Howie closed his eyes hard, trying to think of nothing. But his mother was still there. And Papa. Looking surprised at dying. He saw Colonel Jacob and what he’d done to him on the river bank. The hollow eyes and the terrible empty place between his legs. And the bone-deep letters on his chest that would last as long as Jacob and wouldn’t ever go away:
He knew he couldn’t stay there; he had to get back on the horse. And he remembered a whole day had gone by and it was April, now, and tomorrow he’d be sixteen.
Chapter Ten
He halted the mount in a stand of cedars and climbed the few yards to the top of the ridge. He’d been in shadow most of the morning, so he waited to let his eyes get used to brightness and far places.
A raw wind cut steadily across the high crest, the chill going straight to the bone. For a long time, he huddled in the lee of the big stone that capped the far edge of the rim. The thin jacket was nearly useless, but he pulled it tight around him.
It was a good spot, he figured, if you didn’t freeze to death. From here you could see nearly every approach to the ridge and all the valley beyond for several miles. If the soldiers were still following, they were being mighty slow about it, or flat out cagey. He hoped to God it was the first. You didn’t have to know much about horses to see the animal down below was near done in.
He knew better, of course. Jacob’s men hadn’t lost him. They were back there somewhere. Likely not too far down the ridge. You could hope all you wanted and wish something different, but that wouldn’t change much.
What that was was
The thought had come to him more than once in the last few days. It was a peculiar kind of feeling. He wasn’t real sure what he was anymore. He’d been ripped out of one life—picked up, shaken hard, and tossed down somewhere else. He wasn’t a grownup, but he sure wasn’t a kid, either. It was something uncomfortably in- between, right where you couldn’t do either one real well.
With cold hands, he felt around inside his bundle, grubbed out the last chunk of dry meat, and washed it down with water. The cramping started near as soon as he swallowed.
That was happening a lot, now. Eating next to nothing just aggravated his belly, reminding it of what ought to be coming down and wasn’t. He had to eat, though. He knew that. Whatever he could scratch up would go down his gullet and his stomach would just have to make do with what it got.
It was different with the soldiers, he figured. Theyd’d been trained to pace their appetites on a hard trail, eating when they could, doing without when they had to. The more Howie rode, the hungrier he got!
There was another thing, too. He had to keep going, no matter what. But the soldiers could send a couple of men out looking for rations without slowing the chase. They’d been close enough at least once in the last six days for him to hear them doing just that.
Lordee—that had been
He ate what he could, then. Scrambling around at night for nuts left over from the fall before. Stopping on the trail for wild onions, or whatever else grew in his path. He lost near as much as he ate, but enough stayed down to keep him going.
The sun passed swiftly overhead and shadows crawled down the side of the ridge to fill the valley. Howie lay perfectly still, taking in every inch of the land below. His eyes marked a place where stone turned from one color to another; he could see where water lay under the earth by the way trees would swell up thick and heavy-green one place, and light somewhere else. He knew plants followed the patterns of water, and men did the same. It was the way life moved about. You just kind of naturally followed the way a stream flowed, or a river. He watched where the birds swung in easy arcs over the woods and where they darted and scattered, suddenly aware of something below. It might be nothing at all—but it could be a sign that men were about.
The soldiers were some better in the wilderness, and Howie knew it. But he was no stranger there, either. He was still alive, wasn’t he? They hadn’t gotten him yet, and that was something. And every day he stayed ahead of them was a day in which he gained trail sense to help him stay alive a little longer. He was learning he knew more than he’d figured. Papa had taught him things he was using without even thinking. That made him proud.
He spotted them late in the afternoon, the sun behind their ragged column, coming east instead of west. His heart sank a little. He’d moved fast that morning, leaving a clear trail that led down through the valley westward, and across onto hard rock again. They’d followed the false trail, but it hadn’t fooled them much. They were doubling back now, just as he’d done earlier. Howie felt a sudden chill. They were more than a half a mile away still, but he was certain they could see him plain as day, perched up there on the ridge, squeezed under his flat slab of stone.
He pulled himself up tight in his hole, until cold rock was part of his hide. Squinting right into the sun, it was hard to make a good count—not that a count meant anything. They’d tried that once or twice, too. Let him think the whole bunch was in a column, but keeping a few stragglers behind, or maybe Hankers out to the sides.
He was certain that’s what they were up to now. Trail sense told him they were coming on too slow and easy— lined up straight and pretty for him to see. The others would be back of him, then. Over the ridge. Maybe waiting at the edge of the woods where he’d likely try to break away with the mount. That’d be the normal thing to do—run from the men coming straight on—right into the troopers waiting for him.
Howie gauged the sun again. It was nearly down—another four or five minutes. Once it dropped behind the low hills it’d get dark quick enough. And maybe he’d just give ’em what they wanted.
He’d judged the horse right enough. It was nearly gone— the ugly head slack against a tall pine, feet spread wide, sides heaving for air. He felt sorry for it. The beast had saved his life, and he’d fair run it to death. That was something that couldn’t be helped, though, and there was nothing for it now. And he had one more favor to ask of it. A big one.
It was dark when he led the beast back down the slope. His skin crawled at the idea of getting caught on foot this close to where the pines stopped their march downhill and gave way to the clearing. If the soldiers were anywhere around, they’d be waiting close by. But he had to chance it. If the thing was going to work at all, the soldiers had to know about it. It wasn’t any good unless there was somebody there to appreciate what he was doing.
He stood back and let the arrow go without much force behind it, placing it just behind the animal’s rib cage. He figured it ought to cause plenty of pain there, without bringing the creature down too soon. The horse screamed and bolted—tearing brush aside and snapping low branches. Howie took off up the hill without looking back. Lordee, if they didn’t hear that—!
And by the time they figured what had happened, that he wasn’t on the horse, he’d have a fair start. They couldn’t trail him until daylight and they’d have a fine time guessing which way he’d gone.
If it was just dark enough, he reminded himself. And if the troopers didn’t look too close…
He woke stiff and cold, hunger growing like something live inside him. For a quick minute he thought he’d died and gone wherever it was people went. The whole world below his branch was draped in a wet blanket of gray. Like the forest had grown a mile high in the night and poked its head right through the clouds.
He thought a while about what he ought to do. The fog would hide him while he climbed down from his perch. But if anyone was close enough to hear…
He stayed where he was, holding himself patiently against the cold. Doing one thing wrong was one too many. It was something he had to keep remembering. Wait. Until everything felt right. Wait until the wind feels easy at first dawn. Until the birds settle at noon. And right now, wait until the fog burns away and there’s a chance you’ll see whoever’s about, ’fore they see you first.
