Conchita had gone back to where Guadalupe Romana was sitting, and was straightening some clothes she had washed, folding them, taking her time.
Armand straightened up from the fire, wiping his hands on his pants. At that moment Felipe came from the trees bringing an armful of firewood. He dropped it, dusted off his hands, and walked away toward the woods past the two girls. Armand followed.
“Turley!” I touched his arm. “Look! They are going to try to escape! Can you create a diversion? Distract the others?”
He glanced at the camp, and then like a ghost he was gone into the woods.
How he moved so swiftly I could not guess, but suddenly, at least two hundred yards off, I heard the cry of a wolf. A long, quavering howl that rose, quivered in the still air, then died away. It was such a howl as made the hair stand on the neck. Even I who knew—or suspected—that the wolf was Silliman Turley, was startled.
An instant later a large stone suddenly landed in the very center of the fire, scattering burning logs and embers. A series of weird whooping calls came from the woods.
And below in the camp, all was turmoil. Some of the captors ran for their muskets, which had been left rather carelessly stacked against a tree. Others drew their swords, rushing to the edge of camp.
A quick glance toward where Guadalupe had been showed that she, Conchita, Armand, and Felipe had vanished.
Moving quickly, I took a route that I calculated might intersect theirs. I was not as good in the forest as Turley, but even the few days I had been there had taught me a little. I ran as swiftly and silently as possible.
They had run into the thickest of the woods and now I came upon them. Without doubt their captors were already searching for them. I must get them far away, or into some kind of hiding. Turley’s place was best, but I knew I could not find it, nor could I find him, so I must trust him to find us.
Leading them through a shallow stream and up the opposite bank, I turned downstream as swiftly as possible, weaving a way among the close-growing trees. All the while my mind raced ahead. The captors would be able to put no more than a few men to hunting for us. Some of their people must be left to guard Don Diego and his party. Nonetheless, they could be upon us within minutes.
We came into a thick stand of what Turley had called chestnut oaks, fine, tall trees growing very straight and thick. There was little brush there and we ran more swiftly, yet I kept looking around at the girls to see how they came. Despite their skirts, which they gathered in their hands and held high, they both ran well.
I saw an opening between the trees and led the way off along the hillside. Glancing back, I saw that Conchita had fallen, but was getting up. I could see Guadalupe’s breast heaving with effort. “I am afraid … I cannot …”
“We will go slower,” I told her. Then we went over the ridge into the forest beyond. That we were pursued I had no doubt.
Suddenly I was face to face with Silliman Turley. “How far is it to your place in the swamp?” I asked him.
He hesitated suddenly uneasy. ” ‘Taint far, only—”
“Only what?”
“Don’t think I’m backin’ off, but a place that will hide one man who does mighty little movin’ around mayn’t hide all of us. The savages never found that place o’ mine, but surely as I take so many in, they will. Be no use to me more, an’ it’s a tidy spot.”
“You won’t need it much longer, Turley. You’ll be coming away with us.”
“Don’t cal’clate on it. This here’s a good land. I been thinkin’ a sight since you showed up and I ain’t a-tall sure I want to leave. Maybe they’ll fetch my scalp sometime, but this here’s a good country.
“There’s plenty of fish, there’s game in the woods for the takin’, an’ you know, back to home a man could get hanged for killin’ a deer or even a rabbit. All the game back there belongs to the Queen or the gentry. Here I got only to kill it and butcher it. Then there’s roots, nuts, fruit about, whatever a man could want. Of course, I do miss the bread, and I miss settin’ over a glass with friends. I do miss that.”
“There will be settlements here,” I commented. “It won’t be long.”
“Here? You’re mad. Who’d want to leave all that behind and come out here where there’s nothin’ to drink but branch water? Maybe a few wild ones like me, but—”
“Let’s go to your place, Turley. We don’t have any choice. They’ll be finding us soon.”
“All right,” he agreed reluctantly.
The brush was thick the way he went, and he wove an intricate pattern, turning back and forth, doubling on his way, occasionally returning to straighten up grass and conceal the trail.
After a half-hour of steady travel, we paused. Glancing at Turley, I said, “Where are you taking us? This way doesn’t ever seem to have been traveled.”
“It ain’t been. That’s why the savages can’t find me. I never use the same route twice.”
We walked on and now he seemed to be seeking something along the river’s bank. He turned abruptly and walked into the water. Halfway across he said, “Walk right behind me. But take a step wrong right or left and you’ll go into thirty feet of water.”
Two feet below the surface of the water were two logs, side by side, a bridge hidden under water and virtually invisible.
One by one we crossed, following him closely. Had he not guided us, we could never have found our way. Almost two-thirds of the way across, he stopped.
“This here is pretty fancy. You see that blaze on the tree? The one over on the point?”
“I see it.”
“When that blaze is faced right toward you, stop. Then feel underwater on the side toward the blaze. You’ll find more logs. Track turns at right angles there. Then you got to count. Take ten steps, no more, no less. Then you feel on the side nearest the nigh bank an’ you’ll find the rest of the bridge. Once a body knows his way you can just about run it if you’re surefooted.”
When we reached the bank he led us into the swamp. Here and there were hummocks of earth, usually carrying a stand of cypress. Turley still twisted and turned. Most of the time we were on dry ground, occasionally wading through thick patches of reed, often a tangle of trumpet vine.
We came at last to a narrow hummock of earth and a narrow path through thick brush. At the end of the path was a body of deep water. Beyond the water lay acres upon acres of reeds, growing very tall. Turley went past me and moved off to the left a dozen feet, then put his hand in the water alongside a rotting log. When his hand lifted it held a rope which arose from the water across the narrows. Water fell dripping from the rope as he held it; then he gave a tug and a log slid from among the reeds. He reeled in the rope, pulling the log across, and when the end of the rope reached him he guided it into a notch in the rotting log where the rope had lam.
Then, he walked out on the log and we followed, balancing as best we could, to reach the far side of the water. Once there, he drew the log back into the reeds.
He led us through the reeds along a muddy ridge we had not seen from the opposite side, until we reached a raft of logs moored in an open place among the reeds. On the raft was built a crude circular hut of branches and slabs of bark, and close to it a lean-to. On a rack nearby a hide was stretched—deer, I presumed.
Under the lean-to were baskets of chinkapin and hickory nuts. Turley had told me the Indians used them not only to eat as they were but to make bread from the meal or thicken their soup. We tried it that night and a very wholesome thing it was, and goodly to eat.
Once upon the raft we rested, for all were weary from much walking up and down dale and through swamp and brush. Nor were we free from fear, for our enemies would not soon give up their chase.
The big man, their leader, had been abroad searching for the San Juan de Dios or else our escape might have ended in disaster. He had taken a number of his men with him. My own treasure worried me, for hidden though it was, they might come upon it. I reflected how a man cannot be free until he has possessions—and then he is no longer free but bound by them.