realizing what his eye had seen: the long shaft of an arrow, its fletching a’quiver with the muscle spasms in Ebenezer’s leg as the pilot struggled to make himself small among the crates.
“Titus—go help him!” Ovatt ordered from the bow where he had seized the gouger and was working it frantically back and forth to help Kingsbury speed the flatboat farther out into the current.
Stuffing the rifle between two of the kegs filled with iron nails, Bass scrambled toward Zane.
“Goddamned Chickasaws … goddamn, goddamn, goddamn,” the pilot muttered repeatedly.
“That what they are? Chicka … Chicka—”
“Saws. Goddamned Chickasaws,” Ebenezer grumbled as he twisted onto his side. “Take a look at the son of a bitch for me. See how bad she’s bleeding back there.”
“Damn right, they was Chickasaws,” Kingsbury bellowed from the stern rudder. “No other cry like a Chickasaw war whoop in the world—them runts hollering for blood the way they do.”
“Ain’t bleeding too bad,” Titus declared, wide-eyed, staring down at the back of the pilot’s leg.
“Cut it open,” Zane ordered.
“Y-your leg?”
He wagged his head, biting down on his lower lip, then said, “No. Cut open my britches, goddammit—so you can see for sure if I’m bleeding bad.”
Pulling his knife from his belt with one hand, the other gripping the thick canvas fabric of the pants, Titus pricked a long slice away from the arrow’s shaft.
“How it be?” Zane inquired, dolefully looking over his shoulder in the coming darkness. “Best get me in there.”
Titus watched the pilot nod to the open area beneath the awning, then lifted Ebenezer’s arm over his shoulder, dragging him off the crates, hopping one-legged under the edge of the cloth.
“Light a few of them wind lanterns. We’re bound to need some light,” Zane ordered. As Bass set about pulling some tow from a kindling box, the pilot turned to fling his voice at Kingsbury. “Hames—best you get us on downriver afore putting over.”
Kingsbury shook his head in protest. “I wanna look at that leg of yours first off, Eb—”
“The boy’s taking care of it for now,” Zane interrupted. “You just get us a few miles on downriver afore putting over to the west bank.” Rolling on his hip slightly, he turned to holler at Ovatt. “You hear that, Heman? Up to you on that bow to find us a place to put in for the rest of the night.”
Titus asked, “How many mile you figure we ought to put atween us and them?”
“Don’t matter how many, son. We’re gonna be on the other side of this big, wide ol’ river. They ain’t gonna cross the Messessap to get at us.”
Root poked his head under the awning. “You want me to help, Ebenezer?”
“Yeah. Get me a little of your tobacco. Gonna chew up a poultice.”
“Straightaway,” Root replied, crawling on under the awning to search for his own belongings.
“Hand me some of that tow, Titus Bass. Yeah, that you got there with the fire-making plunder.”
Bass’s hands were trembling as he gave it to the river pilot. “I should’ve known better than to—”
“Known better’n what?” Zane demanded.
“Going so far in from the river,” he tried to explain, unable to look at the steersman’s face, even in the coming of night as they slid on beneath a cold, starry, moonless sky.
“You’re the hunter, ain’t you?”
With a shrug Titus replied, “I s’pose I allays thought I was a hunter.”
“That’s what I brung you along for, Titus. You was to be our hunter. So you tell me: when you run onto those Injuns—was you doing anything different from what you do when you’re hunting?”
He struggled, thought, then shook his head. “Nothing different. Just following a game trail.”
“Then, goddammit—don’t go blaming yourself. Damn, but this hurts.”
“B-but I got you shot!”
“Ain’t nothing tore but a little meat,” he said just above a whisper, his face nonetheless etched with pain. “You boys’ll fix me up right proper—and I’ll be feeling fine in no time. Get back on my feet and take over that rudder—”
“No such a thing,” Kingsbury snapped. “I’m near good a steersman as you, Ebenezer. And, besides—this ain’t a tough river like the Ohio.”
“Still the damned winter’s low water!” Zane spat. “And the Messessap ain’t no lark of a ride in winter, Hames!”
“Shuddup and let them two fix on you,” the relief pilot ordered. “I’m kingfish of this here boat while you’re down—an’ you’ll learn to take orders just like any of the rest of the crew.”
Zane rolled back over onto his side, still gripping the arrow shaft as his leg trembled in pain. He looked up at Bass, grumbling, “You boys gonna get us some light to work with or not?”
“I’m fixing to get some char started on this tow—”
“Then get the goddamned candles lit so I can dig this son of a bitch outta my leg.”
“Here’s that tobacco you wanted, Eb,” Root said, handing the pilot enough of the pressed leaf to fill his palm.
Taking a big bite out of the carrot-sized twist, Zane stuffed the rest into a pocket of his britches and growled, “Punch through the bunghole of that keg of rye and tap it, Reuben. An’ be quick about it! I’m beginning to feel real puny, and this leg is starting to talk to me.”
After lighting the wick on the second candle lantern, Bass turned to the pilot, holding the burning tow and asking, “W-what more you w-want me to do, Ebenezer?”
“Your knife a sharp’un?”
He nodded, his Adam’s apple jumping like a great green grasshopper up the front of his neck. “Sharp ’nough to skin anything.”
“Good,” Zane snarled around the lump of tobacco puffing up the side of his cheek like a case of the mumps. “You get it out and slick it on that strop hanging yonder. I figure you’ll be the one what can do the cutting on me.”
“M-me?” His heart seemed to stop. Titus felt himself begin to quake, starting up right from the soles of his feet.
“Yeah, you, goddammit.” He spit to the side, the brown tobacco gob landing in the sand of the firebox, where it raised a small cloud of old ash. “Now get a fire started down there an’ heat us some water.”
“You want me to c-cut on you?”
“Damn right I do!” Zane said, then raised his eyes to the frightened youngster’s, his voice becoming softer. “Listen, boy—I figure you got the steadiest hand here in this here bunch of scurvy entrails.”
“I don’t think I could cut on ’nother man.”
“You damn well just killed a man!”
For a moment he stared at the pilot, perhaps not wanting to believe. Then he answered quietly, “I … I killed a man?”
Kingsbury said, “Damn sure did!”
Feeling the certainty of that course through him, Titus replied, “I done what I had to do—save you, Ebenezer.”
“That’s why you’re gonna cut on me now.”
Bass wagged his head. “I … don’t think I—”
“You hunt, don’t you?”
“Yeah, you know I do—”
“An’ ever since you was a sprout, you butchered out what you hunt?”
Titus only got to nod before Zane went on, pain written over his paste-colored face as he gritted on some of the words.
“Then you’re the one I want cutting on me. Likely you done more work on hide and meat than all the rest of these here bastards,” the pilot said, his eyes closing halfway, beads of perspiration standing out like diamonds on his forehead. “Besides, Titus Bass—there’s ’nother goddamned good reason you’re the one better do the cutting on me.”
He tried to swallow, gulping at the hot lump clogging the back of his throat before he answered, afraid his
