Judith E French by Moonfeather

hadn’t been far off when she’d questioned his manhood.
    How in the hell had things gotten so mixed up? He wanted to get away from the Shawnee before they murdered him—probably in a particularly painful manner—but he wanted to do it without putting this woman in danger.
    She was sleeping as soundly as a baby; she hadn’t stirred once or altered the soft rhythm of her breathing. Asleep, Leah seemed so tiny and defenseless. If he betrayed her trust and made her his captive . . .
    Brandon sighed. Could he do it? Or would she put up such a fight that she might be hurt in the process? Would he be able to face her, to look into those luminous eyes if he betrayed her faith in him? He rubbed his face with his hands and closed his eyes. I’d be no better than Hayden and Lynch, and no amount of reasoning on my part could make it right.
    Leah moaned faintly and burrowed down into the pine boughs. She lay on her side with one hand curled over her head, the other half hidden by her body. In the concealed hand, she held her unsheathed hunting knife.
    No, Brandon decided. If he played by the rules, he might be able to stay alive until a better chance to escape came along—a chance that didn’t involve risking Leah. His first plan had been the best one; he’d win her confidence, and she’d help him get back to civilization.
    At last, his eyelids grew heavy, and he relaxed enough to drift off. When his breathing slowed, Leah crept from her bed and moved off into the forest as silently as a shadow.
     
    A primeval growl wrenched Brandon from his sleep. He leaped up, realized that Leah was no longer beside him, and peered frantically into the pitch blackness. A second roar shattered the quiet night, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. Bear! He’d never heard one before, but no other animal was capable of uttering such a chilling sound.
    A low, foreboding rumble seemed to shake the trees. Brandon looked about for a weapon, uncertain whether he should run or stand motionless where he was.
    “Brandon!”
    It was Leah’s voice.
    “Machk! Witschemil! Help me!”
    His mouth dry and fear numbing his limbs, Brandon ran down the brush-covered slope toward the source of her cry—toward the snarling bear. As he stumbled into a small clearing, he caught sight of Leah, torch in hand with her back against a tree.
    “Here,” she cried. “Over here. Lachpi! Ha’ care! It is machk.”
    “Where is—” His feet froze to the ground as he stared through the trees toward the stream bank. Clouds parted overhead, and moonlight filtered through the blackness to illuminate a small mountain rising from the creek.
    The bear reared up on his massive hind legs, threw back his head, and roared.
    Brandon felt his stomach drop through his knees.
    “Brandon!” Leah screamed. “Here!”
    The bear tossed aside the bloody deer carcass and waded, still on two legs, out of the stream. His small, piglike eyes glowed red in the torchlight; his teeth loomed like white spears in the gaping cavern of his open mouth. His growl rumbled out of his belly, low and ominous.
    Brandon made a mad dash for Leah’s side. “What the hell—” he began. She thrust the torch into his hand and began to light a second branch from his.
    “Where’s your damned bow?” he demanded. Her torch burst into flames, and he saw the blood on her face and arm.
    The moonlight dimmed, but the bear kept coming, step by ponderous step.
    “Matchemenetoo,” Leah cried out. “Matchele ne tha tha!” Shrieking a Shawnee war cry, she rushed toward the bear, waving the burning branch.
    “Son of a bitch!” With only a heartbeat’s hesitation, Brandon leaped after her. “Back! Get back!” he yelled at the bear. A putrid stench hit Brandon full in the face and his gorge rose. “Yaaa!”
    The beast faltered and stood still. He dropped to all fours and snarled at the two humans advancing on him. Leah hurled her torch, and it bounced off the bear’s head. Brandon smelled burning