in glorious streaks of multicolored sunlight. Shafts of light, streaming from the clouds, beamed down to the earth, looking as though heaven itself smiled kindly upon the land. And what a magnificent land it was. The birch trees were yellow, the maples red, and the oaks announced their descent into a long, winter’s sleep with multicolored oranges and golds. The hills were alive with autumn hues, while the air was filled with the rich, musky scent of falling leaves.
Into this world of beauty came the delicate and pale figure of a woman, looking as though she had been plopped down on a large, flat rock. To a casual eye, it might have appeared as though she were engaged in nothing as untoward as taking in the sun. However, closer inspection would have shown that she had only recently been washed to shore.
Soon, the lone figure of a man emerged from the forest. Buckskin clad, he was tall, black-haired and brown-skinned, with a mohawk hairstyle that hung long and well past his shoulders in back. He’d been hunting this day, very far from his home. From deep within the forest, he’d felt the breeze and heard the rustle of the water. These things had called to him.
Stepping quietly toward the lake, he looked up, his gaze one of admiration for the splendor of the woodlands. Squatting down and setting his musket onto his lap, he bent over to partake of a drink from the water’s cool depths.
Instantly he sat up, alert. From out the corner of his eye he’d caught the movement of something, and glancing toward it, he recognized a piece of clothing; it was a woman’s skirt. Rising up, he stepped toward it to get a better look, if only to satisfy his curiosity.
That’s when he saw her. She was a white woman, blond-haired and slim.
Was she alive?
Hauling himself up onto the rock where she lay, he stepped toward her and bent to look at her. He placed his fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. Her body was so very, very cold, and he was more than a little surprised when he felt the sure sign of life within her.
The pulse was weak, but it was still there.
Turning her slightly, he was surprised at her pale beauty. Of course, being Seneca and from the Ohio Valley, he’d had opportunity to witness the unusual skin color of the white people. But it wasn’t as familiar a sight to him as one might reckon.
Who was she? How had she gotten here? And what had happened to her?
Glancing in all directions, he took in the spectacular sights of the forest. Where did she belong? Who did she belong to?
There was nothing here to answer him; nothin
g to be seen, no other human presence to be felt. There was nothing but the ever expansive rhythm of nature.
Using his right hand to brush her hair back from her face, he noted again how cold she was, however, he couldn’t help but be aware of how soft her skin was, as well. Putting his fingers against her nostrils, he could feel the weak intake and outflow of breath. She was alive, barely.
Did he dare take her away from here? A white woman?
He hesitated and waited. He watched. Nyoh, he was the only one here, the only one to settle her fate.
That decided him. If she were to live through the night, he had best take care of her. She needed warmth, nourishment and a chance to heal.
Bending down, he spread his hands over her torso. Depending on the type of injury he might discover, he would either nurse her here or take her to a more protected spot. He ran his hands gently down each of her arms, including her hands and fingers. He felt for anything broken but found nothing.
Spreading his fingers wide, he sent his touch down the sides of her ribs, ignoring her ample breasts. Though his scrutiny was fast, it was thorough. Were there any bruises? Was anything broken? Amazingly, he found nothing.
He continued his search down each of her legs. Surely, he thought, there must be some clue that would tell of her recent history. Perhaps she had broken her neck or back? Gently, he tested the theory, sending his fingertips down over the muscles and bone structure of her neck. Nothing. Nothing substantial to indicate a problem that would claim her life. Turning her lightly onto her side, he felt along her spinal column. Several bones were out of place, but nothing was broken. Her body seemed intact.
He frowned. Again, he wondered what had happened to her.
Was it the spirits of the water? The falls? This was a dangerous area. Had the force of the rapids claimed another victim?
But why would she have been near the falls? A white woman in the woods alone? His jaw clenched. There had to be someone close by. But, glancing up and looking askance again, he realized that the puzzle of her appearance would not be solved here. His examination of her had at least established one fact: She was fit to travel.