The Wilderness Road

by James Reasoner

  "I ain't goin'," Powell said. "I'm just too . . . wore out. Goin' to sit down here by this crick an' . . . have me a little rest."

  Davis's frown deepened. "What about the bandits?"

  "Ain't likely they'll . . . find any of us. They're probably . . . still back up on the mountain . . . tryin' to figure out how you two got out of that cave." Powell leaned against the trunk of a small tree and slid down it with a groan until he was sitting at its base. "If they do come along, I'll . . . slow 'em down for you."

  "With what? One knife?"

  Powell chuckled. "I'm better with a knife . . . than any of those boys are with flintlocks. I'll be . . . all right, Davis."

  "Damn it, Conn—"

  "I didn't . . . give you leave . . . to call me by that name," Powell said. His voice seemed to be weakening even more. "Now go on . . . ge' out of here . . ."

  Davis swallowed hard and looked over at Emily. Both of them knew what Powell meant. He was dying, and he didn't want to hold them back. His reprieve from death had only been a temporary one, and he had spent the time he had been given rescuing them from the bandit gang. If they disobeyed him, if they threw away their lives now, his sacrifice would have been for nothing.

  Davis nodded to Emily. She knelt beside Powell and put her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Powell," she said softly.

  "You're . . . mighty welcome . . . ma'am." Powell lifted his own hand and awkwardly patted Emily's. "You know that . . . Davis here . . . he's in love with you . . . don't you?"

  Emily looked up at Davis. "I . . . I . . . "

  "Ne' mind," Powell said. "Ain't none o' . . . my business. Jus' . . . stay alive . . . both of you."

  "We will," Davis promised. "Thank you."

  "G'wan . . . git."

  There was nothing else to say. Davis reached down, took hold of Emily's hand, and helped her to her feet. His fingers squeezed tightly on hers for a moment as they both looked down at the half-conscious man sitting beside the tree. Davis knew they would never see him again, but at least he had given them a chance for life.

  They couldn't waste it now.

  "Come on," he said to Emily, and they walked quickly, hand in hand, along the edge of the creek. When Davis looked back a moment later, he had already lost sight of the tree where Conn Powell was resting for the final time.

  * * *

  Even in the darkness, the creek was easy to follow because of the rushing sound of the water. Davis held Emily's hand in one hand and carried the flintlock with the broken stock in the other. They moved as quickly as possible, making their way through the brush and trees along the bank of the stream, until Davis judged they had put at least another mile behind them. Then he stopped and made sure the flintlock was loaded and charged. If they managed to elude the bandits, it was unlikely they would run into any other trouble that would require the use of the weapon, but Davis wanted to be ready just in case. There were Shawnee in these parts, he knew that for a fact.

  Davis listened intently for any sounds of pursuit, but other than the normal noises—which ceased when he and Emily got close enough to the birds and small animals that made them—the night was quiet.

  Until suddenly, the distant boom of a shot came to their ears, followed by several more. Emily gasped and stopped short, her fingers tightening on Davis's. Davis turned his head and stared back in the direction from which they had come, but it was impossible to see anything.

  "Do you think they found Mr. Powell?" Emily asked in a half-whisper.

  "I'd say it's likely," Davis replied. Regret stole through him. They should have stayed with Powell, he thought for a second. Then, the foolishness of that wild impulse became clear to him. If he and Emily had stayed, all three of them would have died. It would have all been for nothing.

  He tugged on Emily's hand and said, "Let's go. Powell just bought us some more time. We have to use it."

  If the bandits had just found Powell, that meant they were still several miles behind Davis and Emily. Davis felt hope growing inside him. It couldn't be too much farther back to the Wilderness Road. They ought to be reaching that hill Powell had told them about any time now. And there was a narrow band of gray in the sky to the east, signifying that dawn was approaching. Powell had said for them to wait on the hill until the sun came up, then head due south. Davis wasn't sure they would have to linger that long. He could locate south once sunrise was a little closer.

  Emily began to stumble a little now and then, and Davis couldn't blame her. They had been traveling at a hard pace ever since escaping from the cave. She had to be exhausted. Davis certainly was. But he kept putting one foot in front of the other, unwilling to slow down.

  Finally, Emily stopped, pulling her hand free from Davis's grip. "I can't keep going," she said breathlessly. "I have to rest a little while."

  Davis glanced at the sky, saw that the arch of gray in the east was now tinged with red. He saw something else, too. Up ahead of them, perhaps a hundred yards away, was a small hill topped by a pair of trees.

  "There's the place Powell told us about," he said, pointing to the hilltop. "If you can make it that far, we can rest."

  Emily was swaying back and forth slightly. She stiffened her shoulders and managed to nod. "I can make it."

  Davis took her hand again. "I thought you could."

  They set off, moving more slowly now, and trudged up the slope to the trees. Davis sat down, put his back against one of the tree trunks, and let Emily sit down and lean against him. The back of her head rested on his left shoulder, leaving his right arm free. He kept the flintlock clutched in that hand, just in case.

  Emily sighed heavily as she closed her eyes and settled back against him. Davis longed to stroke her hair, but he didn't want to let go of the gun. He settled for moving his head so that her hair seemed to caress his cheek.

  "Davis," she said in a soft, sleepy voice, "was Mr. Powell right?"

  "About us getting away?" he asked.

  "No. About you being in love with me."

  Davis's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't known Emily for very long, didn't really know her well. And despite everything Faith had done to help bring her fate down on her head, Davis still mourned for her. He had been completely convinced that any capacity for love he possessed had died that cold day along with his wife.

  But he knew now that wasn't true, had never been true, even in the darkest days. He had never stopped loving his children, even though they were lost to him forever. And the feelings that had grown up inside him for Emily had taught him that not everything in his soul had died along with Faith.

  "Powell was right," he whispered. "I love you, Emily."

  She sighed, and even after the horrible ordeal they had endured, he knew it was a sound of contentment. "I love you, too," she said. His left arm went around her, tightened.

  They fell asleep that way, as dawn rushed toward the wilderness from the east.

  * * *

  He hadn't meant to doze off, and when the sharp crack of a foot stepping on a branch woke him, he knew right away what a terrible mistake he had made.

  "Ain't that a pretty sight?" a man's voice said.

  Davis's eyes flew open as he instinctively pulled Emily closer. She had shifted around while they were both asleep so that she was halfway facing toward him now, the side of her face pillowed against his chest. She stirred, and Davis said, "Don't move, Emily."

  That made her gasp in fear. She would have been even more frightened if she had been able to see the man standing about ten feet in front of them. He was a rawboned, lantern-jawed man with ginger chin whiskers and a nose that had been broken and twisted sometime in the past. Davis recognized him as one of the bandits. He seemed to be alone at the moment, but that situation wasn't likely to last.

  "Thought you could get away, didn't you?" the man said with a sneer. "Don't know how you found that other tunnel, or how somebody like you managed to kill Shadrach, but it ain't goin' to do you any good. You're comin' back to the
cave with me, both of you."

  The man had a rifle in his hands, but he held it casually, the barrel pointing at the ground about halfway between him and his newfound prisoners. Davis was stunned at his lack of vigilance until he realized that a fold of Emily's long skirt had fallen over the flintlock with the broken stock when she moved around in her sleep.

  The bandit didn't know Davis had a gun.

  Davis's hand was still on the rifle, although his grip had relaxed. Now he tightened it unobtrusively, all too aware that he would get only one chance to use the weapon. The bandit took a step forward, his amused expression vanishing to be replaced by a scowl as he started to lift his rifle and said, "Get on up, now. I'm tired of chasin' after—"

  Davis didn't wait for him to finish. He tilted up the barrel of the flintlock and pulled back the hammer as he raised the rifle. Emily gave a short, involuntary scream as he pressed the trigger and the flintlock roared, firing through her dress.

  The ball caught the outlaw in the chest and threw him back, his face contorting in shock and pain. He dropped his own rifle as he sprawled on the ground. Davis shoved Emily aside, dropped the now-empty flintlock, and sprang after the bandit. He yanked out the knife Powell had given him and drove it again and again into the bandit's body, gripped in a frenzy unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Crimson splattered his hand and forearm as the knife rose and fell.

  Then he became aware that Emily was holding his shoulders and saying urgently, "That's enough, Davis, that's enough! He's dead! We've got to get out of here!"

  She was right, of course, and the realization finally penetrated Davis's hate-fogged brain. He shuddered, then nodded his head in understanding. Pulling the knife free from the bandit's mutilated body, he wiped off the blood on the grass of the hillside, then picked up the man's fallen rifle. It was loaded and unfired, and it would serve him better than the rifle with the broken stock.

  Davis intended to take the broken gun with them anyway. He picked it up and handed it to Emily then he reached back down to the body and pulled the powderhorn and shot bag off the bandit’s body, then he stood up. "Come on," he said. "The others must've heard that shot, and they're probably not far off."

  He glanced at the sun to confirm the direction, then started off toward the south. It was still early in the morning, and he judged the sun hadn't been up for more than an hour. The two of them moved at a trot, anxious to reach the Wilderness Road and find the wagon train.

  A shout sounded somewhere behind them. Davis glanced back and saw several men running through the trees. Emily saw them, too, and cried out in alarm.

  "Come on!" Davis urged her as he broke into a run. He kept her hand locked firmly in his. He wasn't going to leave her behind. If the bandits caught up to them, he would sell his life dearly defending her.

  Then, suddenly, he heard the sound of hooves over his own thundering heartbeat. Several riders swept out of the trees in front of them, and pistols cracked. Davis threw Emily to the ground and stood over her, shielding her with his body. The horsemen were practically on top of them.

  The riders raced past, but not before Davis saw Colonel Tobias Welles and Captain Harding and Asa and several other men he recognized from the work crew and the wagon train. They must have heard the shot, too, and came to investigate, thinking that it might be the rescue party returning.

  Well, that was true, Davis thought as he lifted Emily back to her feet and put his arms around her. The two of them were all that was left.

  "Davis, that . . . that was my father!" Emily said.

  "I know."

  "Then . . . we're safe? It's over?"

  Davis looked over his shoulder as more shots sounded. The bandits were fleeing, disappearing back into the savage wilderness from which they had come.

  "Yes," Davis said quietly, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her face to his. "This part is over . . . and everything else is just beginning."

  Chapter 15

  This time, Davis received a warmer welcome at the wagon train than he or any of the other men from the work crew had gotten so far. He had brought Emily back safely, something that no one had really expected.

  "We ought to go find our men who died and give them a decent burial," Colonel Welles said with a frown when Davis had told him everything that had happened.

  Davis was sitting with the colonel beside one of the cooking fires in the wagon train camp, sipping gratefully from a cup of hot tea. He said, "Aye, but if you did that, you might be walking right into another ambush. Those bandits will be mighty angry about everything that happened."

  "Davis is right," Captain Harding said. "Much as I hate to abandon the bodies of our friends, I think we should push on and not tempt fate."

  Welles nodded slowly. "I had some of the same concerns." He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. "All right, I'll get the men back to work, and we'll proceed as quickly as possible. It may be difficult, though, since we've lost several men."

  "Let me replace them," Harding offered. "I'm sure I can find some young men here in the wagon train who'd be glad to help. They can swing an ax or anything else you need."

  "And some men to stand guard," Davis suggested. "Just in case we run into more bandits, or the Shawnee."

  "An excellent idea," Welles said. He smiled faintly. "This has been a tragedy, of course, but you have to admit, Captain—we're working together now."

  "That we are," Harding agreed. "I reckon we've all learned that's the only way to survive out here."

  Davis was glad to see the improved relations between the immigrants and the work crew, although, like the colonel, he wished the circumstances which had brought the two groups together had been less bloody and tragic. At least Emily had come through the ordeal relatively unharmed. That mattered more to him than anything else.

  Emily had disappeared inside the Harding wagon with her mother when they reached the camp, and Davis didn't know when he would see her again. In the meantime, there was work to do. He drained the last of the tea from his cup and stood up. "Let me get my ax, Colonel," he said to Welles, "and I'll be ready to get back to work."

  The officer looked at him in disbelief. "Davis, it hasn't even been twelve hours since you were a prisoner of those bandits!" Welles exclaimed. "Don't you think you should get some rest?"

  "I’ll be all right," Davis insisted. "Besides, you said we're short-handed—"

  "Don't you even think about it, lad," Harding said sternly. "You're going to take it easy for a day or two. Nothing's too good for the man who saved my daughter from certain death."

  Davis was about to object that Conn Powell deserved more of the credit for saving Emily than he did, but at that moment, Emily herself climbed out of the back of the Harding wagon and came toward Davis. She had changed her dress, replacing the torn, gunpowder-scorched garment with a fresh one. Her hair had been brushed, and she had washed the grime off her face. Davis thought she looked beautiful. He could have stood there and watched her for hours.

  She came up to him and put a hand on his arm. "I heard some of that discussion," she said. "You should rest. You deserve it."

  "Well . . . I don't suppose a man with any sense should be arguing with a gal as pretty as you."

  Emily smiled in surprise and pleasure. "Are you flirting with me, sir?"

  To his astonishment, Davis realized that he was. A grin spread slowly across his face. "I reckon I am."

  "Good," Emily said. "Now, go back to your camp, get some rest, and come back here this evening for supper." She looked at Captain Harding. "Is that all right with you, Father?"

  "It sure is," Harding said. He stood up and slapped Davis's shoulder. "You're welcome here any time, son."

  Davis thought about the way Hammond Larrimore had treated him. Captain Harding hadn't been too friendly starting out, either, but his attitude had changed. Larrimore's never had.

  Change was sometimes a good thing, Davis decided as he said his goodbyes and started back t
oward the other camp with Colonel Welles. His old life had been destroyed, and he was still filled with sharp regrets for what had been lost. But now he had a chance to build a new life.

  No matter what it took, he was going to make this one work.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, the government work crew, aided by an ample supply of volunteers from the wagon train, reached Logan's Fort, the terminus of the Wilderness Road. If anything, progress had been faster following the raid by the bandit gang and Emily's rescue—the new spirit of cooperation between the immigrants and the workers made that possible. Everyone was thrilled to reach the end of the journey.

  Except Davis Hallam.

  The past couple of weeks had been better for him than he could have dreamed possible a few months earlier. The work was still hard, of course, and his muscles sometimes ached at the end of a long day swinging an ax. But he could look forward to the evenings with Emily and her family. The meals prepared by Emily and her mother, the singing around the campfire, the new-found camaraderie between the two groups . . . all of those things made Davis feel as if he truly belonged where he was. And then there was the courting . . .

  He was too old for such things, he told himself, but the stern mental admonition did no good. Walking with Emily under the trees, holding her hand, stealing a quick kiss in the shadows, all the little rituals that went with a man and a woman coming to know each other had Davis in a constant state of emotional turmoil. But it was incredibly delicious turmoil, and he welcomed every moment of it.

  Now it was coming to an end. As the wagons rolled into the good-sized settlement that had grown up around the original fort, he felt his heart sinking. It was over, and he had no idea what to expect next.

  Davis was leaning on his ax after felling what would likely be the last tree that would have to be chopped down. The Harding wagon and several of the others in the train had already gone past him. Colonel Welles rode up and reined in. "Be sure to come by the trading post and collect the rest of your pay, Davis," he said with a grin. "You've earned it. All the men have."