[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Quickly she drew the laces together and tied the canvas as tightly as she
could. Straining her ears, she heard no sound but the roaring of the wind and
the sea. She huddled with the others, frightened as they were that the wagon
might tip over.
Suppose ... just suppose they all tried it? Suppose they went now, suddenly,
running into the forest? They'd be drenched to the skin within minutes, and in
their heavy clothes they would not be able to move swiftly enough, yet ...
Quickly, she went to the back of the wagon. She started to unfasten the laces
when a rough voice said, "Just you set back an' set tight, ma'am. Ain't nobody
goin' no place!"
Too late! In the confusion of the storm they had been forgotten, an oversight
now taken care of.
She moved away. Had Jesse made it? Or was he lying out there now, stabbed or
bayoneted to death, lying in the mud and slush, breathing his last?
It had been a good thought, but it had come too late. And just as well they
had not gone with Jesse, for they would only have been an encumbrance, slowing
him down until he, too, was taken or killed.
They could only wait ...
Ten
For one moment after his feet hit the ground, Jesse took a quick look around.
Nobody was in sight. There were only the two wagons, the horses standing
heads down in the driving rain, and a few scattered tracks showing where the
men had fled for shelter in that first, fierce thrust of the storm. On the
edge of the forest several trees had been blown down in a bygone storm, and
Page 46
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
their trunks had been covered by debris, forming a natural shed that offered
at least partial shelter.
The one look was all he needed. Jesse plunged into the forest, ran
desperately hard, tripped over a root, and fell sprawling into the mud and
leaves. Scrambling up, he took a hasty look around.
A man was moving toward the wagon from which he had just come! Jesse ran into
the forest, ducking and dodging among the trees, his face lashed by blown
branches and whipped by the driving rain. He fell again, got up again,
glimpsed what seemed to be an opening and dove into it, running hard.
Distance ... distance was what he needed now. After that he could stop and
look for a place to hide.
Where would Dal be, and Mac? Had they found shelter, or were they out in the
storm?
He ran until he was gasping for breath, then fell against a tree, almost
strangled by blown rain. He clung to the tree, then ran on. Time and again he
fell, sometimes tripping, sometimes slipping. Weaving among the trees as he
must he could not tell how far he had come.
This was snake country, but he need not fear them for they would have been
smart enough to find shelter before this storm hit. As he ran, his mind began
to work. The first blind panic gone, he tried to think, to decide what he must
do, where he must look for his brothers.
Running as he had, the thought came to mind of an old argument he and his
brothers had often debated, whether one ran because he was afraid or was
afraid because he ran. For running contributed to fear, he was sure of that
now. Deliberately, he forced himself to slow down, to look, to see where he
was going.
He needed to find his brothers, but he also needed shelter, a place to hide,
and weapons of some kind. The forest offered nothing beyond a club or a sharp
stick, but there were plenty of both. Wind whipped the trees, and the driving
rain continued. If he stopped to catch a breath he ended with a mouth full of
water.
He stopped, leaned against a huge old cypress, and tried to rest a moment.
Escaping had been his only chance. As long as he remained with the girls
there was no way in which he could help, and once they examined him again they
would discover he was no longer badly hurt and could be imprisoned somewhere
away from the girls. Now that he was free he must do what he could.
His brothers would not be far away. They would be within striking distance of
the wagons, and probably where they could easily come within watching distance
of the route the caravan would take when it started for the beach.
He tried to orient himself. He had run west, he believed, away from the
shore, and although he had twisted and turned his general direction had been
west. So what he must now do was to turn north or south and try to discover
their hiding place. South would be best, for that was the direction in which
the wagons would be moving.
If only he had a gun! Or even a knife with which to cut something, to form
some kind of a weapon. He could make a bow and arrow. He had often made crude
ones as a child, but they had been used to kill small animals when hunting. He
Page 47
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
could build one now that had greater power. But it would take time, more time
than he was likely to have.
Once it was discovered that he had escaped, would they come hunting him? It
was possible, but doubtful. There was an urgency about those men, a need to
push on, to get something done, to meet their ship.
Wiping the streaming water from his eyes, he looked around, then turned left
and started walking into the woods. He kept stumbling and slipping, for the
earth was soggy with rain, and there were many exposed roots and fallen trees.
He was, he realized suddenly, desperately tired. His wound had caused loss of
blood, and he had not regained his strength. Before he went much further, he
must think of rest, of a place to hole up and shelter himself.
He stumbled on, pausing to lean against a tree from time to time to choose
his way. He was very weak. He had not realized how weak, for lying in the
wagon there had been no way to test his strength or stamina. Yet he was free,
for the moment at least, and he must find his brothers and some way to help
the girls.
Lightning flashed, and there was a crash of thunder. He believed he could see
a partial track, the indentation of a boot heel. He started in the direction
indicated.
Mac and Dal were both tall men, and each had a good stride. So allowing for
that he began to search for further tracks and after a few minutes found what
appeared to be a track, although it was almost erased by the rain. Pushing on,
he walked for some distance and was in despair over losing the trail when he
saw another track, clearly defined and probably less than a half hour old.
They would not continue in this storm but would find a shelter somewhere or
build one. In this forest it would be simple to build a shelter and then cover
the muddy earth with boughs. . . .
He saw the bars of a corral first, then a shed, and beyond it, a tumbled-down
log cabin.
He hesitated, wary of a trap. The rain had eased for the moment, and he
crouched, watching the cabin intently. He heard a horse blow. Swiftly, he
moved to another tree, putting the shed between himself and the cabin. Then he
ducked between the poles of the old corral and came up to the shed and peered
between the logs.
The first horse was Bonnie Prince, the horse Dal had ridden away to war.
They were here then, but he must approach with caution. Who else might be
there he did not know, nor whether they were free or prisoners, or even if
they were not here at all and the horse had merely been stolen.
His brothers were quick to shoot, but he was not worried about that. He knew
them too well. They would never shoot at anything they could not identify.
Waiting just an instant longer, he dashed for the corner of the cabin and
paused, flattened out against it. From inside he heard Dal speaking.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]