American Challenge

by Susan Martins Miller

  Before she could say a word, he held his finger to his lips for silence. The alarmed expression on his face made her bite back the words that rose to her lips. She turned Silverstreak around and rode her back up the path, then tied her to a tree. Gingerly Betsy walked toward George, who was still staring at her with huge eyes.

  She tiptoed to his hiding place.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “There’s a strange man on the boat,” George whispered back.

  “Probably just another traveler.”

  “I don’t think so. Look!”

  Betsy peeked around the side of the tree at the boat. It was a good two hundred yards down to the water’s edge, and she couldn’t see details clearly, but the stance of the men signaled danger. Father, Uncle Paul, and Marley faced the man. Mother and Aunt Eleanor hovered near the opening to the covered area.

  “What are they doing?” George asked.

  “I don’t know.” She saw the setting sun reflect off something in the stranger’s hand. Betsy gasped. “I think he’s got a gun.”

  “Is he robbing them?”

  “We’ve got to do something. He might hurt them.”

  “What can we do?” George asked.

  “Let me think. Did you find the salt lick? Did you see any men there?”

  “No, I didn’t get that far. Jefferson chased a squirrel, and I had to chase him.”

  “So there’s no help there. If we run down to the boat, he’ll see us and that won’t do any good.”

  “We need to catch him by surprise and tie him up,” George whispered. Betsy nodded. She looked around for another boat or a little skiff, but their flatboat was the only one on the river.

  “How do you suppose he got here? By foot?” Betsy asked in a hushed whisper.

  “Must have. He’ll have to come up the path, won’t he?”

  “He should. Where’s Jefferson?”

  “I tied him to a tree back there,” he motioned through the woods but off the path. “Once I saw that man, I didn’t want Jefferson barking. Look!”

  Father was handing the man something, probably money they had saved to start over in Cincinnati. The man stuffed it in a bag and waved the gun around. Betsy could hear him speak, but she couldn’t make out the words. From his arm motions, she guessed he was telling them to stay on the boat.

  “Can you get Jefferson’s rope without making him bark?” she asked. “Maybe we can trip him. One of us on each side of the path, and we’ll jerk it up when he passes.”

  Without saying a word, George sneaked back into the woods. A couple minutes later he was back with the rope.

  “I told Jefferson to stay.”

  “The man’s leaving,” Betsy whispered. “Give me that end.” She silently crawled across the path and hid behind a large oak. Leaning back into the trail, she covered the rope with some leaves, cringing when they made a rustling sound. George buried the rope on his side of the path.

  “When he gets to this spot, pull on it,” Betsy said.

  She peeked around the tree and saw the man jump off the dock and bolt toward them. He wasn’t fifty feet away when Jefferson barked. That dog again! The robber paused a second and cocked his head as if listening. Jefferson barked again, and this time the sound was farther away. He was probably chasing another squirrel. The man seemed satisfied that nothing was coming his way and scurried forward.

  Betsy held her breath as she listened to the man’s running steps crackle the leaves that littered the path. He came closer, closer. When he was almost upon them, she glanced across the path at George. He was staring at her, his huge eyes the only thing she noticed on his face.

  “Now!” Betsy yelled, and they both jerked on the rope.

  The man let out a curse as he fell. Before he could struggle to his feet, George jumped on his back, and Betsy wound the rope around his legs. The man shook George off, but when he finally managed to stand, the rope made him stumble again, and down he went.

  “Get him!” Betsy shouted and jumped on his back along with George.

  “Betsy! George!” Father called. The three men came running up the sloping path.

  Marley reached them first and pounced on the man. Father tied the man’s hands behind his back with one end of the rope, leaving the other end wound around his legs.

  Then Father grabbed Betsy and held her close. “We were so frightened that he would find you out here,” he said.

  “We got him good,” George bragged.

  “You sure did,” Uncle Paul assured his son as he hugged him.

  Marley picked up the bag the robber had carried. “I believe we’ll be taking this back.” He reached inside the man’s coat and pulled out the gun. “I don’t believe you’ll be needing this where you’re going.” He turned to the other two men. “We can turn him over to the law in Adamsville.”

  “I’ll get Silverstreak,” Betsy said and explained where he was tied up. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  The men hustled the prisoner back down the path to the boat.

  “Jefferson!” George called. He whistled, but there was no sound from the woods. “Jefferson!”

  “Which way do you think he went?” Betsy asked.

  “Back toward the salt lick, I think,” George said and started up the path.

  “Hop on, and we’ll find him,” Betsy said.

  “I’ll walk,” George said.

  “Suit yourself.” Betsy moved ahead on Silverstreak and called for Jefferson. Who would have thought she’d have to be looking for that dog? But George had captured the robber by getting Jefferson’s rope and setting the dog free. It was the least she could do.

  At the fork in the path, Betsy turned toward the west. “Jefferson,” she called. As soon as the woods gave way to clear fields, Betsy urged Silverstreak into a canter. If George and Jefferson had come here before, it seemed logical that the dog would return, unless something else or some other animal claimed his attention.

  Soon she could no longer hear George yelling and whistling back in the woods. The sun was nearly down. Riding in the dark on unknown ground was dangerous. A mile later she turned the horse around and retraced her steps, although she still hadn’t found the dog.

  She saw George walking along the edge of the woods, still whistling and calling for his dog.

  “We have to get back to the boat,” Betsy told him. “But Jefferson’s out here somewhere.”

  “We’ll find him tomorrow, first thing. Hurry, it’s getting darker by the minute. Jefferson’s a smart dog. He’ll be all right.”

  George yelled for his dog all the way back to the boat, but there was no telltale barking in response. He lumbered onto the boat. The eyes that had been saucer sized an hour earlier were now small with pain. Betsy knew how she’d feel if it had been Silverstreak out there alone, and she patted George on the back.

  “We’ll find him tomorrow,” she said and explained to the others that they hadn’t found the dog.

  “He’ll get hungry and come looking for us,” Aunt Eleanor told her son.

  Betsy groomed Silverstreak, then joined the family for prayer before another meal of beans.

  “Thank you, God, for delivering us from evil,” Father ended grace. “And please help us find Jefferson, so that we may reward him for giving us his rope.”

  The prisoner was tied to a post on the side opposite the dock. Father untied his hands so he could eat then retied them.

  “Jefferson!” George called toward shore every few minutes.

  In desperation to get him to stop yelling, Betsy pulled out her violin. Jefferson had always howled when he heard her play. She’d thought of him as a bad critic, one more strike against him, but Father had explained that dogs seemed to hear high pitches better than people, and that he probably liked the high notes she reached.

  She played songs with high clear notes and was about to put away the violin for the night when she heard a bark from the woods.

  “Jefferson!” she said.

&
nbsp; George must have heard him, too. He was already on his feet and reaching for the lantern. Uncle Paul followed his son.

  “Jefferson!” George called. He whistled for his dog as he jumped off the boat onto the dock. “Here, boy.”

  Betsy could hear the dog rustling leaves as he bounded down the path, barking and yelping. She struck up another tune, and Jefferson started his howling.

  A few moments later a triumphant George returned to the boat carrying the little dog. Uncle Paul followed right behind him with the lantern.

  “Don’t you ever run away from me again,” George lectured his dog. “We were all worried about you.”

  Not all of us, Betsy thought out of habit, then hastily amended that thought. She had been worried about the dog because he meant so much to George.

  “Thank you, God, for returning him safely,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 13

  Stuck!

  Early the next morning the travelers floated down to Adamsville, where the men rowed the prisoner to shore. Father had assured Betsy that all their cash was safe now, and that the money hadn’t been as important as the lives of his family.

  “I was terrified that robber would find you and George in the woods,” Mother said. “But I guess I didn’t have to worry about you two. You worked together. I’m proud of that, Betsy.”

  Betsy nodded. She really hadn’t thought about working with George. It had just happened.

  Once the men returned to the boat, they cast off again, and Betsy took up her usual post with her maps.

  “If we travel late this evening, we can make it to Limestone Creek, can’t we?” Betsy asked Marley. The sun was staying up a little later each day, and she wanted to claim those few minutes as travel time.

  “We might be tying up in the dark,” he said, “but that’s a big landing. There are bound to be lanterns out.”

  By dark they were still on the river, determined to make it around the bend to Maysville on the Limestone. An hour later they tied up at the landing, one of several boats secured there. Father exercised Silverstreak on the main street, and the next morning they shoved off at sunrise.

  “How far can we get today?” George asked after they had breakfasted on the river.

  “If we can get to Bullskin Creek tonight,” Betsy said, consulting her maps, “we might be able to make it to Cincinnati by tomorrow night.”

  “Two more days!” George exclaimed. His excitement matched Betsy’s as they pushed on down the river. Even the adults caught the contagious fever of journey’s end. They made good time, and by early afternoon they were nearing Bracken Creek.

  “Stay port side,” Marley called from the roof where he was steering the boat with his wide sweep. Father left his position on the left side and crossed to push off with Paul.

  “Push! I can see the sandbar,” Marley called. “It’s farther out.”

  But they couldn’t move in time, and the boat snagged on the bar, stopping so suddenly, Betsy slid off her perch on the crate. Marley had squatted on the roof, but Father and Uncle Paul both fell on the deck. Inside the shelter, Mother and Aunt Eleanor screamed as crates came crashing to the floor. Jefferson howled, and Silverstreak whinnied.

  “Wow,” George said. He was sprawled on the deck near Betsy’s feet.

  “Are you all right, Maggie?” Father quickly gained his stance and ran inside the enclosure. He appeared a moment later at the doorway. “We have a few displaced items but nothing major. Anyone hurt?”

  Betsy rubbed her arm that had scraped along the crate but didn’t say anything. She made her way down the narrow aisle beside the enclosure and settled Silverstreak.

  “Let’s get her off the bar,” Marley called. “Any leaks?”

  “None here,” Uncle Paul called from aft. He examined the boat and declared it seaworthy. Then the work began.

  The travelers stacked their heavy belongings on the freed side of the boat, so the side that was buried in the sandbar could be shoved loose.

  They pushed, pulled, and tugged but the flatboat remained still. Another flatboat passed by them, careful to stay on the far left, away from the grabbing sandbar.

  “Can we help?” a bargeman from a keelboat called a few minutes later. This boat was making its way up the Ohio and was positioned below them.

  Marley quickly conferred with the men on the keelboat, and they threw a rope to the flatboat.

  “They’ll try to pull us out. If they stay in the channel, the current will help. Get ready to push.”

  All three men pushed off the sandbar with their long sweeps. On the keelboat, some bargemen pulled on the rope and others pushed on their long poles. The flatboat rocked and at last was freed from the sandbar.

  Betsy and the others quickly redistributed the weight of the crates, Marley untied the rope, and the bargeman pulled it aboard the keelboat.

  “Many thanks,” Father called to them.

  “Think nothing of it,” the bargeman called.

  “That was nice of them to help us,” George said as they got underway again. “But why didn’t that other boat stop?”

  “It wasn’t the Christian thing to do,” Betsy said, “going by us like that.”

  “There could have been many reasons,” Mother said. “It’s not for us to judge what’s in the hearts of others.”

  “Does this mean we won’t get to Cincinnati tomorrow?” George asked.

  Betsy glanced at the sun, but Marley answered before she could estimate the distance and the hours of sunlight left.

  “This delay has cost us dearly in time. We’ll spend two more days on the river,” he said, “but that will let us get to Cincinnati in the daylight instead of at night. That will make it easier.”

  Perhaps, Betsy thought, but she had hoped that this would be her last night of sleeping on the boat.

  By the next evening, excitement aboard the boat was a tangible thing. George skipped along the deck, Betsy’s violin had never had a happier voice, and Jefferson barked at every bird along the shore. They anchored near Little Indian Creek, and Betsy had a hard time falling asleep.

  At daybreak the travelers cast off for the last time. By afternoon George was dancing across the boat, and Betsy was calling off each landmark they passed.

  “That’s Little Miami River,” Betsy said. “It’s not far now.” She stood on her crate, as if that bit of additional height could make her see farther.

  George stood at the bow. “Look!” he shouted a few minutes later. “Cincinnati!”

  Mother and Aunt Eleanor stood beside Betsy and stared at the shoreline. Dwelling after dwelling came into sight. It wasn’t the size of Boston, but it was the biggest town they had seen since they left Pittsburgh.

  “We’re home,” Mother said, “at last.”

  “Home?” Betsy echoed. Not home. Boston was home. They were in Cincinnati.

  “Yes, home,” Mother said in a voice that brooked no argument. “This is our new home.” Betsy didn’t reply, but her excitement at finally arriving dimmed.

  They docked and unloaded Silverstreak. Father tied her to a hitching post while they walked to a public house on the main street. As soon as they had washed up and drank a refreshing cup of tea, Father turned to Betsy.

  “Take Silverstreak to the stable and arrange for her board.” He handed her several coins.

  “You want me to go alone?” she asked.

  “Yes, please. The innkeeper said Potter’s stable is a few blocks farther down this street but on a corner, so it faces north.”

  “But, Father, you want me to talk to the man at the stable?”

  “Yes, Betsy. I need to arrange for storage for our movings and get them off the boat this afternoon. Take George with you.”

  “But I can help you,” George protested. “Yes, you can. After you help Betsy with Silverstreak,” Father said.

  Betsy and Marley walked side by side toward the boat, while George raced with Jefferson to the river.

  “You have a problem with the horse?�
� Marley asked.

  “No,” Betsy replied. “I have a problem talking to strangers.”

  “Now I never noticed that,” Marley said. “You took right up with me.”

  “You’re different,” Betsy said.

  “No. I’m the same as everyone else. Give people a chance, Betsy. They’re just like you and me.”

  She nodded but didn’t reply. She’d taken up with Marley because Father had said he had overcome tragedy and she should be nice to him. He didn’t seem like a threat to her. Surely everyone hadn’t overcome tragedy. But could there be something in their lives that they struggled with, too?

  They arrived at the post where Silverstreak was hitched, and Betsy untied her.

  “Come on, George,” she called.

  “I’m coming,” he said but stayed a good ten feet behind her with Jefferson yapping at his feet as they made their way back down the main street.

  Once they passed the inn, Betsy scrutinized each corner, looking for the stable. Four streets later she found it.

  “You want to talk to the man?” she called back to George, who still lagged behind.

  “You do it, but hurry up so we can get back to the boat. They’ve probably already found a place to store our movings and are unloading.”

  Betsy stood outside the stable and looked into the dim interior. Stalls lined both sides of the barnlike structure. She could make out a figure near the back.

  “Come hold Silverstreak,” she ordered George, as she mustered her courage to go inside. She had done this in Pittsburgh, but Silverstreak’s keep had already been arranged, and it was a boy she’d talked with. She’d known that they’d be leaving town shortly, so it didn’t matter what the stable boy thought of her.

  “No. Tie her up,” George said from the street.

  A couple of boys about George’s age walked around the corner. “Why are you afraid of Silverstreak? Are you afraid of all horses?” she asked in exasperation. The two boys snickered as they walked by, and George turned a brilliant shade of red.