Calico Captive Read online

  "Confound you, Labaree," he muttered. "Do you have to be as early as all this?" He drew back the bolt and swung open the door.

  Neighbor Labaree's solid figure filled the doorway, and his hearty voice boomed through the cabin. "Still abed, all of you? Thought you aimed to start on the south field before daybreak."

  Without warning it happened. James Johnson's answer was drowned in such dreadful shrieks that Miriam's whole body turned to stone. She had heard them before, but far away, in the depths of the forest. Now they were close, close upon them. Indians! Labaree was jerked backward and the doorway was filled with bodies, pouring into the cabin with horrible yells. The half-light was a confusion of feathers, hideous faces streaked with red and white, tomahawks flashing. James leaped toward his musket, but three Indians were upon him in a flash, binding his arms tight against his body. Other redskins swarmed about the cabin, tearing open cupboards and chests, pawing over food and clothes, stuffing sacks with everything they could lay hands on. One slit open a feather bed, shaking out a choking cloud of feathers, and used the ticking as a bag to hold his plunder. Two of the savages came from the bedroom, dragging a shrinking and almost naked Susanna between them.

  Terror suddenly stabbed Miriam's paralyzed mind and body into action. In a moment they would discover the loft stairs! The girl's wits came back to her. Behind her was a window, hardly more than a slit in the wall, but big enough, if she had to, to crawl through and escape. It was not too much of a drop to the ground. If she could get out, make a run for the fort, they might not notice. She could run as fast as any Indian. Once out of the cabin, her chances were good even in the woods. If she could reach the fort she could rouse the men and get help.

  On hands and knees she crawled to the window and knocked out the shutter. In the din downstairs the clatter could not be heard. One bare leg was out and over the sill when her eyes caught a sight that stopped and held her. The children! They were wide awake, sitting up in their beds and watching her, without a sound, just looking, their eyes round and glassy like the eyes of little animals in the traps. Even at that moment Sylvanus struggled out of his covers and came scrambling toward her, whimpering like a frightened puppy.

  A wave of anger swept over Miriam. "No!" she scolded. "No, Vanus! Go back!" But his small hands reached her and clung. Of a sudden she hated him, hated all three of them with their white faces. But for them she would be halfway to the fort by now. She dragged her leg back over the sill. She could not leave them.

  "I'll let you down, Vanus," she whispered. "You run for the fort. Rim as hard as you can! Sue, quick! Move, Sue! You go right after him!"

  It was too late. An iron arm hooked round her waist and jerked her back. A brown hand reached round her and dragged Sylvanus away from the window. When she tried to struggle, a cruel twist of her wrist sent a stab of agony up to her shoulder. Half off her feet, she stumbled and fell after her captor, down the ladder, across the cabin floor, into the clearing outside.

  The others were all there, even Peter Labaree, bound fast like James. The three children threw themselves sobbing against their mother, and Susanna, her arms held by her two captors, tried to comfort them with her voice. "Hush, chickens," she faltered. "You're all to rights. Don't cry."

  The Indians were arguing with each other in rough tones and menacing gestures. A few were bent on killing the prisoners at once, and their threatening tomahawks turned Miriam cold. Then one warrior, apparently the leader, stepped forward and silenced the jabbering with one curt syllable. His eyes swept over the prisoners, scowling disdainfully at the women in their night shifts. He gestured to one of his men and barked a command. The Indian glowered, but he opened a sack stuffed to bursting with goods from the cabin, grudgingly pulled out three dresses, and threw them on the ground in front of Susanna.

  A ruffled length of petticoat trailed from the sack. "That too?" Susanna pleaded, pointing. But if the Indian understood, he intended to part with nothing else. Susanna's arms were freed for a moment, and she picked up one of the dresses and drew it clumsily over her head. Miriam was tossed another, a gray homespun, worn and patched. Little Susanna, bundled into the third, was helpless to move, and when the Indian who had parted with it saw that the blouse of her mother's dress reached almost to the child's knees, he slashed at the cloth with his knife, ignoring her screech of terror, yanked the skirt away and stuffed it back into his sack. Sylvanus was allowed a little jacket of his own. In this flimsy clothing they seemed to satisfy the Indians. With a horrid yell, the captors pushed, prodded, and dragged their prisoners into the woods.

  Sharp cramps began to shoot up and down Miriam's arm as the iron fingers of her captor never lost their grip. They had turned away from the clearing straight into the thicket where the thorns tore at her legs and stabbed her bare feet. The Indians were in a hurry now, sensing that the fort must have been aroused by the racket, and they forced their prisoners on impatiently. Poor Susanna, heavy with her unborn child, could barely keep pace. When one shoe caught on a root, the Indians jerked her forward without it, so that she limped awkwardly. Miriam, lost in her own misery, did not even notice her sister's plight.

  I could have made it. Her thoughts went round and round. I had a chance. I might even have reached the fort but for that stupid Vanus. Actually, she knew that even if she could have saved herself she couldn't have helped the others. The men in the fort would not have dared to follow. Everyone knew that pursuit meant instant death for prisoners. She might have been safe herself, though, this very moment, inside those walls she had hated, which now seemed so precious a shelter. She had only her own softheartedness to thank that instead she was floundering through the brush at the mercy of these savages. Glancing up at their paint-streaked faces, Miriam could see no signs at all of any mercy.

  When the sun was directly overhead they came to a halt. The children had made the three miles or so with less difficulty than the grownups. The two little girls, after several tumbles, had been slung across the redskins' shoulders like the sacks of goods. Sylvanus, with his sturdy little legs, had trudged alongside his captor, snuffling and wiping his tears against his jacket sleeve, but seemed none the worse for it. The Indians were fast losing patience with Susanna, who was quite plainly unable to go another step. They stood looking down at her sagging figure with such disgust that for an instant Miriam forgot her own fear in a stab of terror for her sister's life.

  At a curt order from the leader, one of the Indians fumbled through a bag of the stolen supplies and produced a loaf of bread and a few apples and raisins. Divided among so many it made scanty fare, but even these few mouthfuls Miriam found hard to swallow.

  "Better eat," advised Peter Labaree, who was nearest her.

  "I'm not hungry," said Miriam. "What are they going to do with us, Peter?"

  "If they're feeding us, that's a good sign. Means they don't mean to kill us. Not yet anyway."

  The leader struck his tomahawk against a log meaningfully. "No talk!" he ordered. "We go now. Walk fast. No talk any!"

  As they struggled to their feet again, Miriam saw that the Indians' keen ears had caught a sound, and that they were watching intently the little clearing along the river, their hands ready on guns and tomahawks. Then she heard it too, a snapping of twigs and a heavy footstep. Hope leaped up and died away. It was only Scoggins, the ancient, sway-backed horse of Mr. Stevens, grazing innocently along the river. Poor old Scoggins, always good for a joke at the fort, all at once seemed almost beautiful. One of the Indians raised his rifle, but the leader spoke again sharply. With a quick move, he stepped forward and unfastened the thongs that bound James Johnson's arms.

  "Get horse," he ordered, pointing at Scoggins. "Get horse for squaw."

  James, his arms free, gave one desperate look about the group, and Miriam knew what was in his mind. At once, however, James knew that his only hope lay in obeying the Indian's command, and he walked quietly toward the unsuspecting animal, holding in his hand the bit of apple that had been
his share. Old Scoggins walked amiably into the trap, and in a moment had said goodbye to his peaceful river existence. Pilfered sacks and blankets were thrown over his back, and James hoisted his wife's limp weight into this improvised saddle.

  The afternoon march seemed endless. The Indians were still in a hurry, eager to get as far as possible from the fort before night fell. Toward sunset they came out on the shore of the river, and the prisoners understood that they were to cross. They were given a short chance to rest while the Indians dragged together dry branches to make a raft. Then Susanna was pushed onto the raft, James Johnson was ordered to swim alongside, and Peter Labaree was given poor Scoggins to force to the opposite shore. Miriam, sitting with the children, watched the frail platform that held her sister waver and sway, but it reached the other side, and presently returned for her and the little girls. When they were all across, the Indians kindled a fire and hung over it the familiar copper kettles in which Miriam and Susanna had stirred so many meals in the snug safety of their own cabin. These they filled with stolen porridge.

  As they waited for the porridge to boil, Miriam looked about at her captors. By some unspoken agreement, each one of the prisoners seemed to belong to the Indian who had first laid hands upon him. The Indian who had found Miriam in the loft was never far from her side, even now that he seemed to think it safe to let go of her arm. There were not so many Indians, only eleven in all, though they had seemed such a savage horde inside the cabin. Taking advantage of this moment's pause they were busily pawing over the goods they had plundered, now and then letting out cackles of delight as something struck their fancy. Miriam saw a candlestick and two of Susanna's silver spoons, and then with a stab of real anguish, she caught a glimpse of blue flowered calico. The new dress! The Indian who was in the act of yanking the precious goods out of his sack looked up and caught her longing gaze, and a taunting grin broke over his dark features.

  Why, he's young, Miriam realized with a shock. Much younger than the others. And he's laughing at me. He knows it's my dress. Helpless fury surged hotly over her. I hate him! she raged inwardly. I could kill him for touching my dress with his dirty fingers.

  Following another guttural argument, the Indians decided to pitch camp in this place, very evidently blaming Susanna for slowing them up. After standing and looking at her for a long moment, the leader shrugged and left her alone, whether from scorn or pity it was hard to tell. Certainly she would not try to escape, but precautions had to be taken with the others. The Indians split branches and fashioned a crude sort of stocks over the legs of the men, tied by thongs that fastened high overhead on limbs of trees. The children fared better. Sue and little Polly had their ankles tied, but were given blankets. To her horror, Miriam was forced to lie down between two Indians, a heavy cord thrown over her body and held securely under theirs. All this was done in silence. The Indians spoke few words, and any attempt to speak on the part of the prisoners was met with fierce threats.

  Long after the Indians were asleep, Miriam lay rigid with mortification and fury between the two guards. They were so close that every breath she drew was filled with the heavy bear-grease odor of their bodies. They had taken no pains to choose a smooth sleeping place. Twigs poked her back, and a sharp pebble bit into one shoulder. She could not roll over, and she dared not even ease her aching muscles for fear the slightest tug on the cord would waken them. With the darkness a new torment had commenced; the air was swarming with mosquitoes, whining and biting savagely. More than that, now that the shock of their captivity was wearing off, she had time to be afraid. Where were they going? What did the Indians have in store for them? All her life Miriam had heard tales of white men taken captive by Indians, some stories so horrible that the older settlers' voices would sink to whispers if a child were around. Those whispers, the fearful looks, the terrible words she had been able to catch, tortured her now. If she could only speak to Susanna, even to Labaree or James, they might be able to give her a little comfort.

  Sharper than hunger and fear, the memory of die blue dress pricked her. At the thought of its lovely folds crumpled in that hateful boy's hands, the tears flooded her eyes, and turning her head against the ground, Miriam let them fall. There in the wilderness, surrounded by savage enemies, bound for a fate she dared not imagine, she wept her heart out for a flowered dress she would never wear again.

  Chapter 3

  THEY WERE PUSHING forward next morning in a chill fog and drizzle when a new vexation was added to Miriam's distress. She had begun to relax a little, the watery gruel warm in her stomach and her strong young body rested from a brief sleep. With the war paint washed off their faces, the Indians looked far less terrifying, and they had only troubled to bind the two men, feeling sure of the women and children. The whole party was walking single file now through a dense wood where only the Indians could recognize a trail. Miriam's captor walked ahead of her, and beyond him little Susanna rode quiescent on the shoulders of another redskin. Polly's captor was out of sight. Curiously enough, the Indians had accepted the fact that Polly, unlike the cowed Sue, was docile only so long as she was in sight of her mother. The moment the trees hid from her that familiar figure hunched on the back of old Scoggins, no threats could subdue her wails. The Indians had shown surprising patience with this behavior, and the brave who carried Polly waited stolidly in the trail whenever Susanna was forced to rest.

  Farther ahead in the fog Sylvanus' eager voice now and then broke the silence. He had lost all fear of the Indians by now, and was not at all discouraged that his friendly prattle met a stony response. He seemed to sense that he could get away with more freedom than any of the others dared attempt.

  All at once Miriam's dress caught on something, and she fell forward, scraping her hands. Looking back, she saw the hateful young Indian just behind her, and once again she caught a glitter of derision in his black eyes. Plainly he found her awkward stumble amusing. A few minutes later she tripped again, and this time she looked up just in time to see him spring back, grinning openly. The Indian ahead motioned her to her feet with an impatient gesture.

  "He stepped on my dress," Miriam flared. "He tried to make me fall!"

  Her master shrugged and moved forward. Her cheeks hot, Miriam bunched her skirt into both hands and stumbled after him. With both hands full of skirt, however, there was no way to ward off the brambles and low-hanging branches that snapped back against her. Her captor gave no sign that he noticed, but presently he motioned her to stop, and whipping out his knife he neatly sliced a spiral of green vine that swung from a tree and handed it to her with a rough gesture toward her skirt. Miriam stared at him. Could this be a sign of thoughtfulness? Or was he merely impatient at her slow progress? She could read no slightest softening in that stern face. However it had happened, she accepted the vine gratefully and made a clumsy job of tying up her billowing skirt.

  After that the walking was easier. But presently the boy behind her crept closer and gave a playful tug at her hair, a tug that hurt and sent stinging tears to her eyes. Miriam's temper mounted. Not one of the boys at the fort had ever tried to pull her hair twice. But here there was no way to retaliate.

  He knows I can't do a thing about it, she thought angrily. But I know one way to spoil his fun. He's not going to have the satisfaction of seeing me blubber like Polly. Setting her lips tight, Miriam held her head higher than ever and set her feet straight ahead.

  When soon afterward they caught up with the rest of the party at a clearing, Miriam was shocked out of her own vexation at the sight of her sister. Susanna had collapsed on the wet ground. Her face was hidden, but her shoulders moved in a rapid, shuddering breath, and now and then her whole body seemed to draw tense with anguish. Four Indians stood looking down at her with ugly scowls. Plainly another argument was beginning. Suddenly, to Miriam's horror, one of the Indians raised his tomahawk and brandished it over the woman's head. The whole terrified group of prisoners held their breath. But another warrior knocked the lifte
d arm aside. The two braves faced each other with angry shouts. Then the leader spoke, one curt word, and the two turned away sullenly.

  At another command they set to hacking down fir branches, and with unbelievable speed they constructed a small shelter of green boughs. James Johnson, his arms unbound, bent over his wife, lifted her gently, and helped her to walk the few steps, holding the branches carefully aside till they were both hidden from view. The rest of the party, seeing that there would be a wait, settled down on the ground to rest. The children simply dropped where they were and were almost instantly asleep.

  Miriam edged closer to the man who rested against a tree trunk. "What is it, Peter?" she whispered. "Is Susanna very ill?"

  "She is in labor," said Labaree soberly.

  "In labor? You mean the baby? Peter! She can't be! A baby can't be born out here!"

  "Babies have been born in all sorts of unlikely places," answered Labaree. "At any rate, your sister is going to need your help."

  "My help!" Miriam was terrified. She shook her head violently. "I couldn't, Peter. She can't expect me to do that. I wouldn't know what to do."

  Labaree said nothing, and Miriam stood staring at the leafy booth. This was an ordeal she had not counted on at all. Through her mind flashed a memory of the day Polly had been born. She remembered Annie Howe, who had borne nine children of her own, and had lost track of how many others she had helped into the world. She could see Annie now, bustling into the cabin, pink-faced and clean, smelling of good strong soap, poking up the fire, hustling the children outside with good-natured smacks, shaking with laughter at her own jokes, making it all seem easy and matter of fact and good. But here in this chill forbidding place there was no capable Annie to take charge, only a frightened girl with no knowledge at all.

  Labaree's silence made her uncomfortable. More than Labaree, all of them seemed to be watching her, judging her for a coward. There was no sound from the shelter. How long would it be? Suddenly Miriam knew that no matter how she dreaded to go in, she could not bear to wait outside another moment. She was a white girl; her place was with Susanna, not out here with these savages. Running across to the shelter, she stooped down and crawled inside.