War Drums (Sass)/Chapter 35
EVERY moment was precious. Yet Jolie found time for one last look at the little camp on the mountain top before they stole down the path to the woods-encircled meadow below the summit where the horses grazed. Within a few minutes they were mounted and away.
They followed no trail. They descended the upper slopes of Sani'gilagi by a steep and rocky way where even the sure-footed Chicasaw ponies were sometimes in danger of falling. The moon shone fitfully. Sometimes the forest around them was bathed in ghostly light, and twice Almayne halted them until drifting clouds obscured the moon once more.
There were many alarms. Again and again Jolie saw dim forms moving amid the trees, but always these proved to be small bands of deer. Once they were close to disaster and were saved only because Little Mink, the taller of the two Muskogee warriors, was swifter of foot than a Cherokee sentinel who saw them and sped away through the moonlit woods.
Jolie saw the beginning of that race but not the end. She knew only that after a time Little Mink reappeared at Almayne's side and nodded in reply to a short, guttural question of the hunter.
It was due to Aganuntsi the Conjurer that they were able to pierce the circle of enemies around Sani'gilagi. Knowing the precise location of every Indian camp, he had advised Almayne as tb the best route to take, and the hunter's consummate woodcraft and his intimate knowledge of the ground enabled him to follow these directions in every detail. Yet it was not only a miracle of skill which brought them safely through that first dangerous stage of their journey; it was also a miracle of good fortune.
When the dawn came they had left far behind them the valleys around Sani'gilagi where the camps of their enemies dotted the woods. There was less danger now, for a while, of a chance encounter with some wandering Indian band, but with every moment there was greater need of haste. Long ago their flight from the mountain-top had been discovered. That they were being pursued was certain, and there was no telling how close behind them their pursuers were.
In the gray light of morning Almayne wheeled Nunda, his piebald pony, to the right and headed straight up the slope of a steep oak ridge. A few minutes later they found themselves in a narrow, deepwom path or road winding along the ridge's wooded summit.
In short, quick-spoken sentences Almayne explained his change of plan, pointed out the necessity of greater speed. This was a buffalo path, he told them, one of the highways trodden out by the herds in passing back and forth across the mountain barrier. For some miles it would lead them in the general direction of Fort Prince George, and they would follow it for a while because they could ride faster than in the unbroken forest. Without further word he set out at a brisk trot, the two Muskogees running just behind him.
To Jolie the swifter pace brought a sense of exhilaration. Her mind was oddly content. Throughout this journey she had been aware of a strange indifference to danger. Always, as she rode, she saw in her mind's eye the image of Lachlan. His place in the column was behind her; she could not see him without turning her head, and she turned it seldom. But with the eye of her mind she saw him as clearly as though she were gazing into his face, and during that ride she was aware of little else.
She knew now that she had loved him since those first days on Sani'gilagi; that by then Gilbert Barradell had become a phantom which still seemed real but which had no reality. She wondered vaguely that she had not recognized sooner the change that had been taking place in her; and she thought with wonder—wonder that was not vague but sharp and almost awe-inspiring—of the tremendous revelation which had come to her suddenly in that dreadful moment in the moonlit meadow when she saw Lachlan battling with Falcon and believed that he was lost to her forever.
Yes, these things were cause for wonder, and, dreaming thus, she wondered at them. But in the fact that she who had loved Gilbert Barradell now loved Lachlan McDonald she found nothing strange. All that had gone before seemed unreal, childish, utterly unimportant. Her life had begun when Lachlan McDonald came into it.
Mile after mile the buffalo path wound through the splendid virgin forest of the mountains and the upper foothills; and mile after mile Jolie rode on, seeing little, hearing little of what passed around her—the abounding wild life of the wilderness, the grouse and the turkeys which they startled from time to time, the deer standing at gaze in the forest glades. Suddenly Almayne flung up his hand and jerked his horse to a halt. The others halted also and Jolie, her reverie broken at last, bent forward on Selu's back, watching the hunter curiously.
She knew that he was listening, but she could hear nothing. He sat erect and rigid on his horse, his head cocked a little to the side, his long rifle gripped in his right hand. Then, with a quick motion of his arm urging haste, he wheeled to the right out of the buffalo path, riding diagonally up the steep wooded slope, the others following. Behind a kalmia thicket well above the path he halted them.
"Watch the path," he whispered. "You'll see something."
For perhaps a minute they waited. Then from below came a muffled snort and, later, a dull thudding, as of hoofs. Gazing through a gap in the kalmia foliage, Jolie saw the huge bulk of a buffalo bull in the path below, another and another and another—bulls, cows, and calves plodding onward in single file until two hundred or more had passed.
Almayne watched them eagerly, anxiously. Finally, when the last of them had vanished, he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
"I feared that when they smelled our traces they would break into the woods," he said to Lachlan. "Luck's with us. That herd will wipe out our tracks in the buffalo path."
For a moment he sat his horse, thinking deeply, tugging at his white moustache, his lean brown hand fingering his rifle. Then, with a gruff word to his piebald pony, he led the way along the mountain side, turning at last not down towards the path, but up the slope through the woods towards the ridge's summit. Presently he beckoned Lachlan and the latter rode forward and joined him.
"A mile beyond the divide," he said, "we can strike the old trading road, leading to the Keowee river ford and thence to the Fort. The road is hard and broad and we can make speed. What think you, lad? Shall we keep to the woods or risk a dash in the open?"
Lachlan, pondering the question, saw the hunter's face grow suddenly tense, saw his lips frame a smothered exclamation, saw the long black rifle leap to his shoulder. Almost instantly came the rifle's holiow crash, and next moment from the forest ahead of them rang out a long, quavering yell.
Almayne, his eyes like blue embers, flung up his hand in a gesture commanding silence. For a few moments they waited, breathless and rigid; then from far behind and below came a long whoop, tremulous, musical, indescribably ominous.
Almayne swore huskily.
"I winged him," he growled, "but he gave the signal and they heard it. They were closer behind us than I thought. We must ride for it now."
Jolie touched Lachlan's arm.
"What has happened?" she asked.
"Almayne saw a Cherokee scout and weunded him," Lachlan told her quickly. "He must have come through the woods, while the others followed the buffalo path. They heard his signal and they are coming. We must strike for the old trading road and make a dash for the river ford above Fort Prince George."
Already Almayne's pony was crashing through the underbrush as his rider urged—him up the slope. Lachlan leaned over and pressed his lips against Jolie's forehead. For an instant she clung te him. Then she bent forward over Selu's neck as he plunged through the thicket in the path that Almayne had broken. As her slim form straightened, Lachlan saw her sweep her hand across her eyes; but when she turned and looked back, she was smiling, and her eyes were bright, and his heart leaped at the spectacle of her beauty and her courage.