Friend Seeker (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series)
Page 17
That it would so happen was Friend Seeker's hope, but much depended on how slowly the squaws raised an alarm and how swiftly pursuit developed. If he gained the savannah, Late Star and Rain would be safe, but if he failed to cross the gully before the Piscataway reached the gully edge, their arrows would leave him as bristled as a porcupine.
If pursuit was too close, he would be forced to swerve to avoid the gully and in the open savannah the Piscataway would see and cut their corner, saving much time.
Yet he must appear as a rear guard protecting those who were well ahead or the enemy might suspect some had turned aside. The timing was delicate and far more treacherous than he allowed Late Star to believe.
— — —
RAIN
"The clear vision comes.
The way is clear.
The task is begun.
The task is done.
Warriors All
Edward Lee Holman
Chapter 19
During the day, Friend Seeker slept while Star fidgeted, his stomach knotted and his mind racing wildly with what was to happen. The Seeker roused only to eat lightly and make nature calls at a place they had selected. He suggested with amusement that Star calm himself before he wore away all his strength and volunteered to tap him lightly behind the ear with a large stone so rest would come.
Even after dark, the Seeker waited to avoid any late traveler who might be passing. Only when the moon had reached its height did they shoulder pack and weapons and move silently down the jumbled boulders.
The water was deep off the rocks and the canoe had slid sideways in settling to the bottom. Only on the third dive did Friend Seeker find it and begin dumping out the stones. The dugout rose almost reluctantly and floated sodden and water logged from its many days under water, but without delay they loaded and paddled from the shore.
Fishing fires glowed from the points of the village creek and they turned far out on the river to keep sound of their paddling from reaching the fishermen, A single fire cast its glow near the mouth of the lesser creek they must enter and they circled far upstream to avoid it.
The need to paddle silently against the river current slowed their progress and the night was nearly past before their canoe nosed into the stillness of the small rivulet. Trees touched, intertwining above the black water, cutting off even the dim starlight, and they felt their way slowly until a fallen log told the Seeker they had gone as far as necessary. They touched the canoe against the bank so it would not drift and waited in silence for the first light to aid in hiding the canoe without marking the creek bank.
When there was enough light, they hoisted the heavy dugout and deposited it within thick underbrush. Star sank panting beside it while Friend Seeker returned to the bank to remove signs of their exit.
Then the waiting resumed. If the previous day had seemed long, this light appeared endless. Sun beat through the thicket without hint of a breeze to relieve it. Biting insects dined on their sweating bodies and they dared not risk even the small satisfaction of slapping them. They were brushed silently away, usually to return again.
Occasionally they spoke into the other's ear using whispers so soft they would not carry.
"The Seeker hopes the woman of Late Star is worth such tortures, my brother."
Late Star's stomach bobbed in muffled laughter and he groaned softly into the Seeker's ear. "To repay, she must chew the softest of doeskins and carry the heaviest burdens of any Delaware woman."
"That is fine for the lodge of Late Star, but what rewards come to he who now sweats beside his friend?"
"Do not warriors suffer to make their spirits strong, oh Friend Seeker?" It was the Seeker's turn to control rueful laughter.
"Surely, oh Star, you will rise high among counselors, for you answer a question with another.
"Will there be no well gnawed bones that the wealthy lodge of Late Star might in remembrance throw to his mosquito-eaten brother?"
"The lodge of Late Star will always be generous, oh warrior of the Turtle clan. While some would agree to forever place venison or large fishes at your lodge entrance, Late Star plans greater, for he gives to his friend this fine Piscataway dugout which he will deliver to the point of rocks. From there his friend will need only carry it to the Buffalo Creek where he can float to our village without effort.
"Of course, I would help, but Rain will need assistance over difficult places."
The Seeker groaned almost too loudly.
— — —
Friend Seeker watched the movement of the sun with care. To arrive too soon at the fields would necessitate a dangerous wait, yet to delay too long would find the women gone and their opportunity wasted.
As the time neared, tension mounted and their idle chatter ceased. Late Star's frail body at times trembled in nervous anticipation, and when Friend Seeker finally nodded that the time was right he sprang to his end of the dugout with almost comic relief.
They returned the canoe to the narrow creek, securing it with creepers so Star and Rain could be away silently and swiftly.
Star remained empty-handed but Friend Seeker strung his powerful bow and checked the hang of his quiver. He left his pouch in the dugout, as he would be running hard and added only the long knife of Oak Neck.
He refastened his moccasins, making certain the bindings were not frayed. Ready, he signaled the impatient Late Star and took the lead in the rapidly narrowing stream.
To Late Star it seemed their progress was painfully slow. The water shallowed quickly from calf to barely reaching their ankles. Friend Seeker placed each foot with ultimate care allowing no sound and Star did his best to copy.
Brush thickened over the stream until they were bent double, and the water narrowed until it was less than two steps wide. Squaw voices could occasionally be heard and Star knew the trail must be close.
Suddenly Friend Seeker froze and in an instant crouched low drawing Late Star with him. After a moment, Star heard a male voice and then the sound of many moccasins. Breathless, his heart hammering, he saw muscled legs appear only a few steps ahead and as they hurdled the stream, the appearance of the hard body and cold features of Hawk Claw left him weak as a child. A slight tightening of the arm muscles was Friend Seeker's only betrayal of tension but to Late Star it seemed a season before the Claw and his three companions crossed and disappeared toward the village.
Women's voices rose in greeting as the warriors reached the field, but Friend Seeker delayed no longer. He led the way to the crossing and indicated to Late Star where he should make a single set of moccasin prints on the soft bank away from the village. While Friend Seeker guarded with a war arrow nocked. Late Star ran swiftly up the bank. Then he leaped aside and returned to the stream. Quickly he removed his moccasins and repeated his run leaving a set of bare prints that would be mistaken for Rain's. He redonned his moccasins in the water and they were ready.
The woods along the creek were not deep and they reached the fields in a moment. At the far edge, one of the warriors lingered, speaking with a young woman, and Friend Seeker grunted his anxiety. In the fields, the squaws were gathering their baskets in preparation for leaving and they saw Rain among them.
Finally the warrior left, trotting toward the village, but Friend Seeker marked him well for he would be the first warned. The women clustered, talking and delaying their return to the lodges. Friend Seeker waited, for each moment carried the single warrior further away.
When the women shouldered their burdens he could wait no longer. Both he and Late Star stepped into view and called loudly to Rain in Delaware.
For an instant there seemed no response; the women appeared frozen. Then, standing well apart, Rain dropped her bundles and sped toward them gathering her skirt to her thighs to free her legs for running. A single squaw dropped her own basket and started after Rain, but the Seeker called again in Piscataway and leveled his bow in full draw. The squaw came to an uncertain halt and her chance was lost.
Rain w
as nearly across the field and the women still milled undecided, but as she reached them and stretched for Late Star's extended hand, they turned almost as one and went screeching away toward the lodges. Their clamor could have disturbed a dozen villages and Friend Seeker knew that pursuit would be rapid.
Star and Rain were already along the wood's trail but the Seeker overtook them at the stream. They wasted no words and Friend Seeker caught only a glimpse of Rain's great brown eyes before they ducked beneath the stream's overhanging brush and were gone. He leaped the stream, careful to leave clear prints, and dug his toes in fiercely along the more packed forest trail. He wanted no doubts as to where they had gone.
The appearance of Hawk Claw and his three warriors had curled the Seeker's soul. Only the greatest of good fortune had delayed them the necessary instant to avoid meeting at the stream crossing. The single warrior's loitering at the fields had further complicated the Seeker's task for he appeared a tall and slender man who might take pride in his ability to run. With his timing already close, such a pursuer could prove difficult. Behind him would rush the Claw and at least two others.
If luck had favored the Delaware at the stream crossing, it had evened out by having four warriors fresh and ready so close by. Friend Seeker increased his pace through the forest leading to the great savannah.
He ran easily, but not at his best speed. When pursuit appeared, he must seem a rear guard protecting others already across. He looked back regularly, playing his part to the fullest yet begrudging each step lost. A long open run lay before him, and crossing the tree littered gully would be a close thing at best.
Halfway across the savannah, he looked again to see the tall warrior leap into sight and hear his distant hunting cry directing those who surely followed. The Piscataway ran in tremendous leaping bounds that covered immense distances and Friend Seeker knew he had been right in guessing the warrior's skill in running.
No longer did the Seeker loiter. The bait had been taken and he opened his own stride to his best speed. The trail was even with a long roll to the ground and the good footing permitted long, sure striding. Not looking back, Friend Seeker poured his strength into a powerful run that would provide the necessary lead to complete the exposed crawl through the gully before the first Piscataway reached the bank. Never had he run better. His knees lifted and his legs stretched in perfect rhythm. With only a short way to go, he drove his body in a mighty sprint to the edge of the thick forest and only then did he turn to look behind.
For an instant he feared his eyes failed him. Far from being outrun, the Piscataway had closed the distance between them. Now, Friend Seeker could judge his straining features and marvel at the impossible length of his ground-devouring stride. With his own breath whistling in his lungs, Friend Seeker knew he had more than met his match.
Far behind, barely into the savannah, another figure ran and Friend Seeker instantly knew it to be Hawk Claw. He turned quickly away, running into the forest, knowing he could not negotiate the gully in the time he had. Yet, if he turned away, the fast runner's call would cause Hawk Claw to turn aside and swiftly gain on them. His mind desperately sought an answer. The woods were thick and he considered attempting to ambush the first Piscataway and kill him with an arrow. He discarded the scheme knowing it was too obvious and that as he neared the wood line and entered, the Piscataway would be watching closely.
The gully appeared almost beneath his feet and he paused for an instant resting his hand against a giant oak that marked the trail's descent into the tangle. By now the runner had reached the trees and the Seeker resolved that his best hope lay in charging straight back along the trail and overwhelming the Piscataway in a single desperate attack. He sucked air into his lungs and set his bow aside, drawing the slender length of Oak Neck's knife and wishing mightily for the familiar weight of his war club.
A thought struck him, causing him to hesitate and blink in rapid thought. Someone had said, "All wolves sniff the same bush," and in this instant of unexpected clarity he understood the obscure meaning. He could not recall who had spoken the thought or where he had heard it, but the words ran powerfully in his mind and he wondered if he could risk all on them. He weighed the conditions and found them right. He would chance it!
Each time he had reached the gully he had paused at its lip close beside the great oak. It was an instinctive thing to do. Having safely passed through the woods, the gully commanded attention and from its edge one could see the complexity of the path below. Before beginning the crossing, others had paused there; the earth showed the scuff of many feet.
The Piscataway would approach carefully. His eyes would search the trees both trunk and branch and he would observe the lip of the ravine to be sure his quarry did not lurk there to leap up at the last instant and drive an arrow at him. But finally he would step to the edge to look into the gully and he would do it there close beside the great oak tree.
The thought had taken the Seeker but a moment yet he could hear the Piscataway coming. He pressed his back tightly against the gully side of the oak, grasping the long knife close against his chest with the point extending back along his forearm. He fought to still his breathing and tuned his hearing to the sounds of his pursuer.
The runner's steps slowed, but he came steadily closer. The Piscataway's breath sawed in his throat and the Seeker hoped the strain of breathing would lessen the warrior's alertness, especially as success appeared only steps away. He wished he could toss a small stone into the gully to urge the warrior on, but he dared not stir. His heart hammered at his ribs with a loudness he feared could be heard, and the knife became slick with the sweat of his palm.
The Piscataway was cautious, but the thought of his enemy struggling through the log tangle within easy range kept him moving. He approached the gully with bow half drawn and slowed to a careful walk. Near the edge, he looked across, seeing no danger on the far side, and brought his bow to full draw before stepping to the gully edge.
Friend Seeker detected each careful touch of moccasin. He heard each rasp of hard worked lungs, and the stretch of bowstring as the Piscataway came to full draw told him his enemy's exact position.
When the warrior's arrowhead appeared in his view, the Seeker struck. His strongest arm, powerful from a year of stressing, lashed back toward the Pistecataway's body. He poured in all of the rage, anguish, and desperation stored through a full turning of seasons. Within the blow lay the quickness of Snake's Tongue and leading it, the pointed length of the knife of Oak Neck.
The Seeker drove the knife just below the warrior's extended left arm where it would not be seen until well on its way. The Piscataway's own forward motion helped his enemy and destroyed any chance he had of avoiding the blow.
The knife slid in as though touching only water until the Seeker's fist sledged against the Piscataway's stomach. Air gusted from the warrior's lungs and the force of the blow doubled him across the Seeker's arm. His arrow flew wildly into the tree tangle, and they poised for a silent instant as though locked together.
The stricken warrior staggered a step and Friend Seeker freed his hand. His knife had buried its length in the pit of the Piscataway's abdomen and the blow had to be enough. Yet the warrior still stood, doubled forward as though hiding the awful blade buried within him.
His teachers had warned many times to continue striking until an enemy lay dead. Too often one wounded to death fought on until his last gasp had passed. But before the Seeker could act the Piscataway's feet churned the ground in a mindless effort that took his dying body over the gully edge into a bone-crushing fall among the twisted trunks below.
The weakness of relief flooded the muscles of Friend Seeker and the salt of heavy sweating half blinded him, but the presence of Hawk Claw coming close behind eliminated time for queasiness or indecision. The runner's bow had fallen on the trail and the Seeker kicked it out of sight into the gully before sliding quickly down the steep bank into the tangled wall of broken and uprooted trees.
Friend Seeker scrambled and clawed his way, his back exposed and unprotected from the strike of a war arrow that Hawk Claw might even now be launching.
The dead Piscataway sprawled face up across a canopy of limbs, his back broken, and his eyes unseeing. The knife of Oak Neck protruded from his stretched abdomen but the Seeker dared not pause to clamber high enough to regain it. From the Piscataway's belt an iron tomahawk dangled and the Seeker snatched it in passing, considering it more than fair trade for the knife and an appropriate proof of his coup.
As he struggled within the trees, he measured his painful progress against the speed of Hawk Claw on the savannah. His mind told him that he had time, but emotion too ruled and fear clutched at the edges of his reason.
Once a twig caught his belt and for a moment he struggled futilely in unreasoning panic before calming enough to free himself. Well across the tangle, he slipped on a moccasin smoothed log and tore free the skin of a shin in a long, bloody strip. The pain was acute but he scrambled on, at times tossing his bow ahead and slithering quickly through the obstacles.
The far bank was abruptly before him with only a few tumbled logs barring his way. He clawed a way up the steep bank, and using a handy root, hauled himself over the gully lip and sprawled onto the moss- covered path. Swift as an eel, he squirmed to cover and reveled in an almost smothering sense of relief. Bathed in sweat, body torn and bruised, his lungs close to exhaustion, he had never felt better. For a precious moment he lay safely within the shelter, savoring the security of being past the trap of the gully. Then he roused his worn body and peered carefully through the foliage at the closeness of the other bank.