Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (20 page)

Chapter 9

The forest had always been Hunter's home, and he had roamed it with the effortless enthusiasm of a deer, but now that the French had entered the Ohio Valley, and clearly intended to stay, he grew far more cautious. He had always taken his early morning patrols seriously, but now that a confrontation with advancing French soldiers could come at any time, he became acutely aware of the possibility that men out scouting for the French might see him. He would have thought himself a great fool if he were taken prisoner, and he intended to avoid such a humiliation.

Now, before moving forward, he climbed the tallest tree and scanned the horizon for telltale wisps of smoke that would indicate a campfire. There were still men trapping furs, so smoke in itself might only mean their presence, rather than that of troops in the area. Whether or not there were campfires that needed to be investigated, he remained aloft to study the terrain thoroughly. He was searching for anything unusual: birds that suddenly took flight, or a waving motion in the foliage caused by frightened animals fleeing human pursuit.

Each morning his careful observation failed to disclose any ominous signs, but he continued to exercise care when he began to explore on foot. He relied not only on the sharpness of his eyes and ears, but also on his intuition to warn him of danger. Certain he would sense the presence of the enemy before they could be seen or heard, he often sat quietly and waited for the forest to reveal its secrets. It was only after he felt its natural calm remained undisturbed, that he returned to camp.

Washington's men were carving out a road wide enough for wagons and cannon, and their progress through the mountains was tortuously slow. Because the French had cannon, Hunter understood the British need, but he envied the ease with which the French had floated theirs down the Allegheny River. In his view, the French had far too many advantages, but he had to admire the courage of his traveling companions when, according to Ensign Ward, the force that opposed them was nearly ten times their size.

Hunter heard his name being called as he entered camp, and turned to see a burly young man approaching. No one had dared to bother him since the day he had broken Vernon Avey's arm, but he was instantly on guard. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Whoa, Indian, there's no reason for you to get mad at me. My name's Thomas McGee. Some of us were talking this morning, and we got to wondering who's the best man in camp with an ax. Now I said the only way to settle that question is to have a contest. We find trees of equal size, and see which man can fell his first. Some of the men think you would win, others don't, but a difference of opinion is what makes a contest exciting. You want to try it?"

Anxious to see the competition, men had already begun to gather, but Hunter didn't feel like doing such hard work just to entertain them. "What do the officers say?"

"There's no reason to bother them," Thomas replied. "We're supposed to be chopping down trees, aren't we?"

That was certainly true. All the men were working from dawn to dusk to widen the trappers' path through the forest. How two of the trees were removed couldn't be of much interest to their officers, but Hunter had another objection. "Are the men going to place bets?"

Thomas was shocked. "Well, of course, they're going to make bets!" he answered. "That's part of the fun."

"I'll do it, if I'm given a quarter of the money won on me," Hunter offered.

"A quarter! Hell, nobody will agree to that."

Hunter shrugged. "Then have someone else do it."

The men began to voice their opinions in the matter, and it soon became apparent that without Hunter, there would be no contest, and their spokesman had to give in. "All right, you get your quarter of the amount won on you. Is there anything else you want?"

"Yes, I want to choose the trees, as well as my ax, and I want time to sharpen it."

A respectful murmur passed through the crowd, for now everyone realized that Hunter was not merely strong, but also clever. "We've already chosen the trees, but I guess you can pick two others, if you don't like them. As for the ax, each man ought to work with his favorite, and they ought to be sharp."

"Do you want to do this now?"

"Sure, as soon as you're ready."

"Who's the other man?"

"Carl Schmidt, you must know him."

Having heard his name, Carl pushed his way through the crowd. He was a brawny young man with a ready smile, good-natured and strong, but not overly bright. He walked up to Hunter and offered his hand. He was the same height as the Indian, but easily outweighed him by thirty pounds. Big and tough, his grin showed what he thought of his chances of winning.

Hunter shook Carl's hand, but quickly released it. "Make them give you a quarter of the money, if you win," he urged him.

Carl turned to Thomas McGee. "If he gets a quarter, don't I get a quarter, too?"

"Of course, Carl," McGee assured him. "We'd not cheat you."

Carl believed him, but Hunter doubted he would have seen any money had he not asked for it. Carl had already selected an ax, and Hunter went through the others, carefully judging not only the weight, but also the feel of the handle. When he found one he liked, he sat down and sharpened the blade with a whetstone. Ignoring the men standing around discussing the match, he worked with a methodical rhythm until the ax had a sharper edge than it had possessed when new.

He then set the whetstone aside and stood. Thomas McGee immediately came over to lead him down the trail to the pine trees he'd chosen, and while the trunks were not so thick as to make the contest exhausting, they were too closely spaced to suit Hunter. He shook his head and, after a careful search, pointed out two others of approximately the same girth, but standing farther apart.

"These are better," he announced without detailing his reason.

"Trees is trees, Indian," Thomas scoffed, but he didn't argue with Hunter's selection, and neither did Carl.

When they were ready to begin, Carl wore a look of intense concentration. He spread his legs to assume a carefully balanced stance and raised his ax to shoulder height, while Hunter was completely relaxed, apparently not caring who won. While the majority of bets had been placed on Carl, Hunter had nearly as many vocal supporters, and they began to cheer him on as soon as Thomas McGee gave the signal to begin.

In a matter of seconds, the difference between the two men became clear. Carl was slamming his ax into the tree with the agitated frenzy of a crazed woodpecker, sending chips of bark flying in all directions, while Hunter worked in an easy rhythm that sliced more deeply into the heart of the tree with each cleanly swung stroke. Had the trees been saplings, Carl might have succeeded in felling his first, but these trees required not speed, but endurance, and as he tired, Carl gradually began to slow his furious pace, while Hunter continued to swing his ax low and hard at the same steady rate. When his tree was the first to fall, no one was surprised.

Hunter then gestured graciously for Carl to continue. With his face red with both embarrassment and effort, he struggled to chop down his tree. When Carl had finally accomplished his task, Hunter offered his hand. While Carl shook it, he couldn't look the Indian in the eye, and turned away to hide his tears. Hunter had expected to win, and felt no real elation in his victory or any sympathy for Carl in his loss.

"I'd like my money now," he told McGee.

Clearly in awe, Thomas counted it out and handed it to him. "Where did you learn to use an ax?"

"I am Seneca," Hunter reminded him. "Our children play at chopping down bigger trees than these."

Thomas considered that reply for a moment, and then shook his head in dismay. "Somehow, I doubt there's much you can't do."

If Hunter was aware of any gaps in his knowledge, he didn't share them with Thomas McGee. Instead, he smiled and, carrying his winnings and ax, walked back toward camp, while the men who had bet on him kept on cheering.

The noise of the contest had drawn Byron's interest, and he met Hunter on the trail. "It looks as though you're as good with an ax as you are at fighting."

"That's not difficult."

"Try and be careful," Byron warned. "The men are working hard, and they can use a little fun, but don't let them talk you into anything you'd rather not do. The men you beat won't forget how foolish you made them look."

Unable to work, Vernon Avey had remained back at Will's Creek, so Hunter wasn't concerned about him. As for Carl Schmidt, he had not seemed hostile, just disheartened that he had lost. "I know you and Elliott are my only friends here," he confided. "I don't trust any of the others."

"You can trust Washington," Byron assured him.

"Perhaps."

"Just remember what I said. Every man you beat will harbor a grudge against you, and in time that might grow to be a dangerous number."

Thinking that by then he would be a very wealthy Indian, Hunter could only smile rather than shiver in dread.

* * *

Alanna didn't have to ask Melissa if she enjoyed being married, because she had never seen her look happier. At the same time, there was a disconcerting difference in her cousin that she couldn't name. One moment she seemed more mature, more thoughtful, and in the next, wistful to the point of tears, although she never actually cried.

The announcement of her engagement to Ian and their plans for a May wedding had brought enthusiastic good wishes rather than censure, when his military service was given as the reason for their haste. Aunt Rachel's friends were all eager to help. The Frederick sisters, along with Alanna, were to be bridesmaids. The only regret was that Byron and Elliott would be unable to attend.

Melissa was intent upon having a whole new wardrobe by her wedding day, and Rachel, Alanna, and she spent almost as much time at Sally Lester's shop as they did at home. There were fabrics to select, as well as endless yards of lace and pretty ribbons which had to be chosen for the subtlety of their color and fineness of stitch, followed by many hours of fittings. For Alanna, who had had scant interest in clothes a month prior, it was all a bit overwhelming at first, but she soon got caught up in the fun, since so much of it was focused on Melissa, rather than her.

She could sit back and watch her cousin preen, without feeling any uncomfortable assault on her own shyness. She was content simply to watch, and to occasionally offer an opinion, while Melissa and her mother made so many demands Sally Lester's staff was kept sewing until their fingers bled. Melissa was going to have not only a beautiful wedding, but a wardrobe any woman in Virginia would envy.

One afternoon, Randolph O'Neil was waiting outside the dressmaker's shop. "Good afternoon, ladies. Would you care to join me for tea?" He gestured toward the elegant tearoom across the street. Renowned for its delectable pastries, it was one of Rachel Barclay's favorite places, and she readily agreed.

"How sweet of you to invite us, Mr. O'Neil. We'd love to join, you." Rachel took his arm as they crossed the street, leaving Melissa and Alanna to walk together.

"I should have told her he's interested in you," Melissa whispered.

"That would be cruel," Alanna argued. "They're friends, and I'm sure he must like your mother very much. She has both beauty and charm, and I have neither, besides, she spends a great deal of money in his shop."

"He was waiting to see you, not her," Melissa insisted. "I saw him walk by Sally's shop at least three times. Just watch."

With what appeared to be merely a random choice, Randolph seated himself between Alanna and Rachel. Amused, Melissa winked at her cousin, and then directed her comment to Randolph. "Ian and I hope you'll be able to attend the wedding, Mr. O'Neil."

"I'm looking forward to it," he assured her. "Your cousin owes me a dance."

Noting Alanna's blush, Melissa couldn't help but probe. "Really, and why is that?"

Expecting Alanna to explain, Randolph hesitated a moment, but when she appeared to be too shy to speak, he did. "I asked her to dance the night of the Governor's Ball, but unfortunately you'd been taken ill, and Alanna had to leave early."

Rachel was not at all pleased by Randolph's mention of that night, and hurriedly changed the subject. "You'll be able to dance until dawn at the reception, Mr. O'Neil. Now tell us just what sort of things you'll be carrying in your shop in the fall. I know Melissa and Ian are sure to receive a great many beautiful wedding gifts, but I'd like to give them something special for their first Christmas together."