He drove his horse out of the river, and the others followed blindly. It was a hard ride, for although Adam sometimes warned them “Low limb!” sometimes he did not, and both Molly and Charles had scratches from the branches that clawed their faces.
Some time before dawn they came out of the thick woods, relieved at seeing the open country after riding the Indian trail. At dawn they stopped and rested the horses. Adam pulled some cold beef out of a saddle bag, and they ate hungrily. After they finished, he said, “Molly, I want to show you how to load this rifle.” For the next thirty minutes he went over the procedure, then said, “That’s good! I hope we get clear, but if we don’t I want you and Charles to load for me.”
“You think we got a chance, Adam?” Charles asked doubtfully. “I keep expecting those Iroquois to jump us at any minute.”
“I think we’re all right for now. It’ll take a while for them to get organized—and then maybe they’ll have to hunt for our trail for a time—but they’ll kill their horses to get us.”
“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Charles said defiantly. He threw himself down on the ground, and was asleep almost at once.
Adam moved out of the glade where they’d tied the horses, and took a position on a small rise that commanded a view of the west country. “You better get some sleep too, Molly,” Adam said.
“What about you?”
“I’ll keep watch—you never can tell.”
“No,” she said softly, and then she smiled and came to stand beside him. Her ash-blond hair hung to her waist, and there was a gentleness on her lips as she put her hand on his arm and repeated his words: “You never can tell.” Then she smiled suddenly and added, “I prayed you’d come, Adam!”
“Did—did he hurt you, Molly?”
He dreaded to hear her reply, but there was a glad light in her blue eyes, and she shook her head quickly. “No—there was nothing like that.” Then she bit her lip and added, “But if you hadn’t come—!”
He reached out and placed his hand on her cheek, marveling at its smoothness. The glade was quiet, disturbed only by the sound of small birds and the rustling of green leaves overhead. His hand was rough on her face, but she reached out and covered it with her own, holding it against her cheek.
She was so tall that she had to look up only slightly to gaze into his face, and as they stood there in the silence, both of them felt a strange peace. “Funny,” he whispered, “here we are just a moment away from being attacked by Indians, and all I can think of is your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes.” He put his other hand on her face and stood there with her face cupped between his palms. Looking into her eyes, he grinned, saying, “I’ll never be able to say what color your eyes are! Sometimes they’re blue—sometimes gray, sometimes both.”
She leaned forward to whisper, “And what color are they, Adam?”
“I’ll tell you, Molly, they’re just the color that every woman’s eyes ought to be.”
“That’s—the nicest thing you ever said to me, Adam,” she whispered.
”Molly, I was so afraid when I found out you were taken! And you know what I thought over and over again while Charles and I were on the way to get you?”
“What?”
“If anything happens to Molly, I’m a dead man!” Putting his arms around her protectively, he said, “I don’t know what’s going to happen—but whether we get out of this or not, I want to tell you something.” He pulled her closer and her arms slipped around his neck as he said quietly, “I love you, Molly Burns! As much as God will let a man love a woman—I love you!”
Then he kissed her and felt a deep stirring; as he held her close, she was aware of the strength of his muscular body. It was for both of them a promise of a love that had not been—but which lay waiting to blossom, to enrich their lives with more than passion.
She stood still in his arms, then pulled her head back and whispered, “I love you, Adam. I—I think I always have, ever since I was a little girl.”
He shook his head, and there was a wonder in his dark eyes. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you on that street in London!” He laughed, saying, “If anybody had told me that one day I’d marry that ragged, scared little girl, I’d have thought he was crazy!”
“Marry?”
“Why, that’s what people in love do, Molly!” Then he kissed her again and said, “You go sleep while you can, my love. We’re not out of this yet.”
“All right—but I’m not afraid,” she replied, then laughed softly. “I’ve got too much invested in you, Adam Winslow, to lose you just when I’ve got you ready to marry me!”
She laughed at his startled expression, then whirled and went back to the shelter of the glade. Adam watched her go, and then turned to face the tree line, and his face grew hard, for he knew, as the others did not, how pitifully slim their chances were. While they slept his mind worked steadily, trying to come up with some trick, some way to avoid the Iroquois, but nothing came to him. He knew once the Indians found their trail, they would sweep forward at top speed, killing their mounts if need be to catch up with them.
There was no fort near enough to seek shelter, and those few settlers in the area offered no protection; they’d be destroyed if he went near their homesteads.
We’ve got to ride like Satan himself is after us—which is pretty much the case! he thought ruefully, then settled down to watch while the others slept.
Four hours later, he awakened them, saying, “Time to ride.”
He kept the pace steady, not so fast that the horses would break down, but swift enough so that by four that afternoon, Molly and Charles were exhausted and the horses were beginning to stumble. The sun was setting when he pulled into a small grove and they all dismounted. “We might as well have a fire and a good hot meal,” Adam decided.
Charles asked in surprise, “Won’t it be seen?”
“No—not by anyone who counts.” Adam spoke shortly, and there was no more talk until they had built a small fire and made a hot meal of beef and coffee.
After they had eaten, Molly studied Adam’s face as he gazed into the fire. There was something stubborn about his features. Finally she asked quietly, “Something’s wrong, isn’t it, Adam?”
He tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire, looked up at her and nodded, “They’ll catch up with us tomorrow.”
“How can you tell?” Charles asked quickly.
“I saw them late this afternoon—dust from a big party. Who else would be coming at us that fast?”
“Can’t we hide—or outrun them?” Charles asked anxiously.
“Not either,” Adam shrugged. “I figure we’ll have to be ready for them by tomorrow afternoon.”
Molly stared at him, her hand going to her throat in a sudden gesture. “Adam . . .?”
Adam Winslow was not, in appearance, a flamboyant man; Charles had received that from Miles. But there was a steady strength in him as he sat there looking at them across the fire. His eyes were deep wells, reflecting the firelight, but there was a fearlessness in the man that leaped out, and as he said, “I think we’ll make it,” Molly and Charles both felt a gush of relief. The fear that had risen in them seemed to flow away—such was the strength of Adam in that hour.
“What will we do?” Charles inquired.
“We’ll have to catch them in a spot where their numbers won’t mean so much,” Adam said. “I know this country—came through it many times with a load of beaver pelts. There’s a spot up ahead—maybe ten miles, and if we can get there before they catch up with us, I think we’ve got a good chance.”
“How’ll you fight that many, Adam?” Molly wondered.
“I’ve been thinking on it—and it goes against the grain, what we’ll have to do.” He picked up a stick, motioned them to his side, and drew a crude map in the dust. “There’s a break in the mountains up ahead, a pass that just cuts right through the peaks. It saves lots of climbing, because it’s easy to
get through—flat and about fifty yards wide. Now, if we get through that pass and set up behind some rocks, we can be sure that bunch is going to come right through after us. Then we wait until they’re close enough so we can’t miss—but just far enough away so they can’t charge easy. If we can do it just right, we’ll get enough of them right off, so the rest of them won’t be too ready to follow.”
“You mean—they’d quit?” Charles asked.
“Sure. Indians do that. They don’t have any pride about it—and they don’t have any shame when they decide not to fight. They just say their charms aren’t right—and off they go. That’s why they’re no good as troops. You can’t count on them to stand fast and take a beating.”
Charles stared at him, apprehension in his light blue eyes. “Sounds like a good way to commit suicide to me! If there’s a big bunch, they’ll swarm us!”
Adam looked at his brother, then stated quietly, “Guess I’ll have to admit that if the Lord isn’t with us, we can’t make it, Charles. But you know there’s a line in the Bible, in the Book of Esther. The Jews are about to get slaughtered, and the only one who can save them is a woman named Esther. And it’s pretty clear that if she won’t help, they’re all going to die. So her uncle says to her, ‘You have come to the kingdom for such a time as this.’ Well, I’ve been working on these breech-loading rifles most of my life.” He smiled and remarked wryly, “Guess they were made for such a time as this. If they work, we’ll be able to knock them off quick enough to break up the charge. If they don’t work—”
“They will!” Molly nodded fiercely, her eyes bright with purpose. “I know they will, Adam.”
Charles stared at them, and then a nervous smile touched his thin lips. “Well, I guess tomorrow will tell the story on the House of Winslow, won’t it? You and I, we’re almost all that’s left of our name. All that Gilbert Winslow started ends here if those guns don’t work.”
Adam stared at him, then replied quietly, “I suppose that’s so—but there’s another verse I like pretty well—’Some trust in chariots, some in horses, but I will remember the name of the Lord my God!’ If we get out of this, Charles, it’ll be God, and not my guns!” He smiled, and to Charles’s surprise pulled Molly into his arms and kissed her. Then he laughed and said, “You never saw a man kiss his bride-to-be, Charles?” Then he sobered and said, “We’d better get some rest; we sure won’t have any tomorrow!”
Dawn had not broken when he roused them, and they rode hard all morning. By noon the horses were beginning to falter, but this time Adam gave them little rest. “Whip them up!” he cried out to the others. “If we don’t make it to the pass, they’ll be dinner for the Indians anyway!”
By the time they got to the foothills of the mountains, Adam’s mount was so lame that he was forced to go afoot, leading the animal. It was two in the afternoon when he led them into a narrow gap that they had not noticed, saying with relief in his voice, “We made it!”
“Thank God!” Charles said fervently, then laughed a little. “Guess this trip will make a Christian out of me yet!”
Adam smiled at him, saying, “I hope so.” Then he turned and led his horse through the pass, which grew wider as they proceeded.
Finally they came to a long straight stretch at least a quarter of a mile long with walls on both sides so steep that no trees were rooted there. At the end of the straight stretch, the pass veered to their left, and Adam instructed, “Put the animals behind there where they won’t be seen.”
They secured the animals; then Adam continued, “Get all four of the rifles—and all the cartridges.” When they had the weapons, he led them back to an outcropping of rock three feet high and not over ten feet wide that lay almost in the middle of the pass.
“You get on my right, Molly,” Adam said. “Charles, take the left.”
“Why don’t I shoot, too?” Charles asked as they waited. “I’m not a bad shot, you know.”
“It’s going to be close, Charles. We can’t afford even one miss, and I’ve been at this a long time,” Adam replied. He bit his lip, and then shook his head. “I don’t like what’s got to be done. It’ll be like murder—those first few shots!”
Charles stared at his brother in astonishment. “Why, that’s not sensible, Adam! They’re out to kill us all!”
“I know,” Adam answered. “It’s like a war. But I don’t like to kill a man—not even an Indian who’s trying to take my scalp.” Then he managed a smile and said, “Oh, don’t worry, Charles—I’ve already fought this out. Guess every Christian has to settle it for himself, and I’m going to do what I have to do to save our lives.”
They said no more, and as it grew hot, they drank sparingly out of the canteens. It was a little after two when Adam stated quietly, “There they are.”
Charles and Molly had been sitting down; now they scrambled up and peered over the rock. “There’s a lot of them, Adam!” Charles exclaimed.
“And Stirling is with them,” Adam said grimly. “I didn’t expect that. He hates me more than I thought.” Then he asked sharply, “You’ve got all the rifles loaded? All right, you two stay down. I’ll let them get another hundred feet; then I’ll kill the first man.”
Molly shivered at the coldness of the phrase, but she knew there was no alternative. “Will you—will you shoot Stirling?”
Adam hesitated before he said, “No—not him first. Then he whispered, “They’re almost here—don’t get up. Load as fast as you can, but don’t get so fast you get jerky. Try to think of it as just a job that is a little tricky, but can be done if you’re careful.”
Then he raised up, put the barrel of his rifle on the rock, and put the sight right on the broad chest of the Indian riding beside Henry Stirling. He did not allow himself to think, but pulled the trigger. As the Indian was knocked backward to the dust, he handed the rifle to Molly, and took a quick sight on another Indian. Their horses were plunging, and he could hear their cries of alarm, but he put a ball through the body of another Indian, and exchanged weapons with Charles. A horse reared as he fired, taking the bullet he had sent at the rider, but with the fourth rifle he knocked another brave from his horse with a bullet through his head.
The whole thing had taken less than fifteen seconds, and there were three dead Iroquois on the ground!
Molly had loaded the rifle in her hands, and he took it, his face like flint. He noted as he sent the shot home that Stirling was standing in his stirrups, his face red with anger, and he drove his horse forward. For one moment Adam hoped that the Indians would refuse to follow, but after a moment’s indecision they screamed and came after him.
“Here they come!” he said quickly. “They think we’ve got to reload!”
Then the action unfolded—and Adam never forgot that explosion of death in the afternoon!
The red bodies of the Indians made perfect targets, and one by one he knocked them from their saddles. Only twice did a rifle misfire, and he was careful to hit the leaders so that those that followed would see their fellows die. Once he let his aim fall on Henry Stirling, and almost blew the man out of the saddle. But for some unfathomable reason, he could not kill the man—though it would have been wise.
“I don’t think they’re going to stop the charge!” Adam said as he exchanged a weapon with Molly. “I’m not going to let them have you alive! I love you too much!”
“All right!” she replied with a steady voice. Then she handed him the rifle and added, “I love you, Adam!”
He touched her cheek, then rose, knowing he could not miss, so close were the remaining Indians, and a tall, thin brave took a bullet in his throat and fell to the ground trying to scream.
It was the one thing that turned the tide, for as he fell, Adam saw the mark on his chest that identified him as the war chief of his tribe. With his death, his medicine was gone, and the Indians swerved right and left, leaning to the sides of their mounts to avoid the fire of their enemy.
“They’ve stopped!” Adam yelled,
then saw at once that Stirling had not even noticed that he was alone—or if he had seen the flight of his allies, he was too filled with battle madness to care.
Adam threw up his rifle, took a bead on the broad chest, pulled the trigger—and the weapon misfired!
As he reached for the rifle that Charles was handing him, Stirling reached the outcropping of stone, pulled his lathered horse around in a tight circle and was suddenly at Adam’s left!
“Now, Winslow!” Stirling cried, aiming the weapon directly at Adam, “I’m going to kill you!”
The man stood out clearly in Adam’s sight, so clearly that he could even see his trigger finger whiten as he applied pressure. The muzzle of the pistol loomed large, and he knew there was no chance for a miss at such a short distance.
He wanted to say goodbye to Molly and to Charles, and there was a great regret in him, for all the things he’d never see, for all the times he’d never have, but he was not afraid.
Charles had not had time to reload the rifle in his hands, and as Stirling pointed the pistol at Adam, he had nothing to fight with. He did not make a decision, dared not think what he was doing. Stirling was too far for him to reach, so he did the only thing left to do—he threw his body in front of Adam. As the bullet meant for his brother struck him in the chest, he was driven back against Adam, who caught him as he fell.
Adam had no time to move but even as he saw Stirling pull another pistol from his belt, a shot rang out, and a small blue hole appeared in Stirling’s forehead. The man fell dead from the saddle and landed in the dust as his horse shied away.
Adam whirled to see Molly, her face white as flour, dropping the rifle to the ground. She suddenly stared at him, horror in her eyes, then put her hands over her face, weeping.
Adam said instantly, “Molly! Stop that! Help me with Charles!”
She gave a sob, then came to kneel beside the two men. Charles’s eyes were closed and there was blood high on his chest.
“Is—is he dead, Adam?”
“No. I think the bullet missed a lung,” Adam said. His own face was pale as he pulled Charles’s shirt away from the wound and peered at it. He lifted his brother from the ground to examine his back. “The ball’s still there. We’ve got to get it out.”
The Indentured Heart Page 27
