Reserved though she was, she had a natural, easy manner with all people and talked to these Indians as though they were her brothers. Most tribes, I knew, had a tradition among them of certain special women, endowed with unusual gifts of leadership or wisdom. Among the Cherokee these were usually referred to as the Beloved Woman, or some such term, and many times their prestige was such as to overrule the tribal council. I could see our Catawbas were accepting Diana in that way. Part of it was her quality of stillness and inner repose, for whatever happened, she maintained her poise. As the days went by, I began to see this girl I had married was even more than I had suspected and in every way.
Yet absorbed as I was in my bride, I began to see there was increased wariness on the part of our Catawbas. They spoke no word, but from time to time all would lift their paddles from the water and listen. One such time I took up my musket and looked to its charging.
“Is something wrong?” Diana whispered.
“Aye. Unless I mistake them, there is trouble about. We must be silent now.”
They dipped their paddles more carefully, moving with deep, powerful strokes, and I looked carefully about, scanning the river itself, the trees, and even the occasional glimpse of the blue ridge of mountains that lay before us and toward which we moved.
The water itself held my attention, for many a floating object could speak of what lay before us. I saw nothing, heard nothing. If sixth sense I had, like my father before me, it was not in working order just then.
When it came my turn to take the paddle, the Catawbas shook their heads and gestured to the musket. They preferred me armed and ready with the musket than using a paddle I must put down before I could fire.
We had come, in these past days, higher and higher toward the blue distant mountains, just as blue now but no longer so distant. The current ran stronger, but the river had grown more narrow, and there had been times, for one or another reason, when we had to take the canoes from the water and carry them about some obstruction.
It was such a place to which we now came. Several large logs or trees had fallen into the water, blocking a part of the stream. Around the end of these logs the water rushed with tremendous force, far too strong a current for three men with paddles.
The Catawbas wasted no time in debate. He who was in the lead canoe promptly turned the canoe sharply to the left and into the mouth of a small creek. He led the way up the creek to where it widened in a sort of swamp. Taking the canoe in toward the shore, he gestured for all to land.
“No more canoe,” one of them said to me. “We walk.”
Swiftly the canoes were taken into the swamp and hidden by vines; others, including myself, worked to assort the goods we carried into packs, Diana taking a somewhat smaller one without hesitation.
One of the Catawbas slipped away into the woods, going back toward the Rapidan. The rest of us started out, walking swiftly along the flank of the mountain, taking a dun trail southward.
No attention was given to he who had left us, the Catawbas taking it for granted he would take care of himself and catch up when he could. It was apparent that he had gone to have a look down the river to see who, if anyone, might be following us. On that subject I had my own thoughts, private though they were. What Diana thought, I knew not, nor did I ask.
One name hung in the back of my mind, the name of a man who knew how to hate, a man who would not be frustrated, our enemy always.
Max Bauer.
CHAPTER XXI
We hastened on into the gathering dusk and at last came to a hollow among great trees where boulders lay about and there was a spring from which a small branch flowed. The place was shadowed and gloomy when we entered, and the fire we made was small, for hasty cooking. Among themselves the Catawbas muttered, and I knew from a word I caught it was of their brother they spoke.
“What is it?” Diana whispered.
“The other one has not come. They talk of it now.”
She was silent. We ate then and put out the fire. About us the dark columns of the trees lost their shape in the shadows, and only overhead could we see the black fringe of leaves against the starlit sky. A wind stirred. In the aisles of the forest, leaves skittered, and cool was the wind from off the high ridges.
Three Catawbas slept, and two remained awake. After a time I, too, slept, yet for minutes only, awakening with eyes coming wide and ears stretched to hear the slightest sound.
At dawn we awakened, chewed on jerked venison, and moved swiftly away. There was no sign of him who had left us.
“He is dead,” one said when I spoke of him. “If he has not come, he is dead.”
“You wish to go back? We will go, also.”
“No. There is another time. There is always another time.”
We crossed over the mountains at Swift Run Gap and descended into a lovely valley beyond and turned south once more. Diana, although the hard travel left her tired, made no word of complaint, yet I was worried, fearing for her but hating to be driven by whoever it was who came behind us. If the young Catawba had been killed, the blood feud was mine as well as theirs, for he had been acting for us. It was all very well to say they would have come this way, and all might have happened, anyway, yet I liked it not. Had Diana not been with us, I would myself have turned back to see who our enemies were and to take toll of them.
Yet there was wariness in me, too, for if the Catawba had been killed, someone among them was a woodsman, and one skillful indeed. To hunt down and kill a Catawba warrior was no small thing; of course, even the best made mistakes.
We held close to the mountains, traveling in the forest when possible.
On the last morning I came upon a tree that I myself had blazed upon a trail my feet had often trod. “We will be home soon,” I said to Diana, and she put her hand on mine, touching it lightly.
The trail opened upon a meadow where fresh-cut hay was stacked and beyond it a cornfield. Melons lay on the ground among the rows of corn. This would be a good harvest.
We saw the palisade before us, low upon its knoll near the creek. The gate stood open, and two men faced us, shading their eyes to see us. I lifted a hand, and there was an answering wave.
The first to reach me was Yance.
“Where you been, lad?” he asked, smiling. Glancing at Diana, his smile widened. “I told Temp you’d be bringin’ a lass with you, but not who it was. She’s been devilin’ me for a name, but I haven’t told her a thing!”
“There’s somebody behind us, Yance. Somebody who wants us real bad. He’s killed one of our Catawba friends, or must have.”
“It is a bad time, Kin. Two of our men are down sick with chills and fever. Will they be many or few?”
“Few, I think, but not easy men.”
He grinned widely, cheerfully. “When have they ever been easy? We were born to hard times and hard men, Kin, and I am thinking we are hard men ourselves.” He glanced at the Catawbas. “Where did you come by them?”
So I told him as we walked, and he listened, nodding from time to time. He shook his head. “You took a long chance going to the islands, Kin. A long chance.”
“White women are not so many, Yance, and they are noticed. Yet without Henry I could not have done it.”
“He is a good man and welcome amongst us.” He nodded toward the settlement. “They know you are coming, and they have prepared a feast for the prodigal.”
“Me? A prodigal? It should be more likely you.”
They were wailing for us, and Temperance ran forward when she saw Diana. “Oh, Di! You’re my sister now! If I could have chosen, it would have been you.”
“Come within,” Lila said quietly. “There is food upon the table, and you be hungry folk.”
My eyes went to her, this woman who had once served my mother and had married one of my father’s best friends. The size of her never ceased to astonish me, for she was nearly as tall and broad as I, who am larger than most. There was a little gray in her hair now, and it pained me to see it. Yet she was older than my mother.