to know how far they had to go? They’ve been a long time aboot it.”
“Well,” I edged to the side of the door away from Lila, “they’d to cross the
bank, y’ know. ‘Tis maybe a mile, but walking in deep sand is slow. Going and
coming, that’s two mile. They’d to unload the furs from the boat and carry them
across. Six bales, and each bale a load for two men, I’d say.”
Deliberately I put my shoulder against the door so he had to turn to face me and
turn his shoulder to Lila. The pistol was aimed right at me, and at such range
he could not miss. Lila was hesitating, and I said, suddenly, “Whatever they do,
they’d best do it!”
I snapped the last words and slapped the pistol barrel with my right hand just
as Lila clapped the pillow over his face. Yet all did not go as I hoped.
Slapping the pistol barrel, my hand did not make firm contact, knocking it only
slightly aside. And as Lila clapped the pillow over Joshua’s face she jerked him
back, off balance. The gun blasted and something stung my cheek and brow, and
then Lila was holding Joshua tight and I had wrested the gun from him.
There was a pounding of feet on the deck as someone came running, but I stepped
over Joshua. Abby caught Kin up and followed, and we made for the deck. Lila
dropped Joshua, now unconscious or dead, but she did not neglect to strip him of
the now empty pistol and his cutlass, and well I recalled that with a cutlass
she was not one with whom to trifle.
Abby turned swiftly toward the door of the main cabin at the end of the passage
and opened it. I was facing the opposite way, toward the deck. A man lunged into
the opening, a bare blade in hand, and thrust hard at me.
The door was narrow, and as he thrust, I fired. The bullet took him in the chest
and smashed him to a dead stop. Then his eyes seemed to glaze over and he fell
toward me. I thrust the empty pistol in my belt and caught up the cutlass and
went through the door to the deck.
Facing me were a dozen men, and not one of them was Wilson. I’d the cutlass and
one shot. Lola came up beside me, with her own cutlass.
“Drop it!” He was a burly, black-bearded fellow with a bend in his nose. “You’ll
get nowhere with this!”
There are times to fight and times to talk. The two of us might account for
three or four of them before they had us, but behind us were Abby and Kin.
“Joshua,” I said, “is dead. By this time your crew are dead or prisoners. I’ve
two dozen men ashore there, and more than a hundred Indians. Put a boat in the
water, and we’ll go. Try to keep us and we’ll leave you for the Indians.”
“Captain?” The big black-bearded man called out. “Captain Wilson?”
He was looking over my shoulder. Fear went over me like a dash of icy water on a
wild night at sea. Wilson had been behind us, in the main cabin!
I stood fast, but I was frightened. Abby was back there, Abby and Kin. They were
behind me, and Wilson behind them, yet if I turned to look, we all were lost.
“There’s no use to call him,” I said. “Get the boat in the water if you wish to
live, and—” I added—”if any of you wish to cross the blades with Lila, be
advised she’s stronger than any two of you, and better with her blade than any
four—”
“Five,” Lila said coolly. “I’ve marked that many for my own. Do you take the
rest.”
It is not good for a man to think too long if he must act, and too many ideas
had been thrown at them, each causing doubt and hesitation.
Joshua dead … where was Captain Wilson? Indians ashore, the boat crew possibly
captured or dead, two blades and a pistol facing them—and at such range where at
least one man must die before blades could be crossed.
They hesitated, and in so doing lost their advantage.
Quickly I stepped forward, Lila beside me, and they backed up, warily. There was
no command, each waited for the other to act, and still no word from the cabin
behind us.
Torn with fear, I dared not look around or lose my slight advantage. What was
happening ashore I knew not, nor where stood Abby with my child.
Suddenly there was a shout and a crash behind me, a boat bumped the ship’s side,
and the men before me, half started forward at the shout from the cabin, half
turned toward the ship’s side.
Holding my fire, I thrust quickly at the nearest man. He tried to parry the
blow, but his reaction time was too slow although he partly parried it. The
point of my blade, and a good six inches of it, went into his thigh. Withdrawing
quickly, I cut sidewise at a second man, who leaped back and tripped over a
third.
Suddenly men were swarming over the side, and the first over, sword in hand, was
Jeremy Ring. None of the ship’s crew were armed with pistols, as was natural,
and all of my men were.
There was a scream behind me and, wheeling, I leaped into the passage and in two
steps was at the door of the main cabin. It stood open and beyond the table
stood Abby, holding Kin. Her face was very white, her eyes wide and cool, and
she was facing Oldfast Wilson.
His face glistened with sweat, his shirt was wet, and there was a smell of
brandy in the room.
“I’ll kill you, you—!”
My pistol I had thrust into my waistband, and my point was low. I was deceived
by the man’s huge size, and never suspected the quickness with which he moved.
He turned like a cat and struck out hard with the telescope he clutched in his
hand.
The blow caught me across the knuckles and my cutlass went to the floor. He
leaped at me, and my reaction was the instinctive one of a man with a knowledge
of fisticuffs. I struck, left and right, into his face.
Blood splattered, but the next minute he had me wrapped in those huge arms.
“Now!” he gasped, “I break your back!”
His strength was enormous. He had seemed huge and fat. He was all of that, but
he was also a man of unbelievable strength. His huge arms wrapped around me and
he began to crush. Desperately, I hooked short, smashing blows at his face, and
every blow crushed and split the skin, but oblivious to my blows he tightened
his grasp. I felt a streak of agony go through me. I struggled, fought to break
his hold and could not. I felt my breath going. He was leaning his huge weight
on me now. His mouth was wide and gasping. Blood trickled from lips broken by my
punches.
I thrust a thumb into his cheek and dug my fingers into the flesh below his ear
and behind his jaw. With all my strength, I ripped at his cheek. Something broke
and began to tear and he screamed. With a tremendous heave I threw him from me
and struck hard with my right hand, and the blow caught him on his upraised
chin.
His head went back but, mad with fear, I smashed again and again at his face and
body. Hitting his enormous body was useless. I might as well have pounded a huge
leather sack filled with wheat. So I struck again and again at his face and he
fell back and I staggered, catching myself on the doorjamb.
Somebody caught my arm and I jerked free, turning to see Jeremy Ring.
“All is well,” he said. “We have the ship.”
28
“Sail, ho!”
The call came from the deck, and as one person, we left the smashed and bloody
cabin and went to the deck. A fine tall ship was bearing down upon us, flying
the flag of Britain. I swore softly, bitterly. I had never thought, as a lad, to
look on that flag with anything but respect and affection.
“Stand by,” I said. “I do not mean to be taken.”
They were lowering a boat, and in a few minutes it was nearing our side. Six men
were pulling at the oars. A stalwart, square-shouldered man sat at the tiller.
As they came alongside, he asked, “Is it all right to come aboard?”
“It is,” I said.
My men were walking about, picking up dropped weapons. There was a splash of
blood here and there and the crew of the ship or what remained aboard had been
herded into the waist, where O’Hara and Magill stood guard over them.