< previous page page_270 next page >

Page 270
He watched as Mariah wrested her arm from Nahtana's grasp and pointed toward the edge of the trees. She pantomimed turning his head away. She wanted privacy.
Good girl! he thought.
He glanced at the men still tied to the trees. The soldiers, including the one who'd spurned his handshake.
He would leave them there.
With a pang of agony deep inside, he remembered other lives that had been lost due to him. A young boy, stolen away while picking berries.
The boy's mother, who'd killed herself in despair.
Damn! No matter how unworthy they were, he had to take these men along.
First, he needed a diversion.
He had already circled the encampment, slowly, stealthily. Picking his way about the rounded rocks.
The rocks that had led him here. To Mariah.
He still tasted the bitter anguish he had felt at heating of her capture. It was tempered now, however, by the jubilation he had felt at finding her alive. He had not stopped to think why her well-being mattered to him. He'd had to act.
Many of the Indians were inside the cave. Their campfire was just inside it, sheltered from the earlier rain that had left the forest dripping.
The stack of pelts dried beside the fire.
Thorn studied the fire, then smiled. He had his answer.
Though he had not shorn his hair before he had left the small settlement where he had ventured with Ainsley and the rest, he had dressed similarly to an Iroquois, in a loose buckskin shirt, breechcloth and his usual moccasins. He had boiled walnuts and used the resulting dye to darken his skin.
He glanced around. Nahtana remained with Mariah at the edge of the woods. Two other Indians were outside the cave, but he'd seen neither before. Good. They might not recognize him.
He approached the first, who was small and thin and reeked of bear grease. Speaking in Shawnee, one of the Indian languages he'd learned, Thorn identified himself. ''I am Elgas, of the Shawnee. I wish your hospitality for the night."

 
< previous page page_270 next page >