Sackett's Land

            'Trade,' I replied.

            He started to sheath the knife but my hand grasped his wrist. 'Trade,' I said quietly, and my grip tightened.

            He tried to lift his hand but could not. I saw the surprise, almost shock in his eyes. He tugged but his hand, grasping the knife, could not budge.

            Angry blood flushed his face, but he could not move his hand. He tried to exert the strength of his thighs to lift it, but I held tight, not moving, undisturbed.

            'Trade?' I asked quietly.

            'Trade,' he said sullenly.

        Chapter 11

            Through the dark waters the gig glided smoothly. Sakim was in the bow.

            Our sail was furled as we wished to offer no silhouette to be seen from the shore. We were loaded to the gunwhales with furs, excellent furs, though perhaps not of the quality of our first load.

            None of us had any illusions about what would happen if Bardle discovered our whereabouts, so we approached our base in the rocks with great caution.

            It had began to rain, a soft, drizzling rain. We huddled in our boat, edging in toward shore. The rocks loomed before us, barely visible, like the shore. We touched the water with our oars.

            Working in closer, ghostlike, we ran our gig up into the sand. Sakim got out to haul it firmer aground. Fowling piece in hand, I stepped down to the sand.

            It was very quiet, only the soft rain falling, and the whisper of the rain upon the water. 'Stay with the boat,' I whispered, and then walked forward alone in the darkness.

            The space under the over-hang was empty, yet I was not reassured. Something about the place was wrong, very wrong. Retreating to the boat, I whispered, 'Ease her back on the water, Sakim, and stand by to shove off.'

            'There is something?'

            'Nothing ... only I have a feeling.'

            'I, too.'

            Could they have found the cave where lay our furs? Were they waiting there? It was possible they could find the cave but not the furs.

            'I want to sleep.' Rufisco said, irritably. 'And I am hungry.'

            'Better to wait for food,' I said, 'than try to digest cold steel.'

            Moving back along the shore, I circled warily toward the cave. Suddenly I heard uncalled-for sounds. I stood stock still and listened.

            The crack of a breaking stick, then another. The sound of flint against stone. Somebody was building a fire. I turned around.

            Rufisco! He had come ashore and already had a small blaze going.

            I swore bitterly, under my breath, and had taken a step toward him when suddenly the night exploded with a rush of human bodies. They charged the fire.

            The attackers had eyes only for the fire, perhaps could see only it.

            Suddenly, Nick Bardle's voice roared through the falling rain: 'Damn you all to Hell! There's only one! Who gave the word? Where are the others?'

            Turning, I crept toward the shore, hoping, praying, that Sakim would be near and waiting in the boat. I eased through the dark water, over my ankles, my knees ... A hand from utter darkness caught me. It was Sakim.

            Handing him my fowling piece and sword, I swung silently and thankfully aboard.

            Rufisco was dead or a prisoner. There was nothing we could do to help him at the moment. We could help him best by retaining our freedom, our mobility.

            Sakim wasted no time. He dipped the oars into the water very gently and sculled the boat deeper into the darkness.

            Ashore there were angry arguments and shouts. Then I clearly heard Bardle. 'Where are they? Damn you! Tell me or I'll slit your gullet!'

            'I am alone,' Rufisco's voice carried well, as no doubt he intended. 'The others have gone upstream after furs. I was left to hunt for meat ...'

            Then their voices were lost.

            How long until dawn? Dared we try to slip around the rock into the river? We might be visible a few minutes only, but if they saw us ...

            How had they found us? By boat? Or overland, on foot through the woods?

            We eased the boat along by pushing with our hands upon the rock wall. Now the voices were less plain.

            We rounded a corner of the rock. The opening was before us, seeming much too light now for our wishes, but Sakim sat to the oars, and taking breath, he dipped deep and shot the boat forward as best he might, laden as she was. She moved well and he dipped his oars again. Suddenly from the shoreside there came a great shout and somebody fired, yet I had slight fear now of a hit, for we were some distance off and moving faster. Another dip of the oars and we caught the first suggestion of the river's current, then more, and we were swept through the passage.

            It was no part of my plan to desert Rufisco. First we must find a place to cache our furs. Then, with the gig lightened, we might move with more freedom.

            When dawn was brighter, we lifted our sail and started across river to the far side. There was little time, but we made to the shelter of an unpromising island and pointed toward shore. It was low, offering less visible shelter, yet there were some trees and shrubs about and clumps of willows.

            'They would not think to look there,' Sakim said, as if reading my mind. 'We can find a place.'

            We sailed into shore, dropped our canvas and tied up to a huge old drift log with more branches than a porcupine, and waded ashore, keeping low.

            Sakim betook himself to one end of the island, I to the other. Then a low call from him and I turned back.

            He was waiting for me, and led me into the willows where I stopped, astonished indeed.

            There lay, among the willows, the bow and a portion of the hull of a goodly vessel, almost buried in sand. How many years she had lain there, no man could say, but the stout oak timbers were still strong, and her sides formed a roof. Entering the shelter thus formed, we found the Captain's quarters intact, although lying sideways and half-filled with sand. Yet here was a shelter from the weather for our furs, though hopefully for a few days only.

            We carried the bales inside, covering them with broken willow branches and reeds.

            Returning to the gig, we shoved off, raised our sail and crossed back to a safe distance from home shore.

            Our gig anchored, we crept back overland to the rocks, but they were deserted. All was still as death in the cloudy light, the sand churned by charging feet, a spot or two of blood.

            'They will have returned to their vessel,' I said. 'We must follow.'

            'You will try to get him back?'

            'He is one of us. We will have him back, if he lives.'

            'He is but bait for the trap,' Sakim replied. 'It is you they want.'

            'Nevertheless, he was one of us. You are with me?'

            'Where you go, I follow.'

            If there was a sun that day it remained unseen, for there were lowering clouds and raindrops dripping from leaves in branches. We found the narrow game trail they had taken, but we turned aside from it and searched out another, almost parallel.

            The fowling piece I left on the gig, but took my sword, dagger, bow and arrows. Sakim recharged a brace of the pistols and took them along, tucked in his sash. He also carried his scimitar and a spear.

            It was wet under the trees. The path was slippery, but we moved in silence, pausing from time to time to listen for what we might hear, and we heard nothing. We covered what must have been a mile, then found