Sackett's Land

"I have. And several I have rebuilt after battle or storm." He looked at me thoughtfully. "You are thinking of a ship?"

"I am ... and a cargo of potash."

"Potash?"

"It's used in making glass, and soap, too. I shall burn oak wood, perhaps some other hardwoods as well. Leach the ashes and ship them to England."

"They will pay for that?" Jublain was skeptical.

"Aye," Corvino said. "A glassmaker would pay ten shillings per hundredweight, and here there are forests of oaks. All it takes is work."

"I am a warrior," Jublain said contemptuously.

"And a poor one," Corvino agreed. "A warrior who will not soil his hands, but does not have a bit for wine or ale? Or one who works a little and buys what ale and wine he needs?"

"If it comes to that," Jublain admitted.

The weather was fair and the wind held steady. The three-master moved along smoothly, yet slowed by the current, and when we were abeam of the rocks, Sakim, Jublain and I shoved off in the gig, which had been towed astern. It needed only a short time to retrieve our first cache of furs, load them into the gig and start back. There was no sign of Nick Bardle or his crew, nor of any Indians.

We moved upstream to the mouth of the first branching stream of size. There we put the wheel over and, using great care, let the current strike our starboard bow and slowly swing the ship around. There was room enough and to spare, and when we had turned we started downstream, moving toward the farther bank.

The low island to which we came looked no different than it had. I went down the ladder into the gig, followed by Sakim and Jublain again, and once more we pushed away from the Tiger's side toward familiar land.

Despite our previous visit, it was no easy thing to find the hulk again, and a slow, burdensome task to carry the furs all the way to the gig. Yet carry them we did, and again we pushed off. At the Tiger, Sakim climbed aboard and the furs were hoisted.

Suddenly, there were shouts from above, frantic cries, then the boom of a cannon. The Jolly Jack had rounded the bend. A shot struck the water nearby and as the sails went up on the Tiger the wind caught them and she gave a lurch, turning quickly and thrusting sharply forward.

As her bows thrust forward, she bumped hard against the gig. Standing in its bow, having just made fast the towline, I was pitched headfirst into the water.

I went down, down, down. My lungs struggled for breath, my hands lashed at the water and I shot up. The gig, trailing behind the Tiger now, was a good dozen feet away. I heard the boom of another cannon and saw the Jolly Jack closing, yet there was a sudden concussion, a nearer shot, and I saw the ball hit the rail of the Jack and throw splinters high into the air.

There was a scream, then the Tiger, firing at will, let go with another. The Jack, heading upstream then, passed the Tiger and I could see men racing along the deck to bring the stern gun to bear.

Treading water, I suddenly, realized the Jolly Jack was abreast of me and not fifty yards off. The Tiger was sailing away. Instantly, I dove, swimming under water toward the island. Reaching its shore I walked and crawled until almost out of water. Then, with my face exposed, I lay still.

The Jack was turning about to give chase.

I could see confusion on her decks, one gun dismounted, a portion of the rail shot away. What damage had been done the Tiger, I had no idea.

When she was well past I crawled on my belly up the sand, trying to imitate the wriggling of an alligator. When I came near some brush I crawled in. There, I sat up and looked slowly around.

I sat amid some low-growing brush on a sandpit on the island of the hulk. I had only the clothes in which I stood, my sword and dagger, nothing more.

Obviously the Jolly Jack had been lying in wait in some inlet, her mast lost among treetops, and we too intent upon my sandy island and the furs to spot her. Now the Jack was in hot pursuit and that she was the faster of the two vessels I knew full well. Also, she was heavier-gunned, heavier-manned, and altogether a more complete fighting ship.

The Tiger had a lead and it had the wind. There was nothing for it but to run, and the Jack would follow.

And I?

I would remain here, on this island ... alone.

Chapter 14

When the Jolly Jack was well away I got slowly to my feet. I was dripping wet and clammy. The air seemed to have grown colder with a wind from off the sea. From my charts, the growth about me, and the season, this should be southern land, yet nobody had told the wind.

I went to the old hulk, almost buried in sand, and went in under her side. Well I knew how to build a fire with bow and string, yet work as I might this time no flame would come. At last, too cold and weary to try more, I dug a place for myself in the sand, filled it with grass and crawled down inside it to sleep. And sleep I did ... sword in hand.

Dawn broke cold with another spitting rain. My shirt and breeches had dried but little. Back under the hulk I found a bird's nest of twigs, dried grass and hair. This I brought out and once more set to work with bow and string.

Soon a tiny tendril of smoke arose, and I glimpsed a spark. I blew gently ... it went out. I worked again, worked until my palms were sore, and then again the smoke. I worked harder and harder, and soon a spark ... another! I blew gently, ever so gently. The spark brightened, dimmed, brightened again as I breathed upon it, and a tendril of dry grass began to smoke. Soon I had a fire, a very small fire.

When it was burning, I crept outside and looked carefully around.

Where was the Tiger? Had she escaped? Or been taken by the Jolly Jack? Had I been seen after I fell into the river? Did they guess that I lived?

There was fuel enough and more, but, sitting by the fire, I was suddenly overcome by depression.

I was alone. Even if the Tiger survived, it might be too severely injured to return for me, even if Captain Tempany believed in my survival.

They were gone, and I was alone. What happened now was up to me.

The old hull in which I sheltered myself had somehow been destroyed, its crew drowned or killed by Indians, the hull finally beached here on this island. It had been as large a vessel as the Tiger. There was little upon which to make an estimate, but the line of the bow was unusual. It did not appear to have broken in half, only that the larger portion was buried in sand, many years ago.

I went outside into the rain and dragged some brush nearer, then picked up various odds and ends of logs, broken timbers and the like to keep my fire alive.

The hull was thick, and exposure to the elements had not weakened it, I could wish for no better shelter. At the back end I could go into what must have been a sort of forecastle, but that I had not yet explored.

What we had first assumed was the captain's quarters was nothing of the kind, and I was determined, when time permitted, to explore further. Perhaps even to dig a little.

When time permitted! And what kind of time would I have now? Merely enough to keep soul and body together, to eke out a precarious living. That would take all the time and skill I had.

First, I must have food. I must make another bow and some arrows, and I must get skins for a warmer jacket, for now I stood in nothing but breeches and shirt, neither of which would last. In the meantime I had to eat.

Several times along the river I had seen great turtles; I saw none now. Several times I had seen deer, but I saw none. Fishing in such weather as this was out of the question.

The channel between my island and the far shore was not wide, but the current ran swiftly. I was a good swimmer, but not that good, and had no wish to trust myself to that powerful current with a sword to impede my movements. So I added sticks to the fire and huddled close, trying to envelop it and absorb all the heat I could.

But to sit idle was impossible, so I searched among the rubble of drift around the old hulk until I found a long, straight shaft of about seven feet in length, and sharpening the end with my dagger, I hardened the point in the fire. It balanced well, would make a staff for walking, and a crude spear. Yet it was in no sense an adequate weapon.

Reeds and willows there were in profusion, so I'd have no trouble about arrow shafts. Points were another thing, and points needed time. I'd also need a bow. In the meanwhile there was a thing I could do, and with those willows closest to hand. I could make a fish-trap.

Slipping out into the rain, I hurriedly cut a couple of dozen long whips of willow. Forming a hoop of one of these I began to bind the ends of the others to the hoop at intervals, using willow bark or the fibres of some of the coarse grass growing nearby to make them fast. Stretching them out, I then bound the other ends together in a tight group making a sort of elongated funnel.

With some much shorter sticks tied to a half circle of willow, I formed a sort of trap to put at the opening. The current and movements of the fish itself would allow them to enter; getting out would, hopefully, be much more difficult. It was crude, hurriedly done, and not a job I would have boasted of to any fen-man, but I was hungry and anxious. When the trap was completed I waded waist-deep into the water and moored it with stakes. Returning I found patches of scurvy grass, known as useful in preventing scurvy. Tearing up a handful I returned wet and cold to my shelter, huddled over the fire and ate the grass.

It was mightily unsatisfactory.

I was lonesome and tired. Shivering, I huddled over the fire, getting up at intervals to drag fuel closer to hand, for the fire was insatiable. Small though I kept it, its angry flames ate hungrily of the wood, and I dared not use the greener, slower burning wood which would produce too much smoke.

Finally, I napped.

Suddenly I was awake. It was dusk. My fire was smoldering coals. For a moment I lay still, staring at two of those coals. Somehow they were out beyond the edge of my fire. What would coals be doing out there? How would—?

I came off the sand with a lunge, narrowly missing banging my skull against the over-hanging ship's side. With a sweep of a hand I knocked some stacked wood into the flames, the smaller stuff gathered for kindling in case my fire went out.

The fire sputtered, then the flames reached up, and my hand went out, grasping for my spear.

Facing me, just beyond the fire, was an alligator. Perhaps a crocodile, for I did not know one from the other. Its small red eyes gleamed from the fire's reflection, and I crouched. I yelled at it, but it paid no attention, its eyes fixed on mine with a baleful gleam.

Escape was out of the question. To go to right or left would still leave me within sweep of the mighty tail, and I had been warned many times that the alligator strives to knock its prey into the water or break its legs with its tail. The jaws were parted slightly revealing rows of ugly teeth, and hanging from them the remains of some other creature it had eaten, or perhaps only some riverweed.

There were no rocks. I threw a handful of sand, but the beast paid no attention. His tail moved slightly. Once he lifted a foot as if to move, then put it down again.

I added a heavier stick to the fire, suddenly awake that my fuel supply was badly depleted. And when my fuel was gone? How could I face such a monster with my six foot stick? True, I had my sword, but how tough was the hide? This alligator was a monster.

Moving slightly to one side, his eyes and nose followed me, the jaws parting slightly as if in anticipation.

Suddenly he lunged toward me and I thrust hard at his eye with my spear. It missed, but the jolt of the blow against the horny plate jarred my arm to the elbow. I had heard of natives wrestling these creatures, but surely their creatures had been smaller than mine—as large around in the body as a good-sized donkey.

He came a tentative foot further, in no way disturbed by my spear. He was crowding me, knowing I was trapped, knowing that if he could force me deeper into my shell I would be helpless. He avoided the fire, coming at me around the right side, moving carefully.

I stabbed with the spear, ineffectually, then thrust suddenly with my sword. The point of the blade took him above the nose and skidded along the upper side of his jaw, making a long scratch, but penetrating scarcely at all.

He came on, a step further, circling the fire, jaws agape. I was bent over now, unable to move swiftly, still near the fire but being inexorably backed into the old hull. I struck again with my spear but suddenly the jaws snapped and the spear was gone, broken in half. Sword in hand, I thrust suddenly. The point penetrated an inch, perhaps more. Instantly withdrawing I cut a slash at the ugly nose. The jaws gaped, and with incredible swiftness the alligator lunged.

He was a huge fellow, his body twelve to fifteen feet long, and when he lunged he must have come forward at least six feet. I twisted under the overhang, trying to get outside. My foot slipped in the sand and I fell, my left hand falling near the fire.

As the monster started for me, my hand closed over the end of the heavy stick I had recently put into the fire. Its end was aflame, and I hurled it with all my strength into the gaping maw before me.

The beast gave a tremendous roar and went into a convulsion, twisting this way and that in a fury of pain and anger.

Rolling over into the edge of the fire, I sprang up and dove out into the rain, stumbled and fell, got up again, and was knocked sprawling by the monster, rushing for the river oblivious of me. I heard him splash, saw him submerge. He surfaced almost at once with a roar, then went down again.

For a long time I lay still, sprawled on the sand. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and slowly, I drew my hands under me. Somehow I still clung to my sword. Getting up I looked around, rain streaming down my face, soaking my clothes once more.

Staggering, I made for my shelter in the hulk. Once out of the rain, I fell on the churned up sand and lay there, gasping and trembling. Finally, I pulled myself together.

My fire had been scattered, but here and there some embers smoldered and using a stick for a rake, I gathered them together and added fuel. The fuel I now had was wet, but slowly the fire took hold. I crouched beside it, trembling.

There could be no thought of sleep. I gathered fuel, and sword across my knees, I dozed and waited for the dawn that seemed never to come. And when it came at last it was gray and cold with a wind blowing the rain before it, bending the trees, and whipping sand like shot that rattled against the hulk and stung my cheeks.

Sword in hand, for now I expected danger behind every bush, I went down the island to where I thought I had seen some green ash trees. They were there, and I cut a long, smooth pole about the size of my wrist or a bit larger. It was a young tree that had been fire-killed, and looked to be a proper bit of bow material.

Taking it back to the hulk, I picked up several fist-sized pieces of rock on the return journey. Seated once more beside my fire, I began working to smooth down my bow and shape it to my thinking. It was a slow, painstaking task, but it helped to keep me warm, and a bow I must have if I was to live.

Later, again with sword in hand, I went to my fish-trap. It was there ... a part of it. Something, possibly an alligator, had destroyed it to get at the fish it had undoubtedly held.

I swore bitterly, then taking what fragments might be used, I went back to the hulk to do the job once more. It was almost dusk when I replanted the trap and returned to my shelter to resume work on the bow, flattening the inner side, rounding the outer. I felt near to starving.

That night I built my fire larger and slept fitfully, awakening to add fuel to the flames, sometimes to peer out into the darkness. My fire was well hidden and I had small fear it would be seen from the mainland.

At daybreak I went to my fish trap and it held three fine, large fish!

Rolling them in clay at the river's edge, I carried them back to camp and buried them in coals at the fire's edge. Later, when I could wait no longer, I ate them ... all three, and they were delicious.

During the night the rain ceased so I kept my fire still smaller. Then I rigged a couple of deadfalls, took another fish from my trap, and ate some more scurvy grass.

My next move must be to the mainland, to escape from my island prison. Twice I went out to the highest place on the island and stood among the trees looking down river. I saw nothing, no movement, no sail.

On the fourth day I completed my bow and several arrows, and on the fifth day I found a huge, old dead tree clinging to some brush at the island's edge. If I could straddle that, shove off and hit that point yonder ...

On the sixth day, with two smoked fish inside my shirt for rations, I shoved off, and in less than a half an hour was afoot in the mainland woods.

My safest bet was to go to Potaka, yet I had no more faith in his protection than had Rufisco, so I struck out overland, for the coast.

And on the morning of the seventh day, I killed a deer.

Chapter 15

Crouching in the low brush that crowned the sand hills where I waited, I studied the shore line with infinite patience. Already my eyes had scanned the sound, and no sail showed itself against the blue water, nor the blue sky beyond, nor close in against the sand.

From time to time I had seen the tracks of Indians, but I had seen neither man, woman, nor child. I had eaten well of my venison, and had some still with me. There were well-used trails here and there but I avoided them, keeping to smaller trails or to the woods themselves.

Travel was slower, yet it served me well, for I was learning more about the trees, the life of the forest, and what it was that lay before me.

I must assume I would be some time ashore. If the Tiger had escaped, it might come back ... and might not. If it had been taken by the Jolly Jack, I would be unlikely to see any of my friends again. The thought of Abigail in the hands of Nick Bardle was intolerable.

The Jack would return. Perhaps the Tiger also. These sounds were relatively secure against the worst of the storms. Undoubtedly all these waters could be frightening in stormy weather. But the banks interposed a wall between a ship and the sea, and there were numerous inlets and river mouths that offered shelter.

Bardle was a cold fish ... a careful man. He would see the advantages of the sounds. In the meantime, I must live, and if possible accumulate more furs.

With deadfall traps I snared a few animals: several mink, an otter, four beaver, and with an arrow I killed a fox.

That night the traps I set brought me another fox, a mink, and a rabbit. I skinned out the first two, ate the third, and at daybreak was working my way through the sandhills toward one hill, taller than most, from which I hoped to have a view of the sound.

Coming through the brush, I stumbled upon a path, a well-used path, and my first glance brought me up standing. There in the path, clear-cut and sharp, was a heel print! No moccasin, but a small boot, perfectly-shaped and not worn.

Astonished, I glanced right and left, saw nothing, and began a study of the trail.

The wearer of the small boot had come along the trail from between the sandhills, and not longer ago than last night or the afternoon before. She had been accompanied by at least two men.

She?

It was a small print, a very small boot, and it must be a woman's. Yet I knew of no woman, not an Indian, in this part of the world but ...

Abigail!

Smoke ... I smelled smoke. A moment later I glimpsed their camp. There were three men and Abigail.

She sat across the fire from me and I was proud of her. No downcast face, no sloping shoulders, no look of defeat. She held her head up. "You will be hung in chains," she was saying, and her manner was assured. "You do not realize what you have done."

Darkling was there, he was one of them, and he was a hard man. "You're a simple fool," he said roughly. "Who is to know what happens here? You're ours, to do with as we choose. We'll have Tempany himself before dark. Not a prisoner mind you, but dead. We've no time for prisoners ... unless they are young and pretty.

"We have to decide." He glanced at the others. "Do we take her back to the others? Or keep her here for awhile?"

At that moment I stood up directly opposite her, and she saw me at once. I wasted no time on politeness or warnings. These were evil men and I well knew it. I loosed an arrow at the man nearest Darkling, a swarthy, muscular fellow who looked to be the most dangerous.

The distance was not over fifteen yards, if so much, and the arrow shot true.

It went through him about six inches above his great brass belt-buckle, and he gave a grunt and grabbed it with both hands, then went to his knees.

The others turned sharply, but I had dropped down, another arrow notched and ready. Someone shot, far to the right, for my target had half-turned after taking the arrow, giving a false impression of its origin.

My second arrow was less successful, for it struck a great bone-button on the man's coat. One saw few buttons and I had no use for them, and less now. The arrow glanced upward, inflicting a minor scratch on the man's face, and then they saw me.

Both men came out with their blades and they started for me. Abigail—bless her—gathered her skirts and fled into the brush.

Managing a longbow in that brush was not easy, so I tried no more shots, nor did I intend to fight. I simply fled as she had done, circling to intercept her, which I soon did. I could hear them crashing in the brush, but they were off the point. Catching Abigail by the hand, we ran a weaving route through the trees and to my sandhill.

There was a deep cut in that dune made by some water cutting a way down where a tree's roots had left a gaping hole. We climbed to the hill's top, hidden as it was, and sat down on a great log.

"I must say," Abigail said, "you took long enough!"

"Long enough?" I stared at her dumbfounded.

"Well," she smoothed her skirt with both hands, "if a man is going to rescue a lady he should have done it sooner, but thank you, nonetheless. I am obliged."

"Where is the Tiger?"

"On the sand not far from here. That awful Captain Bardle hulled her twice and shot away our foremast. Several of the men have been killed and all were scattered."

"Captain Tempany?"

"He's kept some of them together! I was going to join him with Lila. She turned back to the ship to get something she had forgotten, and while I waited these men rushed from the trees and captured me."

We had a good view and for the moment we were safe.

I could barely make out the Tiger through the trees. She was hard aground, no mistaking that, and her foremast was down, trailing over her side. When I moved away a little to get a better view, I could see no movement near her. Nor was there any sign of the Jolly Jack.

"I think we had best remain," I suggested, "until matters settle down a bit. From here we can see all about and can choose our way when we leave."

She glanced at the bow. "Where did you get that?"

"I made it. It isn't very good, but I was hungry and in a hurry."

"I think it does very well. I could have cheered when you shot that man." She glanced at me. "We are going to have a bad time, aren't we?"

I shrugged, watching the beach and the slope to the beach. "She doesn't look too badly hurt," I nodded to indicate the Tiger, "so we may be able to float her again."

Pacing about I studied all the approaches to our sandhill. It appeared to offer so little in the way of shelter that I doubted they would come hence, yet if they wished to see about—

"I am very tired," Abigail said suddenly. "Would you think me ungrateful if I slept?"

"You'd be wise," I said bluntly. "My father was a soldier and he always told me a good soldier never stood when he could sit, and never sat when he could lie down, and ate whenever there was food."

I showed her a place near a log where leaves had thickly gathered. It was a shadowed place and still. I picked up broken branches from the leaves and smoothed them for her, and when she lay down she went at once to sleep. Would that I could lie down and sleep so easily!

I peered at the woods below. After a while I found several straight, light branches and commenced to work on them with an edge of stone to make more arrows for the crude quiver I had shaped from bark.

Suddenly a knowledge came upon me. I would take my furs and return to England. But I would gather about me a few trusty souls and return again. This was the land!

Yet there was a shadow across my return. Rupert Genester would be there, awaiting me.

Well, he need not wait. I would seek him out, and have done with it once and for all.

I must find Captain Tempany and we must prepare to assert ourselves. We must rear a defensible position and we must repair and refloat, if possible, the Tiger. If not, but one thing remained.

Take the Jolly Jack.

It would serve Nick Bardle right to be left ashore, then. My eyes went again to the Tiger. The three-master was well aground, but aside from the fallen mast seemed to be damaged but little. It had been hulled twice, Abigail said. Yet the holes might be patched.

My furs should still be aboard her, and some of my trade goods.

Abigail was stirring when I next looked at her, and then her eyes opened. She looked at me, startled, then gradually came awake. She sat up. Automatically her hands went to her hair. "Barnabas!" It was, I believed, the first time she had called me that. "What shall we do?"

"Go down to the Tiger," I said.

"The Tiger! But they will find us there!"

"We do nothing here. Sooner or later Captain Tempany will come back to his ship. We shall be there and ready."

"And if Nick Bardle comes first?"

"We shall prepare to receive him. I have no time to waste dodging him, nor do I intend to. He has cost me dearly already, but next time he shall pay."

Late afternoon came across the sound leaving an edging of silver on the sand behind it, dusk crept up the hills and erased the last vestiges of color from the tops of the old trees. And when the last shadow was gone, we went down from the mountain and across the beach to the vessel.

Aft, where she lay in water, a rope ladder trailed down. Sheathing my sword, a dagger in my teeth, I went up and aboard, ready for what might come. All was dark and still.

Abigail followed after, doing remarkably well on the ladder and over the rail, despite her skirts. Aft we went to the cabin, and all was dark and quiet. Over the stern lights I hung a heavy blanket from the bed, and then cautiously, with flint and steel, a light.

All was in turmoil. What I looked for was a pistol, and finding one, I charged it. What Abigail looked for was clothing, and she found it.

"I want to change," she said, looking at me.

"Change then," I replied, "but quickly." Stepping out I closed the door behind me, then went into the smaller mate's quarters and felt about for the hasp of the gunlocker. It was intact.

Apparently Bardle had been too intent on pursuit of Tempany to loot the Tiger, or believed it safely within his hands, with no need for hurry.

Breaking the hasp with an axe from a nearby bulkhead, I took out a musket, another pistol, and charged both. On the after rail was mounted a swivel-gun, and I charged it also. It could cover a large part of the beach from the high side of the vessel. The Tiger was canted slightly to the starboard side, and the swivel-gun, mounted on the port rail, had an excellent field of fire.

From the galley I brought food to the cabin, knocked, and was admitted. Abigail looked lovely in a simple gray dress with white cuffs and collar. She had made up a small bundle of whatever she might need, and stood ready for leaving.

There was ham, ship's bread, some onions and a bit of dried fruit from the master's mess. Taking a careful look around from the ship's deck, I then joined Abigail in the cabin where we sat to table and ate. We were hungry, and it pleased me mightily to see the hungry way in which Abigail sank her dainty teeth into a bit of ham I'd sliced for her.

I pulled a draught of ale for each, and with mine in one hand and a chunk of ham in the other, I returned to the deck. The beach was empty so far as I could see, but it was growing quite dark. Going below once more, I sat down and finished the best meal I'd had in days, and then began to pack a sack with food to be taken if time and circumstance allowed.

"We are going now?" she asked, watching me pack the sack.

There was reluctance in her tone, and I understood why.

"Not tonight," I said, "unless we must. Do you sleep now, in a good bunk. Tomorrow we will think of going."

"And you?"

"I'll watch," I said. "Be off with you now."

She left, and the door closed gently behind her. I peered out into the darkness from near the swivel-gun. I knew how tired she must be, for I was also tired.

I leaned on the rail and my muscles cried out for me to lie down ... for a minute only.

There was no sound but the rustle of surf on the sand. Search the woods as I might, I could see no gleam of fire, nor could I hear any sound. It was very still.

Chapter 16

My eyes closed. Almost at once they were open and I felt fear go through me like a shaft of steel, cold and bitter.

To sleep might be to die. More than that, I would leave her whom ... I hesitated at what I suddenly thought ... whom I loved.

There ... the thought was complete. But was it so? Did I love Abigail Tempany? And if so, why? A lovely girl, gentle enough yet with courage and more strength than one would suspect. A lady, but a bright one—she was intelligent, with a good measure of common sense, and the two are not always one.

Now I was awake. For the moment at least my weariness disappeared in contemplation of this new thought. I was in love. Yet why should Abigail Tempany, of all people, love me?

Not that she did, of course. There was no reason for it. Why should anybody love me? I was a somewhat ordinary man with ordinary impulses, and some measure of ambition, but I had little, I was less.

Yet I would be something ... that I knew.

I loved a lady, a fair lady. I wished she were mine in one breath and was glad she was not in a second, for where could I take such a lady? To a cottage in the fens? Abigail? Even if she would consider it, I would not. Would I have her offer slop to pigs and bake eels?

I loved a lady, and a lady must live as a lady deserves.

Well, what was it Jublain had said? I had a sword. Indeed I had, and with a sword a man might win a kingdom, might hold that kingdom against all who came—and might also lose his head for trying.

Suddenly something bumped the hull ... bumped again. I lifted the sword. I heard the slap of bare feet on the deck, then more feet.

A voice spoke. "There be naught aboard, Cap'n. She's still as death she is, and nobody's taken the hatches off her. What was there is still there."

"Get off that ladder!" It was Nick Bardle's voice. "I am coming aboard."

There was a solid dark cluster of them where the rope ladder hung, and I turned the swivel on them with great good cheer.

"Here's a bit of something for yourself, Cap'n!" I shouted, and fired the swivel.

She belched a solid blast of flame and I heard the thud of the shot as it struck, and a scream. Then I upped with a pistol and let go at a shadow that separated itself from the others, and then another blast from my second pistol and suddenly a third, and this from the cabin door.

Abigail, bless her!

Then with a wild yell from my throat, I went along the deck and at them. I knew not how many they were, nor they how many were here. My swinging blade cut this way and that, a scream, a cry, a clang of metal on metal, and then they were all about me and I was fighting for my life.

Suddenly from below there was a rush of feet, and another cry, and somebody yelled out, "Who's that? Who is that, damn them to hell?"

Somebody was also attacking from below, so I was not alone. Not yet, at least. I parried a blade, thrust, stepped back and with a toe kicked a block in the way of my opponent who spilled over it to hands and knees. If he came up from that—I flicked my blade sidewise and down in a quick gesture—up from that he'd have to fasten his head on again.

Somebody leaped the rail to escape, and another gun flamed beside me. There was Abigail, hair wild about her shoulders in that fleeting glimpse, but aiming with another pistol, and God knows where she found them or how she had charged them.

A man loomed at the head of the ladder and my thrust took him at the base of the throat and lifted. If he lived, that one, he'd truly have a cleft chin.

There was another sound of running feet, a blast or two from below, and then a jumble of voices among which I detected Brian Tempany's.

"Welcome aboard, Cap'n," I said cheerfully, "but do you step carefully. I think they've left some'at behind."

"Is it you, Sackett?"

"Aye, and pleased to see you, and at my side is a lady who shoots uncommon well."

She was there, close against my elbow, her head just a jot above my shoulder. "And how did you come to be awake?"

"I never slept," she said, "for I could see you were heavy with sleep, and was hopeful you'd sleep, for well you should have."

"And I stayed awake for you," I said.

Tempany came over the rail. Dim his face was, in the vague light of a dawn not far away. "I thought you two were dead," he spoke quietly, "I thought Bardle had killed you."

Jublain was at my elbow. "Are you well, then? You've not taken a cutting?"

"Well, aye," I said, "but you shall find some about who are not."

"Four dead on the deck," Corvino said with satisfaction, "and one who fell overside. And there were three done in by us when we closed, and before they broke. I've a feeling there's a few who will carry scars, if they live."

"Sakim?"

"I am here, my friend. A little used, but here."

"Come," Tempany said, "we'll go below. Courtney, you and Fitzpatrick stay on deck. I'll send a tot of rum for each. The rest of you below for what is coming to you.

"Sackett," he turned to me, "come to the cabin. We've much to talk about."

I sheathed my sword, and turned, staggering a little from the onset of weariness now that it was over, or seemed to be. A hand steadied me. "I am beside you, Barnabas, but not strong enough to hold you if you fall, so please stand up!"

Abigail went into her cubbyhole of a cabin.

Tempany had lighted a lantern. We stepped into the cabin. He took up a bottle and two glasses, and then he looked at me under his brows. "Rum? Or no rum? You refused it before."

"This once," I said, "to revive the spirit."

"Ah, we won't talk of that. Your spirit seems in excellent shape, man. And there're a few things for us to discuss, even tonight."

He paused, tasted his rum, then tossed it off, neat and quick. He swallowed, looked at me and put his glass down. "Have you looked at her?"

"At Abigail?" I said.

"No, damn it, at the ship. Have you seen her by day?"

"I have."

"Do you think she'll float again?"

"I do, but if I am wrong there's the Jack."

"The what?"

"We can take the Jolly Jack. She's a good sailer and well-armed, and she deserves better than that lot aboard her now."

"That would be difficult and dangerous," he said, after awhile. "Let us have a look at the Tiger."

Yet it was sleep I needed, and I said as much. Reluctantly, he agreed, and when I had stretched out on a settee in the cabin, he went on deck. Obviously if the Tiger could be saved, he intended to save it.

I slept, and dreamed of the purple mountains I'd glimpsed far off in the distance when up the river. Those mountains haunted me, and why I knew not. When my eyes opened next, the day was well along and I could smell ham being cooked, and a sound of rustling around in the galley.

For a few minutes I lay still. My mind was filled with the substance of the dream. Somehow, come what may, I must see those mountains. I must walk their trails, know them. Somehow all that was England had faded until it was difficult to even recognize faces I used to know, I could not bring them to memory. I sat up and pulled on my boots, buckled on my sword, then stood for a moment, peering through the parted curtain of the stern lights.

The water was choppy, but not rough. The sky was overcast. I went out on deck, and the first to greet me was Jublain.

"Tempany says you have some idea of taking the Jack?"

"If we need her." I glanced toward the beach and the trees and sandhills beyond. Nothing moved.

"It's a bad lot aboard there. A bad, bad lot, but they can fight."

"We'd have to get most of them ashore," I suggested.

Tempany came over the rail. "We can float her," he said, "and the holes can be patched well enough, though there's a deal of work to be done."

He brushed salt from his hands. "What's it like inland, Sackett? Is there land worth having?"

"Some of the fairest I've seen. There's game in plenty, and cattle would thrive here, or pigs or sheep. Tempany," I looked around at him, across my shoulder, "a man could become wealthy here."

"What of the Indians?"

"They war much with each other, so one could not be friends with all, and a man must step carefully to learn of their ways, which be different than ours. But with a good stockade and a few swivel guns a man could protect himself while trying to deal fairly."

Food was brought to the cabin table, and I ate, and well, yet there was more to worry me, for I knew that Nick Bardle, a revengeful man, was still alive.

We needed a foremast, so with Jublain, Corvino, and Sakim and several of Tempany's men, I led the way into the woods to where some likely mast timber could be found. While they felled the tree, I looked about, marking various trees for future falling, and studying the land for a likely spot for a trading station.

It must be on the river, in a position easily defended, with timber available and a spring if possible.

We floated our tree down river and guided it about to the position of the Tiger. All went well, and we saw nothing of Bardle nor his men, nor of the Jolly Jack.

Meanwhile we dug out around the hull, using lines and poles to get her on an even keel. We were under no false notions about Bardle. He not only wanted our ship and cargo. He also wanted us ... dead!

We shifted two guns to the stern that could be brought to bear if an enemy approached us from the waterside, as we more than half expected.

Meanwhile, I saw Abigail only at intervals.

Four days we labored, patching the hull, restepping the mast, repairing rigging. I had much experience with splicing line, so could do my share, and did it.

We hoped to float free at an early hightide, yet I had an idea that Bardle was also thinking of tides.

Jublain sat in the cabin with us, his dark, cynical face bored with our talk. "Bardle knows about tides," he said at last, "he knows all that we know, and the man's no fool. Why do you suppose he has done nothing?"

"We served him well on his last attempt," Corvino replied. "He's had his belly full."

Jublain snorted his disgust. "He waits for you to complete repairs," he said. "He wants no hulk on the beach, but a vessel afloat and loaded with cargo he can trade or sell. He has twice or three times the men we have, and he'll come when he wills."

Out upon deck I looked at the sky. Clouds bulked large, and the wind lifted, rustling the rigging, flapping a loose corner of canvas. There was a spatter of heavy drops.

A storm was coming, but storm or not we must use the tide when it came, and with luck we might float free. Brian Tempany came out on deck, glanced at the sky and around, then ordered his men to clean up what tools remained, to get them aboard and make all fast.

"In the storm," I said, "we might slip away."

"We'll ride out the storm," Tempany said, "and leave when it has blown away. I think we'll have our chance then."

Abigail came on deck. The wind was whipping her skirt about her legs, and I braced myself against it, wishing I were warmer dressed.

"Barnabas Sackett," she said. "It is a good name."

"A name is what a man makes it," I said. "My father did well with his and I hope to do as much. The times are changing, and many people are restless with the desire to better themselves. We have too many gentlemen who do nothing, are nothing, and many a yeoman or apprentice with ability who would rise in position if the chance existed." I waved a hand. "Here there is no such restriction."

"Perhaps. But when enough people come here, it will be the same. ..."

I grinned cheerfully. "Then the secret is to come first and help to make the rules by which the rest will live."

"The King will do that," she objected.

"No doubt. But the King is far away, and his word needs time in which to travel, and men have a way of making their own adjustments. There is no Court here, hence no need for courtiers. There is great need for strength, courage and intelligence, and you will find those qualities as often or more among artisans as gentlemen."

"You like this?" she indicated the shore.

My eyes swept the coastline, green and lovely even under the sullen clouds. "I do. It is a magnificent coast, a land filled with everything. I shall go away. But I shall come back again."

She looked at me for a long time, and what she might have said then I do not know, for Captain Tempany emerged from the companionway shouting, "Stand by, fore-and-aft! The tide's coming in!"

Even as he spoke, a wave of water rolled past the hull, out past the bow, then receded slowly, carrying away some of the sand with it.

"Here she comes!" Jublain shouted. "Sail, ho!"

It was the Jolly Jack, carrying a good stand of sail, coming down toward us.

Chapter 17

She was yet some distance off and the wind was wrong for her, but that she intended to come up to us for an attack was obvious. And there we lay, still aground, with only a few small guns to bear.

It was my time to act, and I acted now, without thinking, without speaking to Tempany.

"Sakim! Jublain! Corvino! Here ... to me!" I grabbed a passing sailor and shoved him toward a gun. "Get a sling around it. Quick now!"

Sakim had come running and I directed him to haul our gig alongside and get into it. Running to the cabin I retrieved my longbow and the arrows I had made as well as some I had brought from England.

"Tumble in," I told Sakim. "We'll do a bit of business this day!"

From the deck they lowered down a light but powerful cast-iron gun and we lashed it into place. The gig was light and fast, under ordinary conditions, but now she sat deep and we shifted what weight there was to counterbalance the gun. Then we pushed off, got our sail up and headed for the open sound, needing all the room we could get.

The tide was rising rapidly, but it needed time to float such a craft as the Tiger, although glancing back I could see that Tempany had a boat out astern of her with a line to the ship and the boats crew pulling with a will.

If the Jolly Jack had sighted our gig, she seemed to think it of no importance. It was the Tiger they wanted, and they wanted her free of the sand and their work done for them. The Jack was moving in toward the coast now, prepared to stand off and demand a surrender or shell the Tiger to bits.

Now we put about our gig and commenced moving toward the Jack. My thought was to cause trouble, to buy time for the Tiger to get well afloat, and what I proposed to do was the height of foolishness. All depended on the maneuverability of the gig, much of which had been sacrificed to carry the cannon.

We edged in close and intent upon the Jack. They paid us small attention. We laid our gun on the form'st and touched a match to the hole.

A moment only, then our gun boomed and the gig jerked violently in the water. There was a startled shout from the Jack, then an angry voice telling us to sheer off or be sunk.

We had done no harm to the mast, but we had hit the bulwark just forward of mast, carried away some rigging made fast there and scattered fragments of wood in all directions.

Carefully, we loaded her again. We had put just eight balls aboard, and powder enough, but no more.

Now they opened a port upon our side and ran out a gun. Kneeling, I took aim with my long-bow and put an arrow through the open port. It must have startled them, although I doubt if damage was done.

We turned right in toward the Jack, firing the second time as we lined out straight with a good shot at her. This time our shot was high. It hit the after-house just abaft the wheel.

Almost at the same instant, a Jack gun boomed and a shot splashed only a few feet away from us. We were much less of a target than the Jack, and before they could put a rammer down her muzzle, we had turned under her stern and come up on the portside, but too close for any gun to reach us.

Men rushed to the rail with small arms. Jublain killed one with a pistol shot. They put their helm hard over to run us down, but Sakim had foreseen the move and was already moving away, then falling back.

Somebody ran aft and fired a futile shot at us, and then there was another boom. We saw smoke lifting from the muzzle of one of the stern guns on the Tiger. One, then another.

We did not see what effect the Tiger's guns had, but maneuvered close to stay out of range of the Jack's stern guns. Men came aft with muskets.

I put an arrow into the first one, missed the second, and then suddenly, I swore.

Sakim turned and looked at me. "What?" he asked.

"We are fools, Sakim. We forget the obvious."

They were all looking at me now.

"The rudder," I said, "it's point-blank range. Smash their rudder."

Jublain had finished reloading the gun. "All right. Ready when you are."

"Take her in close, Sakim." I held my bow with an arrow notched.

The Jolly Jack was swinging now to bring her starboard guns to bear on the Tiger.

We ran in as close as we dared. Jublain touched the match to the hole. There was an instant of deadly silence while we waited, then the smash and concussion of the gun.

The four-pound ball hit the rudder post and smashed it. Hastily, Jublain loaded again. It was a pleasure to watch the man, for it was obvious he was a gunner who knew his business, and he worked smoothly, without hesitation or fumble. Again the gun bellowed ... and the rudder hung loose. The ship looming over us began to fall away.

Sakim was already turning our gig away. For an instant, close in to the vessel, we lost the wind. Then it filled our sails and the gig glided out from the shadow of the ship. A couple of shots barked heavily, balls hit near us, one striking splinters from the gunwhale, but our gig handled smoothly and we sailed away.

Glancing back I saw the Jolly Jack had turned broadside to the shore, her guns no longer able to bear on the Tiger, some of the crew desperately trimming sail, others working at the stern to rig some kind of a jury rudder.

The Tiger had floated free! Now her crew were trying to work her offshore. She had some canvas up, and the longboat was again towing her. As she turned, the Tiger let go with two guns, both shots taking effect in the Jack's rigging: a yard came crashing to her deck. And then the Tiger's sails filled and she gathered speed.

The longboat cut loose and dropped back to be picked up.

Further out upon the water we waited, watching the Jack. Bardle was a seaman. I'll give him that. He was using his canvas to keep her headed right, and his men were working feverishly. The Tiger moved in close to us and a seaman tossed us a line. Sakim made it fast and Corvino rigged the sling on our gun. With another line aft we held our gig close to the Tiger's side, as the gun was hoisted aboard and our own towline made fast.

I was the last man to go aboard, and for a moment I clung to the rope and glanced shoreward. Dark and green was the distant forest, green of trees against the pale sandhills closer by, and blue the water. It was a fair land ... a fair land. I would leave it with reluctance.

Hand over hand I went up the rope and the gig fell behind on its towrope. Tempany was on the quarterdeck, with Abigail close beside him.

"Neat work, Sackett," he said, "very neat work."

We pointed our bows to the north and east, looking for a way to the open sea. Tempany had traded along the coast before coming to where we had met, and his trade had gone well. I had furs ... enough to pay me well for my time, yet I wanted more and we had the space for it.

"What now?" Jublain asked me.

"We'll sail north," I said, "but if I prevail we'll go into that big bay north of here, cut some mast timbers and burn driftwood for potash."

And so we did. On the shores of the large bay we found standing timber, and we cut several for ships' masts, burning wood the meanwhile until we had forty tons of potash to add to our cargo. There had been, meanwhile, more trade with Indians nearby.

Dealing with Indians I found them of shrewd intelligence, quick to detect the false, quick to appreciate quality, quick to resent contempt and to appreciate bravery. So much of the Indian's life was predicated upon courage that he respected it above all else. He needed courage in the hunt, and in warfare, and to achieve success within the tribe he needed both courage and wit.

We kept to smaller bays and river-mouths, hoping not to be found by Bardle. But we knew he would be looking. He was better gunned than we, and had a far larger crew, and fighting men all of them.

At last, our holds filled to the bursting with furs, potash and timber, we set sail for England.

"It will be good to be home," Abigail said, at supper.

"Yes," I agreed, reluctantly, "but I shall come back to these shores."

Tempany looked up from his soup. "If we come safely back to England," he said, "you will realize a goodly sum."

"Yes," I agreed.

"And you have friends there, awaiting your return."

"That is possible," I said carefully, "but I place no faith in such things. My future is one I must make myself, this I know. And my future, I think, is back there."

"Gosnold will be sailing again, and there was talk of what Raleigh might do. So many have disappeared in that wilderness ... We have been very fortunate."

We discussed much during the long and often stormy nights that followed. We talked of a trading post, of a place in London, on the docks, a place from which to sell or ship our goods. With a man in London, Tempany commanding the ships, and myself in America, we could soon build such a business.

"Who for London?" Tempany said, frowning. "I have been so long away that I know few men."

"I know the man," I said quietly. "He is a rogue, but an honest man withal. I speak of Peter Tallis."

"You spoke of him. Is he to be trusted?"

"I believe so. I would trust him if he gave us his word ... and he is shrewd. He knows business, he knows people, he is aware of all that goes on in London. We should look far for a better man."

"Talk to him then."

So I intended, and such plans were made, and the plans for the discharge of my cargo, and for sharing with Jublain and Corvino. All this was attended to.

We sailed up the Thames, at last, looking at the lights along the shore. It seemed impossible there could be so many.

Suddenly, Jublain grasped my arm. "Barnabas ... look!"

He pointed, and I felt a shock, then a wave of disquiet and fear.

And well I might.

It was the Jolly Jack, come home before us, and by the look of her, here for several days.

Nick Bardle was ashore then, and he would surely have seen Rupert Genester.

They would be waiting for me.

Chapter 18

River men came alongside, calling up to take us ashore, but Tempany would have none of them. "They are a hard lot, good men many of them, arrant thieves many others. We will take no risk. We'll take our own boat ashore."

He glanced at me. "Do you take care. I am ashore to speak of my voyage and our success, as well as to lay plans for our next."

"Corvino is off to the Walk for Peter Tallis," I said, "and I shall go to the Tabard and send word to my friend Hasling. If Tallis does not know the state of affairs, Hasling will."

As we descended into our boat some of the river men cursed us for not using theirs, and then vanished toward their berths. One boat lingered, seeming to follow us.

"Aye," Jublain said gloomily, "we be nearing trouble again."

On English soil again, Tempany and Abigail were off to their home, and I and my friend to the Tabard. If Genester wanted me, let him come. The arrogance of success was on me.

We walked into the dark and narrow streets, picking our way over the broken cobbles, and around refuse thrown into the streets from the buildings along the way. A rat scurried from underfoot, and the shadows seemed to move.

Jublain moved nearer. "I like it not, Barnabas. I have the stink of death in my nostrils."

"Not our death," I replied quietly. "If there is death tonight it will be another who dies."

"Let us hope," he commented dryly.

My hand was on my sword hilt, and Jublain carried a naked dagger in his left hand, close down to his side, his right hand on his sword hilt. But nothing happened. We emerged from a dark street into a lighter one, somewhat wider, and Jublain sheathed his dagger with a sigh.

Glancing back suddenly my eye was quick enough to see a shadow fade into an alleyway, yet there were many abroad at such a time who had no wish to be seen, some of them honest men. Yet I knew what Jublain meant by having the smell of death in his nostrils. I had it, as well.

The Tabard was lighted and the inn yard itself had light from its windows.

We squeezed in, and found for ourselves a corner. It was not wine I wanted this night but a tankard of ale, for my throat was dry from walking the shadowed streets.

The ale was brought us, and at further urging and a coin to grease the wheels, several thick slices of ham, a loaf, and several large apples. We were hungry, ravenously so.

There was a square-shouldered, apple-cheeked maid I recalled from before—easily recalled, because she had eyes for Jublain, for all his sallow manner.

She came near to our table. Well enough she remembered me, and Jublain as well. "There is a message," she whispered. "It was left for you but two days past. Sit you, and I will have it down to you."

She had scarcely stopped by the table, almost as if held up by the press about us, and then she was gone. "A likely lass," I said, grinning at Jublain.

He shrugged his shoulders and stared into his ale. "Aye," he said, "I have a fear of such. Those who would rob you or trick you are easy enough to handle, but such as her ... A man has small chance with such as her."

"I'd best look for a new partner then," I said, "for certain it is she has set her cap for you."

There was a man with a tankard at a table nearby, a red-faced fellow with a shock of uncombed hair and blond eyebrows. A wide face he had, and thick hands that needed washing. He was looking everywhere but as us but I had an idea he was listening, despite the tumult.

"There's a pitcher near," I commented, as I lifted my tankard, "with big handles."

Jublain's eyes were cynically amused. His back was to the man. "Would a sweep of my sword take him?"

"Aye, but it's a surly rogue we have there, and I think his handles are picking up nothing. I think we should let the pitcher be until we see whether it stands alone."

"I suppose," Jublain said, "but I would like to slice off enough to bait a fish and feed it to him."

Soon the red-cheeked girl came by again, bringing each of us a fresh tankard of ale. She leaned far over.

"Pay for this," she said. "I am watched."

We paid out the money, and she put her hand on the table to pick it up, dropping a folded bit of paper on the table. I casually covered it with my hand. When she had gone, we ate for a bit, and drank. The last thing I wished to do was bring ill to this girl who wished to help.

Then without lifting the paper from the table, I spread open its folds. I knew the hand in which it was written, and read aloud:

There is an order for your arrest: The one of whom we spoke is dying. You will be thrown into prison or killed. We are doing what we can. The one who would help has been taken to the country, and is held there, supposedly to give him the best of care. No one is permitted to see him.

C.H.

"There's a pretty kettle of fish!" I said.

"It be that," said Jublain.

"Come, let's be away from here," I got hurriedly to my feet, and at that instant a hand touched my sleeve.

The red-cheeked maid was there. "This way," she said. "They are in front who would harm you."

We followed quickly, weaving through the tables and the crowd until we reached a dark, narrow passage that led not to the inn-yard but to an empty field beyond. She pointed out a dim path. "Go," she whispered. "There is a path to the river!"

We went, and at a goodly pace. I wanted no lying in prison, for there were those who had stayed shut away for years for no just cause.

The path was sloping away down a small hill, into a hollow and then to the river not far hence. We came down to a place among the reeds, and followed along to a landing place.

It was an old wharf, long disused, its timbers broken in places to where one could see the gleam of dark water below. No boats were there. Reeds had grown up about the place, and the river flowed by, dark and mysterious.

From far behind us there was the slam of the inn door, then the door opened again and we could see a shaft of light. "It is the only way!" Somebody shouted loudly. "They have gone to the river!"

"Nonsense!" The second voice was more forceful. "There's no escape that way, unless they can swim the Thames."

But he was wrong.

There was a path, and we took it.

Walking up the muddy slope to the embankment, we strolled, arm in arm, talking of the New World and what we had seen there, of London and the meals at the Tabard. We were both dry as sin, and would have relished a bit of ale. We walked along, strolling as along a boulevard, not two men escaping from the Queen's officers.

"Wait, Jublain. I think we are followed."

He glanced around. "Aye, and there are but two of them. Shall we split them, my friend, and give them to Mother Thames? She has taken much refuse at one time or another, and floats fine ships in spite of it."

"Walk on. There are lights ahead, and who is going to question two strolling gentlemen?"

"With muddy boots?"

"That, in some places, might be questioned. Not in London today. There are a deal of places where a gentleman might get his boots muddy. Look, there's a tavern!"

It had a seedy, down-at-the-heels look about it, a rank sort of place, yet the door was welcome. We rounded the building and entered.

A low-beamed ceiling that made me duck my head at the beams, a scattering of benches, a long table, a sort of ledge from which drinks were served and carried to the tables. There were seafaring men there, by the look of them, and some workmen, and a raunchy group in front who looked liked thieves or worse.

They eyed us as we entered, missing nothing. Eyed our boots as well. But we crossed the room and sat down at a table where someone had only just left. Empty tankards stood there. I eased my sword about to an easier place for my hand to fall, and the rascals noticed it.

One of them crossed to our table. He was a slender man with one eye and a patch for the other, a disreputable hat upon his head with a bedraggled plume. His clothing was shabby but he walked with an air and some style.

"Do not rest your hand upon your sword, my friend," he said. "There are thieves present, but we never foul our own nest, and this is our nest, our place. Dainty, is it not? Too much ale is drunk here, and too many bold stories are told by bold chaps who then slink off to some shabby hole to sleep. Only our lives are petty; never our boasts or our dreams."

"There is always hope for a man who can dream, and even for one who can boast, for when the two are together they try to bring both to reality. I speak from experience."

"Say you so? Well, perhaps there is hope then, even hope for me." He glanced at Jublain, and had no doubts about him. He and Jublain were two of a kind, in some ways. Of me he was uncertain. I looked and acted the gentleman, yet I had dirty boots and had come in suddenly out of the night in a disreputable part of town. "You puzzle me ... so much the gentleman." He said thoughtfully. "Yet your face is weathered from the elements, as no gentleman's is likely to be. I know that look, too, and even in this dim light know a sea-won weathering from that of the heather."

He was smiling at me, his eyes mildly amused. "Two who walk on muddy paths in the dark, two only fresh from the sea. And a ship has come up the river, the Tiger, only just back from America. And the Queen's men are out to find two from that ship—"

"They will be coming in the door at any moment," I told him frankly.

"Let us exchange hats," he said, "mine is considerably less than yours, but I am of slighter build. Come, let us change."

We did so. His was battered and much worn, and the plume so sad, indeed, but it had a different weight, a different feeling. He donned my own hat, then turned and called out, "Major Sealey! Bring us four, will you? And join us here."

He looked around, smiling. "I am Jeremy Ring, once an officer on Her Majesty's ship, then a prisoner in Barbary and now a homeless, masterless, landless man."

The door opened suddenly and two men stood there. One was a sharp, erect soldierly man, the other a stolid-seeming fellow who looked to need a hayfork in his hands more than a musket.

They looked sharply about—their eyes taking in the group of lusty characters near the door, then at us.

Even as their eyes came to rest on us, Sealey crossed to our table with four brimming tankards in his big hands. The sharper of the two looked from the fresh tankards to the empty ones on the table.

I was sitting low on my bench to appear the shorter, and the hat of Jeremy Ring evidently gave me a different look. It was my own hat upon which his eyes fastened when he looked at Ring. "You there!" he demanded. "How long have you been here?"

"Twenty-seven years, Captain. Born within sound of the Bow-Bells. Twenty-seven years, and seventeen of them aboard Her Majesty's ships or in her army ashore."

"I mean here ... in this place."

"Oh? A few minutes. We are just over from the Tabard. We found the place crowded, and needed room to bend an elbow. Will you join us, Captain? We will talk of wars and women, the worries of one, the wiles of the other."

"I have no time for that. I am on the Queen's business."

Jeremy looked shocked. "The Queen has business here? In such a place? My dear fellow, I am surprised, I—"

"No, no, you fool! I am looking for two Her Majesty would arrest."

"Only two? I could name a dozen, Captain, even a dozen dozen who richly deserve arrest. Why, I could name a Queen's officer, Captain, who deserves to be quartered, drawn and quartered, at the very least.

"Come, Captain. Sit down, buy us a round of drinks and I will tell you such a tale—"

"You are a fool! I've no time for that." He stared angrily at Ring. "You just came from the Tabard? Then we waste time, Robert. Obviously we have followed the wrong men."

"It was dark, and the hat—"

"To the devil with the hat! There are many such!" They turned angrily, shoved their way through the door and were gone.

Jeremy Ring turned to me, smiling. "Now? You will pay for the ale, will you not?"

"I will," I said, "and gladly."

"We will finish the ale," he said, "and then I shall take you to a house nearby—"

"We wish only shelter, a place to sleep."

"What else? The lady is a sailor's wife, and you know how it is with them when her Jack is long gone and there's the need to live. The best places, the cleanest places in London are kept by sailor's wives, often enough."

"So I have heard."

"Mag is a good girl, one of the best, and she had a big old house willed to her by an uncle, or father, or grandfather ... anyway, she lets rooms.

"She talks a bit, but not about her guests. Come, finish your ale, those two might come back, or others."

There was a light in a window of the tall house on the corner. "That'll be Mag. She reads, poor girl. Sits up with reading or sewing, and there's too many do the last and too few the first."

Mag was a comely lass with blue eyes and a steady way about her, as she held high the lantern and regarded us coolly. "If you be friends of Jeremy you are welcome." She looked severely from Jublain to me. "But being friends of Jeremy you'll pay in advance. And now, before you've come a step further. He owes me enough himself without bringing others to sleep under my roof and eat my fare without a penny toward the cost."

"How much?"

"A six-pence, if you sleep in one bed, six-pence for each if you will have two. There's some as sleep four and five to the bed, so for them its a tuppence each."

"Two beds," I said, "and we'll be wanting a taste of something in the morning."

I placed a shilling in her hand. "Take that," I said, "and another for good measure, and worry none at all about us."

"I'll not worry," she said pertly, "and if you are thinking it's a woman alone, I am, do not think twice about it, for I am never alone." From under her robe, tied by a string, she lifted a heavy pistol. "And if you think he will not speak for me, come to my door when the lights are out. You will have a bellyful of him."

"I do not doubt it," I said, smiling at her, "and if you had not a husband away on a ship, I'd be tempted to talk you into throwing your pistol out the window."

She looked at me boldly. "That would take more talking than you've the tongue for, but come. I'll show you to your beds.''

The rooms were small, but surprisingly clean and pleasant. As she turned away I stopped her. "Jeremy Ring? You have known him long?"

"He is a good man," she said flatly, "a bold man, and a witty one, but a good man. A good master on a ship, too, it is said, but times be bad and he was too long a prisoner in Barbary. There's few who know him now."

"I shall be having need of him, I think." From my pocket I took a guinea. "I do not know how much he owes, but put that against it—"

"It is too much.''

"Then he will have food to eat and a bed to sleep in for a bit longer."

"You are a good man," she said quietly, "a good man. I bless you for him."

My boots were off and I was soon undressed, and weary to the death. I stretched out upon the bed and drew high the covers. A sleep I would have this night, if never again.

My eyes closed, and then they opened again and looked into the dark. I must venture to look in upon my father's old friend. How could I leave him sick and helpless in the hands of Rupert Genester?

Chapter 19

We Sacketts were always good men at table, and I no less than the others. So when time came, I put foot under the table of the sailor's wife and set to with a loaf of dark, rich bread and some rashers of bacon and slices of cheese.

Jeremy Ring and Jublain were with me, both doing justice to what was placed before us.

"I must know where he is," I said. "I must do something for him."

"You do not even know the man," Jublain grumbled. "You'll stick your nose into a trap for a man to whom you've never spoken."

"My father and he fought side by side. My father would have died for him. Can I do less?"

"They were in a fight together. It is a different thing. If you go into a fight with a man, you stay by him until he is dead or a prisoner."

"Aye, but who will stand by a sick old man whose death is desired? I shall go to him, Jublain, but I shall ask no man to walk beside me. The place to which I shall go is one I can enter alone."

"It is a trap, and you are a fool."

"We have a failing the fen-men do. Others may not like us, some say we smell of our fens, some say we are a dark mysterious, murderous lot, but we have a failing that is our own. We are loyal. We stand by each other ... or have until now."

"You talk in words that are vain," Jublain said irritably. "You do not know where he is."

"But we shall find out, shall we not? Jeremy, you could do this for me. I sent my man Corvino to Peter Tallis. By this time he may know where the old man is, but Coveney Hasling would know, if anyone does."

Ring got up immediately. "Good enough! I shall pass the word to a carter I know who is returning upcountry, and he shall carry the word to Hasling."

Jublain looked sour. "We should catch a boat and be down the river by dusk. There are ships off the Downs that will need men. And you've money."

"I've little. Our goods are not sold and until then it's little enough I have."

For two days we waited in Mag's house. Then suddenly one day a boat drifted up to a landing near the house and two men came up from it to the door. One was Corvino, the other was Hasling.

"Where is he?" I asked.

Hasling shrugged, and dropped upon a bench. "You are in trouble enough, and the old man is far gone. Too far, I fear, for him to do aught about a will now."

"Bother the will! I want the man safe and comfortable his last days. I shall make enough myself not to need what he would offer me, and it is so I would have it."

Hasling leaned across the table. "Genester came to him the instant he was ill, and made much of his illness and the proper care that was due him. 'I will take him to the seashore,' was what he said, 'and the good sea air will bring him his strength again!' And so he took him away, and in London all are saying what a fine nephew Genester is, to think so of his old uncle ..."

"Where has he taken him?" I asked.

Hasling shrugged. "Where, indeed? He has told no one. And when they ask, Genester says the Earl is poorly, but will improve with rest and care ... No visitors, no disturbances, just rest."

" 'No visitors?' "

Corvino snapped his fingers. "Hah! Give me a day, two days even, and I will know where they have gone. There are no secrets from me in London!

"If he traveled, being ill, it was by carriage or by wagon. And how many carriages have there been in London in the last few years? And how many of those would he have access to? And which of those were not otherwise in use at that time? Give me the time, and—"

"You have the time," I told him, "what I want is the where ... and quickly."

When he was gone, Hasling looked at me curiously. "You make friends, Barnabas. It is a fine thing to make so many friends."

"They are good men." I leaned forward. "You should have been with us to see the New World. It is beautiful! There are fields, forests, mountains, streams!"

"You did well?"

"I did, and shall go back, too. It's a fair land, Coveney Hasling, and perhaps it is there I will stay."

"But the savages?"

I shrugged. "I will be friendly with those who are friendly, and I will fight those who wish to fight. I would trade with the Indians, but I see the danger in it. Yet when two peoples come together that one which is most efficient will survive, and the other will absorb or vanish ... it is the way of life.

"The Indian must not lose pride in what he does, in his handicraft, for if he loses pride he will no longer build, his art will fail him, and he will completely be dependent upon others."

Hasling nodded. "It is well to think of these things, yet I believe few will listen ... or care. The problem now, when you discover where our friend is, is what you can do."

"I shall fetch him and take him where he can have proper care."

"You must beware. Rupert Genester has friends at court, nor is he a fool. Suppose you fetched the Earl away from him and he dies on your hands?"

It was a thought that had not come to me.

"Do you see what I mean? Genester would then have attained both his desires. The old man would be dead, and you would go to prison, a kidnapper."

"Nevertheless, he was my father's friend. It is a weakness of my family that we do not forget our friends. I cannot let him die so. He must be among friends."

"Look," Hasling said patiently, "please understand. Since you have been gone, the situation has changed. Not only is your friend ill, but Rupert Genester has advanced himself. He is skilled at flattery, he knows for whom favors are to be done, and he has worked himself into a secure position at court. He belongs to no group, no clique, no party, yet has done favors for all, so each one can hope that, when Genester inherits, he will be their friend, their partisan."

Hasling paused. "He has closed all doors for you. Not intentionally—for he did not believe you would return, until the Jolly Jack came with news of your escape.

"Nor can Brian Tempany help you. He is in deep trouble because of talk that Genester circulated. The Queen ordered your arrest. Tempany himself may be arrested at any moment, and be assured, my friend, if you go to prison you will not emerge."

"There is a ship for the Low Country in the morning," Jublain said, "and I know its captain. We can be aboard before daybreak, and down the river before it is realized we are gone."

"It is a good thought," Hasling said. "The temper of the Queen will change. She is an uncommonly shrewd woman, and will not long be fooled by Genester."

Yet I was worried. I had heard many a tale of what men of influence had been able to bring about in getting rid of enemies, and the Queen only knew what was told her. A good woman, a fine woman, and an excellent Queen, yet she could not be everywhere at once, could not investigate each story she was told. She relied upon advisors, and they had their own loyalties.

Rupert Genester had such friends as I would never have, and others who were loyal to him because of his birth and background. He was an aristocrat, a man apart.

"All right," I said at last, "the Low Countries, but we shall make one stop first."

At that moment, Corvino entered. With him was Peter Tallis.

"It is good to see you," said Tallis. "And the charts? Were they of value?"

"Very much so. What I wish to know is where the Earl has been taken. Someone has said that it was to the seashore."

"Then my information may be correct," Tallis said. He paused. "Do you know a deep valley to the South of London?"

"No," I said. "I think not ..."

"I know the area well," said Ring. "When I was a younger man I often visited there."

"There's an old manor, a fortified place. It's a couple of hundred years old—belonged to a rich, doughty old warrior, but a part of it is in ruins now. I hear Genester has taken the Earl there."

"That could be," Ring said thoughtfully, "I know the old place ... fourteenth century or earlier. Rupert Genester had relatives who once lived along the coast there, and I know the George Inn."

"I, too," said Jublain. "I have been there."

"My story is they have taken him there," Tallis said, "along with two servants in Genester's hire, and several guards to 'protect' the Earl."

"Is it near the coast?" I asked.

"A few miles, but there is a river that can be navigated ... at least that far. Below the Forelands. In fact, that may have been why the old place was built, to stop invasion along the river in olden times," Tallis said.

"We'll do it then. Jublain, you know the gig and the manor. Down the river within the hour, around the Forelands and up the river. Corvino will go with you."

"He was my friend, too," Hasling said. "I must be one of you."

"No," I said. "Does the Earl have a trustworthy friend here? One who has no use for Genester?"

"He does. I can take him to a most powerful man who will guard him well."

"Then see this man, make the arrangements, and we will come, if God wills."

"And you?" Hasling asked.

"I shall ride across country, with Ring to show the way." I glanced over at Tallis. "I will need horses. Can it be arranged?"

"It can. I shall be with you."

"No. Do you stay and dispose of my goods. We shall need money and a ship to the New World, for when this is over I fear there will be no place in England for me for some time to come.

"However," I added, "there will be consignments of furs. Brian Tempany and I have talked of you, Peter. Are you with us?"

"We met, we talked, we agreed. I am with you indeed."

A few more details and all was ready. I went to my room and buckled on sword and pistols, gathering the well-filled saddlebags.

Mag came to the door. "There's some'at to eat there," she said. "You'll be needing it."

"If they find this place, Mag," I said, "you know nothing of me or any of us. We came here and stopped the night and then were gone. I kept to myself and acted worried. You were glad when I was gone."

"If I were a man, I'd ride with you."

I smiled at her. "Mag, if you were a man, we'd all regret it. Do you be the woman you are, and wait for that sailorman who'll be coming back soon."

I put a gold coin in her hand. "If any of the others come back and need help, give it to them."

Only a short distance for Ring and myself to where the horses waited, then into the saddle, and a sound of hoofs on cobbles, and then we were off, guided down dark lanes by Jeremy Ring.

Two men with swords, daggers, and pistols, two men riding on a fool's mission, to the aid of a man neither one of us knew. He had stood in battle beside my father, my father had spent blood with him upon more than one field, but I had not seen him. And Jeremy Ring?

He rode because he was Jeremy Ring, a gallant follower of lost or flimsy causes, a poet with a sword, a man for whom life was a thing to be nobly used, not allowed to rust or wither and decay. He had missed his chances elsewhere, this one he would not miss.

At a pause atop a hill, our horses had time to breathe and catch their wind.

"Jeremy," I said, "if we come through this, there's the New World yonder. Will you be sailing with me?"

"Aye ... Wherever you go."

We rode on then, following a dim track into the night, and I thought of Abigail, waiting, and of our first meeting on the dark night after my flight from the theater.

I thought of her and our few talks aboard ship, of things longed for and sought, of things dreamed of and wanted.

Through a dark wood with a smell of damp earth and damper leaves, to the drum of hoofs upon the turf, and the low murmur of wind in the branches above.

Would the old man, the Earl, be dead? Did Genester actually intend to simply let him die? Or to hasten his death?

Chapter 20

Jeremy Ring was a better horseman than I, for I had walked more than I had ridden. Moreover, he knew the roads.

Before we had gone a dozen miles I was totally lost, Jeremy did so much weaving about. We had no wish to be followed, so he made sudden diversions down lanes between cottages or around barns and even through pastures, and several times we paused to listen.

"You know the way well," I said, with a tinge of suspicion.

He chuckled. "I should, my friend, for I've worked the King's highways upon more than one occasion. I would say that to you and no other, but the truth is in me tonight."

The night was damp and cool. After resting the horses a bit we rode on, taking more time now that we were well away from London.

We came to a slope and, crossing a small valley, we started up a winding ridge toward a village above. "There's a man here and a tavern," Ring said, "a friendly man if you have a coin or two, who will switch horses and forget it."

Seven Oaks, a sign said. There were trees, but I could see no oaks.

We had slices of cold ham and the end of a loaf and slept the night out. In the morning, on a pair of matching bays, we rode along the ridge to the eastward, skirting the knoll, then circling about, as Jeremy was of no mind to let them know our direction.

The sun was out and the day was warm, our destination still some distance.

We saw no one, nor wished to.

We stopped at last near an abandoned woodcutter's hut, deep in the woods. There was a well nearby, and the ruins of some much older building. We tied our horses and waited for the dark. Through the thinnest of the foliage we could see the squarecut outlines of the manor, not more than a half mile off.

At dusk we mounted and walked our horses through the woods, keeping off the paths until we reached the bank of the river. The willows were thick along the banks. Dismounting, we led our horses down and let them drink.

Suddenly, we heard the faintest of sounds. Someone was coming along the bank just outside the clumps of willows, a bit higher up. It was someone who moved cautiously.

He appeared then, not far off, yet easily seen in the dim light. He paused, and I spoke.

"Ah?" It was Jublain. "I was sure you would be here." He came toward us through the trees. "The boat is tied to the bank not a cable-length from here. Should we be closer?"

"Yes. Corvino is on the boat?"

"Corvino and Sakim. Without Sakim we would not have made it so soon. He is a fine sailor, that one."

"Aye. Then leave him with the boat and do you and Corvino come with me."

"There is a landing below the house. Should we come there?"

"Aye, and soon. What is to be done must be done quickly, smoothly." For a moment I listened into the silence. "I will meet you at the landing. Come quickly."

He turned swiftly away and, with Jeremy following, I led my horse back through the woods. Soon the manor loomed above us, and we could see the gleam of water on our right and the gray of a path that led down to the landing. Good enough.

We tied our horses well back into the trees, and waited for Jublain and Corvino. I had no worries about Sakim. He was perhaps the wisest of us all, and would not be taken unawares. We went up the path in single file.

The night had grown increasingly dark. Stars gleamed above although there were a few drifting clouds. It was damp and still. Picking our way over the fallen stones and the remnants of a wall we found a door. It was closed and locked. When I felt of the lock my fingers came away with cobwebs. An unused door, evidently barred from within.

Moss covered the fallen stones, vines hung from the walls. We rounded the house by a faint path.

Jeremy put a hand on my arm. "I like none of it," he whispered. "The place smells of a trap."

"Aye, but we came to help the Earl. Trap or no trap, we shall do it.'

"There are the stables," Corvino whispered. "Do you wait now." He was gone in an instant, back as soon. "There is a carriage outside, and a dozen horses within. Several of them are still wet with sweat. They have been hard-ridden within the hour."

"A dozen? Perhaps four for the carriage, and eight for outriders or others. They are eight or nine. Perhaps ten."

"It is a goodly number," Ring suggested thoughtfully.

"Enough to go around. Come now, no jealousy! Each of you will have at least one, and two if you are lucky. Gentlemen, I think we are expected. Let us not keep them waiting. As my name is Barnabas Sackett, I hope that Rupert Genester is himself here."

We started forward, then I stopped. "Jeremy? Do you and Corvino mind? Jublain and I will enter alone. Do you follow us. In that way we may not all be trapped at once."

We went forward, up the few steps, and Jublain put a hand to the door. At my gesture, he opened it and I stepped inside. There had been no chain on the door, no bar. Truly, we were expected. Stepping inside, Jublain followed.

The great entranceway was dark and shadowed. Light showed beneath a door. I stepped quickly forward and in that instant the big door slammed behind us and torches flared into light.

We were in the center of a great hall and a dozen men stood about us, all with drawn swords.

One stepped slightly forward. "You do not disappoint me, Sackett. You come quickly to meet your death."

"Of course. Did you expect me to keep you waiting?"

"They've barred the door," Jublain said quietly.

"Aye, that makes it better. Not one of them shall escape us. And look, Jublain. The rascal with the beard. It is Nick Bardle himself, trying to patch up the mistakes he made."

A move, and my blade was drawn. "I hope the Earl is still alive? Or have you murdered him?"

Genester shrugged. "He will die ... Why hasten it? I want no marks upon his body, but on yours—"

"Of course. Will you try to put them there yourself? Or will you sprawl in the mud again as you did in Stamford?"

His lips tightened with anger, and he took a half-step forward. I held my blade low, smiling at him. "You were a fit sight for a lady, sprawled in all your pretty silks in the mud! There was no occasion for it. The lady but asked for a drink."

"I shall kill you now," he said.

"Will you try it alone? Or leave it to this pack of dogs that follows you?"

Above me, faintly, I heard a scrape of something. A foot on stone? What was above? I dared not look up.

"Do not let him die too quickly," Genester said. "But die he must."

"And you, Rupert? Are you ready for the blade? I've chosen a resting place for it, right under that pretty little beard."

"Take him," he said, and turned indifferently away.

They moved, but I moved first. I was within a long blade's reach of the nearest man and, taking a quick step, I lunged just as his sword came up. There was a faint clang of steel, and my blade went past his and a hand's length into his chest.

His eyes stared at me down the length of the blade, the eyes of a man who would die. I withdrew swiftly and then Jublain shouted, "At them!" And then there was only the clang of swords, the whisper of clothing and the grunt and pant of men fighting.

From above there was a shrill yell, then down a rope came Corvino, and then Jeremy.

A man rushed at me, swinging a cutlass, a wide sweep with a blade that might have been effective in a boarding operation. But not here. My blade was down and I cut swiftly upward. The blade slit through his shirt front and parted his chin—the very stroke I had planned for Genester himself.

At least two were down. I felt a blade nick my arm, the rip of my shirt. It was close, deadly fighting, with no time for fancy work here. I thrust, slashed, thrust again, moving always.

Corvino was down ... no, up again. There was blood on his shirt. The torchlight wavered and shadowed and unshadowed us. Faces gleamed with sweat. It was wild, desperate, bitter fighting this.

A tall man lunged at me. I parried and he came in with his thrust and we were face to face, our swords locked tightly. It was Darkling.

My left fist came up quickly in a smashing blow to his belly and he gasped and stepped back. I followed him in, keeping our swords locked, and hit him again ... my attack totally unexpected.

Darkling fell back again, disengaged and tried to come into position. But my own blade was far forward and, without drawing it back, I turned quickly left and cut across his face under his nose, then right, and under his eyes. Neither was deep, both were bloody. He fell back, shocked, and I let him go.

A blade ripped my shirt again and then we were forced into a corner, Jublain and I. Corvino was down or gone. Jeremy was waging a desperate fight with three men, his blade dancing, gleaming, thrusting. One man fell back with a cry, and Jeremy dropped quickly to one knee—or almost there—with a sweeping blow at the next man's legs. Killing him as well.

Suddenly there was a banging upon the door, a shout, and Jeremy skipped quickly to one side and, fencing adroitly to hold the man off, managed to flip the bar from the door. Instantly it crashed open.

Captain Tempany! And with him four men!

Suddenly there was a break for the door, and desperate fighting there. Leaping across a body I raced up the steps to the door through which Genester had gone.

I shoved the door slowly inward and a pistol coughed hoarsely in the small confines of the room. Leaping through the door, sword in hand, I saw Rupert Genester just beyond.

The Earl—at least I supposed him to be—sat up in bed, a woman standing near him, her face pale and angry. Genester threw the now empty pistol at my head and then ran around the end of the bed to come at me.

He was facing me, a desperate man. His face was pale, his eyes very bright and hard. There was no coward in the man, for all I disliked him. His blade was up and he was ready.

Though I had out-maneuvered him often, Genester faced me squarely. "Even if you live to tell it," he said, "they'll not believe you. I will declare that you killed the Earl."

"But he is not dead!" I said. "I—"

His sword was down by his side in his right hand. Suddenly his left held a dagger, and he lifted it to stab down at the old man who lay beside him. His left fist gripping the dagger swung up and back.

I lunged.

The point of my blade took him at mid-chest and thrust toward his left side.

His arm was caught in movement, and my blade sank deep. He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes wide, lips bloodless. "Damn you!" he gasped. "I should have—"

I lowered my point and he slid off it to the floor, blood all about him, his fingers loosening on the dagger. The dagger clattered to the floor.

"Your pardon, Excellency," I said, "forgive this intrusion, but ... my name is Barnabas Sackett."

"I know who you are," the old man's voice rumbled like a far off thunder in the small room. "And you are your father's son.

"By the Lord," he said, sitting a little straighter, "as neat a bit of action as ever I saw!"

Suddenly, I realized that Nick Bardle was gone ... I'd forgotten him.

Gone! I started after him but the old man lifted a hand. "Let him go," he said, "and open the door before they burst it."

The door opened again. Jublain was the first through, sword in hand, then Jeremy Ring and Sakim. Following was Captain Tempany.

Tempany went to him quickly. "How are you, Sir Robert? You're unhurt?"

"I am not hurt," Sir Robert said flatly, "but I've been damnably ill, and if it had not been for Gerta here, who would not be left behind, I'd be dead. Dead and gone. Now get me out of here."

"We've only horses," Tempany protested.

"I've a boat," I said. "Sakim? Can we make Sir Robert comfortable?"

"Of course."

Sir Robert glared at him. "Moor, aren't you? Well, I've crossed swords with a few of your kind."

Sakim smiled, showing his white, even teeth. "I am glad it was not with me, Sir Robert."

The Earl glared, then chuckled. "So am I, so am I. Make a litter, Tempany, and get me out of here. I despise the place."

Chapter 21

Sir Robert sat propped with pillows in the great bed in his town house. Scarce two weeks had passed since the affair in the manor, but the time for decision had come.

Captain Brian Tempany was there, with Abigail. She sat demurely, her hands in her lap.

"I have talked to him, talked like a Dutch uncle, but he will not listen."

Sir Robert eyed me coldly. "His father was a pigheaded man, too." He said, and then added, "Thank God for it. He never knew when he was whipped ... So he never was."

"It is not that I do not appreciate the offer," I assured him, "but I was born to action. It is not my way to sit contemplating the deeds of others, nor to fatten on wealth not gained by my own hands. There's a vast land yonder, and my destiny lies there. My own destiny, and that of my family."

"This family you speak of," Sir Robert asked gruffly, "is something of which I have not heard. You are a wedded man?"

"I am not."

"Then you have no family?"

"I do not. I have only the knowledge that someday I will and that I want them in a land where they may have elbow room. I want my sons to grow tall in freedom, to grow where they may stretch and move and go as far and do as much as their talents and strength will permit. I do not want them hamstrung by privilege nor class."

"You disapprove of England?"

"I do not. Opportunity here is great if a man has energy, but there are restrictions, and I chafe under restriction."

"You must go to America?"

"I must. It is a vast land, every inch of it rich with opportunity. I would go there and build my own place, my own life."

"I will speak to Sir Walter."

"No, Sir Robert. I do not wish that restriction, either. I will go alone ... Or with those few who would go with me."

Sir Robert glared at me, then glanced at Abigail. "This family you speak of? Where will you find a woman who will leave England for such a wild place? No fine clothes? No dancing, no fine homes? No luxuries? Are there any such?"

"I have reason to believe there are," I said hesitantly. "But first I wish to prepare a place ... a home. I can do it there."

Abigail looked up. "And in the meantime, Barnabas?"

I flushed. "Well, I—"

She looked at me coolly, directly—the look she had given me that first night when she invited me in. "If you know such a girl, I would suggest that you permit her to choose where her home will be. If you find such a girl at all, I imagine she would prefer to be at your side."

"There are savages."

"I presume."

"There are no houses, only caves, and bark shelters."

"I expect that is so."

"I could not ask any—"

"You assume such a girl would have less courage than you? Less fortitude? You do not understand my sex, Barnabas."

"She would be much alone."

"Not for long, I believe. She would have a family if you are half the man you seem to be, I suggest, Barnabas, that when you make your plans for the New World you speak to the lady. You will be gone for a year, and that is a very long time."

"Well, I—"

She turned toward Sir Robert and curtsied. "If you will forgive me, Sir Robert. I must go now and leave the planning to you men. You seem to feel you are perfectly competent to plan for others as well as yourselves."

When the door closed, Sir Robert chuckled. "That young lady knows her mind."

"Her mother was just that way," Brian Tempany said.

"I always said," I commented, "that I wanted a woman to walk beside me, not behind me."

"Have you said that to Abigail?" Tempany asked slyly.

"I haven't, but—"

Sir Robert abruptly changed the subject. "You are determined then? You will sail for America?"

"Aye, when I find a ship." I paused. "Sir Robert, against the western sky there were mountains, blue and distant mountains. I must pass through them. I must see what lies beyond."

"Damme, Sackett, if I was a lad I'd go with you! I'd like myself to see what lies beyond those mountains." He paused. "All right, I'll provide the ship." He looked at me from under fierce brows. "She has a fine cabin aft, a Dutch craft, seaworthy and strong. But a fine cabin, fit for a king—or a queen."

"I will see what I can do."

"Then be about it, lad, and leave the rest to us." He shifted his position a bit. "I've talked to your man Tallis. A good man, Barnabas. He's disposed of your cargo, and has bought well, by your orders."

"Thank you." I was fidgeting, wishing to go. If he saw it he showed it not. "Then, Sir Robert, I shall leave this in your hands, and those of Captain Tempany. I have things—"

"Be off with you!"

She waited in the garden where there were white roses, and red. She waited by a small fountain, and I went to her across the grass. She turned to face me, very serious.

"I was too bold," she said.

"No," I said, "just bold enough to give me courage for boldness. I was afraid I assumed too much."

"You will be gone a year, and that is a very long time. I have seen other girls and women whose men have gone away to sea or to the wars, and they did not come back again. I would not have that happen to me."

"You truly wish to come?"

"Where you are, I would be."

"Sir Robert said the cabin on the boat is a fine one, fit for a queen."

"Hmm! Men know little of what is fit or not fit! I must go aboard at once."

"I will arrange it." I took her hands in mine and kissed her very gently. "And now there is much to do. I must go."

Outside I awaited my carriage. The day had clouded over. And as the carriage came forward, the wheels made grating sounds on the cobbles and a few drops of rain fell.

I was for America again. Soon my own ship would be sailing across the western ocean, back to the land of vast green forests and mountains blue with distance and promise.

I settled back in the cushions, content. The feeling was upon me that in those mountains lay my destiny, whatever it was, however it came.

And Abigail would be with me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Louis L'Amour, born Louis Dearborn L'Amour of French-Irish stock, is a descendant of Francois René, Vicomote de Chateaubriand, noted French writer, statesman, and epicure. Although Mr. L'Amour claims his writing began as a "spur-of-the-moment thing" prompted by friends who relished his verbal tales of the West, he comes by his talent honestly. A frontiersman by heritage (his grandfather was scalped by the Sioux), and a universal man by experience, Louis L'Amour lives the life of his fictional heroes. Since leaving his native Jamestown, North Dakota, at the age of fifteen, he's been a longshoreman, lumberjack, elephant handler, hay shocker, flume builder, fruit picker, and an officer on tank destroyers during World War II. And he's written four hundred short stories and over fifty books (including a volume of poetry).

Mr. L'Amour has lectured widely, traveled the West thoroughly, studied archaeology, compiled biographies of over one thousand Western gunfighters, and read prodigiously (his library holds more than two thousand volumes). And he's watched thirty-one of his westerns as movies. He's circled the world on a freighter, mined in the West, sailed a dhow on the Red Sea, been shipwrecked in the West Indies, stranded in the Mojave Desert. He's won fifty-one of fifty-nine fights as a professional boxer and pinch-hit for Dorothy Kilgallen when she was on vacation from her column. Since 1816, thirty-three members of his family have been writers. And, he says, "I could sit in the middle of Sunset Boulevard and write with my typewriter on my knees; temperamental I am not."

Mr. L'Amour is recreating an 1865 Western town, christened Shalako, where the borders of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado meet. Historically authentic from whistle to well, it will be a live, operating town, as well as a movie location and tourist attraction.

Mr. L'Amour now lives in Los Angeles with his wife Kathy, who helps with the enormous amount of research he does for his books. Soon, Mr. L'Amour hopes, the children will be helping too—Beau, and Angelique.

Mr. L'Amour presently lectures for the Bantam Lecture Bureau.