Leaving the horses as bait, he took Bethie by the hand and led her up the steep hillside, showing her how to step only on stone so as to leave no trace. Quickly, he chose the best spot, a rock overhang that gave him a view of the entrance to the gully.
“You stay here. Keep the baby quiet and out of sight. Here’s a loaded pistol. Don’t use it unless I’m gone and they find you—”
“But where—”
“I’ll head back down, lay a false trail for them, then hide. When they move toward the horses, I’ll attack. Don’t give yourself away. With one saddle to three horses, they might think I’m traveling alone. If they kill me, you stay hidden until they leave, then head due east toward the fort. Don’t waste time burying me. Do you understand?”
“Aye, but leave me one of the rifles. I can shoot, Nicholas.”
Nicholas had expected her to show fear, and there was fear in her eyes. But her face also showed grim resolve. An image of her standing before her cabin, alone, frightened, and very pregnant, leapt into his mind.
I am no’ wantin’ for means to protect myself!
He handed her the weapon. “Very well. It’s primed and loaded. But you are not to use it except to save your own life, do you understand?”
“But what if you’re—”
“No! Fire only to save your own life! Once you fire, they’ll know where you are, and they’ll come for you. They’re experienced warriors, Bethie. You’ll have two shots, maybe three if you reload quickly.” He placed his extra powder horn and a leather pouch of lead balls, on the ground beside her.
Bethie settled a sleeping Belle under a nearby tree, lay down on the rock, took up the rifle, and watched as Nicholas made his way carefully down the hillside and back to the horses. He stomped clumsily about in the mud. Then, deliberately stepping on the underbrush, he strode down the creek and disappeared.
He’d been out of sight for only a moment when she saw them—five Delaware warriors crouched at the mouth of the gully.
Chapter 17
Bethie lay flat against the rock, hardly daring to breathe. She watched as the Indian men walked silently into the gully. Two held rifles. The rest carried war clubs and knives. One had small tufts of hair hanging from his belt.
Her stomach lurched.Human scalps.
Five against one. She searched the hillside across from her, searched for some sign of Nicholas. Did he know he was outnumbered? Could he see they carried rifles?
She glanced over her shoulder, saw that Belle had awoken and was sucking her thumb. She would be hungry soon. If she began to cry...
Bethie closed her eyes, muttered a silent prayer.
When she opened her eyes again, the warriors were directly below her. They moved cautiously, their heads turning as they searched the hillsides.
Her heart stopped dead.
One seemed to look directly at her, his gaze sliding over her like a breeze.
She knew the moment they saw the horses. Their attention shifted to the animals, and, crouched and ready to fight, they moved forward with more confidence. One bent down, traced the footprints Nicholas had left for them to find, gestured to the others. Four moved forward toward the horses, while the fifth, the man with the scalps on his belt, backtracked, disappearing up the hill into the trees.
Two pistol shots split the silence.
A knife whistled through the air, sank into flesh.
A cry. A grunt.
Three of the Indians fell to the ground.
Nicholas sprang from nowhere, grabbed a rifle from one of the men he’d shot, swung it at the fourth, who leapt out of the way.
Bethie saw Nicholas flip the rifle, aim it, fire at his attacker’s belly.
Nothing happened.
It hadn’t been loaded.
