Louis L'Amour by The Warrior's Path

fears. And she was frightened. No matter how much she might reassure Carrie, she knew that nobody was coming; there would be no rescue.
    Vern went away through the trees again. He was a small, well-made man with a narrow face and a pointed chin. He wore a stocking cap with a tassel, and a wide leather belt held up his canvas pants. The others she had not seen before, but she remembered Vern, for she had seen him one day at Shawmut when he came ashore from a shallop.
    He had not been among the group that kidnapped them but had been waiting for them here, probably with the news the ship was delayed, for Lashan had cursed viciously after they talked.
    She had seen him an instant before he saw her, so she had let her eyes sweep past him with no sign of recognition. Yet he had recognized her, and his eyes lingered on her from time to time.
    None of them talked to her but Lashan. The fat one, whose name she had heard but could not remember, had spoken to her but once, that very morning. Lashan did not like it, and she was sure he was under orders to permit no such thing.
    They slept, awakened, let the fire burn down. Vern came back, helped himself to a swallow of cider, then went away again.
    It was very still.
    She was good in the woods. She could move quietly, and she had endurance beyond most of the men she knew, but none of them were woodsmen. She could escape, but what of Carrie? Could the little girl run fast enough, keep quiet enough, endure enough?
    Yet there was no choice. They must try. With or without the help of Henry.
    He was quiet, respectful, and well-mannered. He carried himself with dignity and with some assurance. Moreover, she had noticed him in the woods, and he moved like a woodsman.
    Slowly the afternoon waned away. Vern came in, sat by the fire, and dished up food for himself from the pot Feebro had prepared; it was some kind of stew of wild plants and wild meat. She had seen turtle meat, some pieces of rabbit, and some bits of fish go into it. It was good, very good.
    They would soon be fed, and then they would be tied up for the night. She had already seen the sharp points of a broken stump where the tree had blown down, breaking off to leave the ragged stump. It was close by. If she could get close to it, she could use those sharp points to pick at the ropes that bound her wrists; she could pick the strands apart, given time. And it would take time.
    She had chosen her route out of camp, between two close-growing trees—no brush there, no leaves, no small twigs that might break.
    Vern lay down to sleep. The fat man went away to watch by the shore.
    Wind and wave being what they were, ships were often overdue, sometimes for weeks. And sometimes they never appeared.
    Lashan had settled down. He had lit his pipe and was smoking. Henry got two bowls, filled them with the stew, and brought them over. As he handed one first to Carrie, then to her, he whispered without looking at her, “Ship’s coming. I saw the tops’ls.”
    The ship was coming! It was here! Then—
    â€œTonight,” he whispered, rising from his knees to return to the fire.
    Lashan was staring at them. He could not have heard, but had he guessed?
    Tonight? How?

Chapter VI
    T he silver of moonlight lay upon the leaves; overhead a few fluffs of cloud drifted behind an etching of treetops. We lay among the maples, listening to the night.
    â€œWe’re nigh the sea,” Yance whispered. “There’s a taste of salt on the air.”
    â€œAye, and a ship offshore.”
    â€œI hope we be not too late.”
    â€œShe’s not up to anchor yet.”
    â€œI see that. Do we fight the whole crew of them, then?” Yance inquired irritably.
    â€œShe’s your kin,” I replied coolly, “but if we must fight them, we will. She has no more than twelve guns, and we have two.”
    Yance snorted his disgust. He was about to speak when we heard an angry shout, then another and a deal of cursing.