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Page 268
Night was falling. The air grew cooler but remained damp. The nearby weathered rocks were forming deep, forbidding shadows. Mariah couldn't see the river beyond them, but she heard its swift, rushing noise.
She smelled meat cooking over a fire somewhere. Her stomach growled. Were they going to starve her to death instead of beating her?
She wondered which would be worse.
Meantime, she was afraid she was going to embarrass herself. They had only loosed her once during the day, and even though they'd given her nothing to drink, she felt as though her bladder was going to burst. If they'd intended her to die of dehydration, they'd forgotten the rain that had changed from a drizzle to a downpour some time earlier, then stopped.
Or maybe they just assumed she wouldn't be smart enough to keep her mouth open to collect the moisture.
Now, she sat in mud. Her hair was starting to dry but still hung in damp waves about her face. She tossed her head in a futile attempt to get the hair out of her eyes.
"Will?" she whispered, looking toward the young man tied to the tree beside her. He was asleepor was he unconscious? Beyond him, Paul, too, was slumped over, only his bindings keeping him erect.
Her arms ached. So did her legs, her backevery muscle she'd become aware of since starting manual labor in this time. Were the Indians going to make them sleep here, tied to trees?
What a fascinating scene for a movie, she told herself, trying to keep from screaming, from crying. Even Pierce's stunning script had missed much detailthe sound of owls hooting in the forest behind her. The buzzing of the insects that landed persistently on her bare cheeks, even when she moved her head to scare them away. A scratch on her nose stung from perspiration.
"Will!" she tried again, but he didn't stir.
She heard a sound from the woods, and a group of Indians emerged, carrying stacks of animal pelts. The others who'd remained with the captives came to greet them, their voices

 
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