Ephraim Smede felt his horse shudder. Hed been about to make his own run for the stream when Billy Drew, having finally decided which of the two surviving riders was the most dangerous, took his shot.
The impact was so sudden it seemed to Smede as if his horse had run into an invisible wall. One second he was hunkered low in the saddle, leaning across his mounts neck, the next the beast had pitched forward and Smede found himself catapulted over its head like a rock from a trebuchet. He smashed to the ground, missing Shaws prostrate body by inches. Winded and shaken, he clambered to his knees.
He was too engrossed in steadying himself to see Ranger Beddowes take aim with his pistol. Nor did he hear the crack nor see the spurt of muzzle flame, but he felt the heat of the ball as it struck his right temple. Ephraim Smedes final vision before he fell was of his brothers lifeless eyes staring skywards and the dark stain that covered Levis chest. Stretching out his fingers, he only had time to touch his brothers grubby coat sleeve before the blackness swooped down to claim him.
Determining the rebels likely escape route had not been difficult and Wyatt, in anticipation, had dispatched Tewanias to cover the streams crossing place.
It was the Mohawk warriors sudden appearance, springing from the ground almost beneath his horses feet, that had forced the cry of terror from Jeremiah Kidds throat. The mare, unnerved as much by her riders reaction as by the obstacle in her path, reared in fright. Poor horsemanship and gravity did the rest.
The earth rose so quickly to meet him, there was not enough time to take evasive action. Putting out an arm to break his fall didnt help. The snap of breaking bone as Kidds wrist took the full weight of his body was almost as audible as the gunshots that had accompanied his dash for freedom.
As he watched his horse gallop away, Kidd became aware of a lithe shape running in. He turned. His eyes widened in shock, the pain in his wrist forgotten as the war club scythed towards his head.
The world went dark, rendering the second blow a mere formality, which, while brutal in its execution, at least saved Kidd the agony of hearing Tewanias howl with triumph as he dug his knife into flesh and ripped the scalp from his victims fractured skull. Brandishing his prize, the Mohawk returned the blade to its sheath and looked for his next trophy.
Archer knew from his years of soldiering and by the way the blood was seeping between his fingers that his condition was critical. He looked towards the porch, where a still form lay crumpled by the cabin door. A cold fist gripped his heart and began to squeeze.
Beth.
Hand clasped against his side, Archer dragged himself towards his wifes body. He tried to call out to her but the effort of drawing air into his lungs proved too much; all he could manage was a rasping croak.
Why hadnt she done as she was told? he thought bleakly. Why hadnt she stayed inside? His slow crawl through the dirt came to a halt as a shadow fell across him.
Dont move, a voice said gently.
He looked up and found himself face to face with one of the uniformed rifle bearers.
A firm hand touched his shoulder. Lieutenant Gil Wyatt, Ranger Company.
Rangers? Archer blinked in confusion and then, as the significance of the word hit him, he made a desperate grab for Wyatts arm. My wife; shes hurt!
My men will see to her, Wyatt said. He flicked a glance at Donaldson, who crossed swiftly to the cabin. Let me take a look at your wound.
No! Archer thrust away Wyatts hand. She needs me!
He tried to push himself off the ground, but the effort proved too much and he sank down. Help her, he urged. Please.
Wyatt looked off to where Donaldson was crouched over the fallen woman. A grim expression on his gaunt face, the Ranger shook his head. Laying his hand on Archers shoulder once more, Wyatt helped him sit up. Im so very sorry. Im afraid were too late. Shes gone.
The wounded man let out a cry of despair. Knowing that nothing he could say would help, Wyatt scanned the clearing. Twenty minutes ago, he had been up on the hill, admiring the tranquillity. Now the ground seemed to be strewn with bodies. As Donaldson covered the womans face with a cloth, Wyatt turned back to her husband.
Archer made no protest as Wyatt prised his hand from the wound, but he could not suppress a gasp of pain as the Ranger opened the bloodied shirt.
One glance told Wyatt all he needed to know. We must get you to a surgeon.
The nearest practitioner was in Johnstown, but to deliver the wounded man there would be asking for trouble. An army surgeon and a brace of medical assistants had accompanied the invasion force. They were the farmers best chance.
Although, given his current condition, Wyatt doubted whether the wounded man would survive the first eight yards, let alone the eight miles theyd need to traverse across what was, in effect, hostile country.
He looked off towards the paddock, where the horses were staring back at him, ears pricked. Wyatt could tell they were skittish, no doubt agitated by the recent skirmish, but it gave him an idea.
Is there a cart or a wagon? he asked.
The barn, Archer replied weakly. He tried to point but found he couldnt lift his arm.
Easy, Wyatt said. Cupping the farmers shoulder, he called to his men. Jem! Billy! Theres transport in the barn! Hitch up the horses! Smartly now!
As he watched them go, he heard a murmur and realized the farmer was speaking to him. He lowered his head to catch the words.
Youre Rangers? Archer enquired hoarsely as his lips tried to form the question. What are you doing here?
We came for you, Wyatt said.
Me? Puzzlement clouded the farmers face.
You and others like you. Were here under the orders of Governor-General Haldimand. When he learned that Congress was threatening to intern all Loyalists, he directed Colonel Johnson to lead a force across the border to rescue as many families as he could and escort them back to British soil.
Archer stared at him blankly. Sir Johns returned?
Two nights ago. With five hundred fighting men, and a score to settle. Scouting units have been gathering up all those who wish to leave, from Tribes Hill to as far west as the Nose.
Theres not many of us left. Archer spoke through gritted teeth. Most have already sold up and gone north after having their barns burned down and their homes looted, or their cattle maimed or poisoned. Sweat coating his forehead, he winced and pressed his hand to his side until the wave of pain subsided enough for him to continue. All for refusing to serve in home defence units. This wasnt the first visit Id had but this time they were threatening to throw me in prison and take my farm.
Those men were militia?
Citizens Committee. They were under orders to take me to Johnstown to pledge allegiance to the flag. I told them to ride on. The farmer bowed his head. I should have gone with them. He looked towards the cabin and his face crumpled.
You werent to know it would end like this, Wyatt said softly. If Id realized who they were, Id have given the order to intercede sooner.
You werent to know it would end like this, Wyatt said softly. If Id realized who they were, Id have given the order to intercede sooner.
His face pinched with pain and grief, Archer looked up. How many have you gathered so far?
A hundred perhaps, including wives and children and some Negro slaves. Theyre all at the Hall. Its the rendezvous point.
There was no response. Wyatt thought the farmer had passed out until he saw his eyelids flutter open, the eyes casting about in confusion before suddenly opening wide. As Wyatt followed his gaze in search of the cause, the breath caught like a hook in his throat.
Ephraim Smede came to with blood pooling along the rim of his right eye socket. He blinked and the world took on a pinkish sheen. He blinked again and his vision began to clear. He was aware that the gunfire had ceased but an inner voice, allied to the pain from the open gash across his forehead, told him it would be better to remain where he was so he lay unmoving, listening; alert to the sounds around him.
A few more seconds passed before he raised himself up. He did so slowly. His first view was of his brothers corpse. Beyond Levi, he could see the bodies of their companions, along with the two dead horses. Pools of blood were soaking into the ground, darkening the soil. Flies were starting to swarm.
He could hear voices but they were low and indistinct. He couldnt see who was speaking because the rump of Isaac Meekers dead nag blocked his line of sight.
It occurred to Smede that he was probably the only one of Deacons party left alive. From the looks of Axel Shaw, he must have bled to death. There was no sign of Kidd, but Smede doubted the youth would have survived the ambush or stuck around if he had.
Which meant he was on his own, with a decision to make. Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to his brothers glassy stare and a fresh spark of anger flared within him.
As his gaze alighted on Levis pistol.
A low moan came from close by. Smede dropped down quickly. He held his breath, waiting until the sound trailed off before cautiously raising his head once. Will Archer was propped some twenty paces away. One of the green-clad men was with him; he shouted something and two of the attackers ran immediately towards the barn.
Another movement drew Ephraims attention. A second pair was rounding up the horses. One of them, Ephraim saw to his consternation, was an Indian. His startled gaze took in the face paint and the weapons that the dark-skinned warrior carried about him. There was also what appeared to be a lock of hair hanging from his breechclout.
Bile rose into the back of Ephraims throat. Escape, he now realized, wasnt only advisable; it was essential.
He watched through narrowed eyes, nerves taut, as the two Rangers pulled open the barn door and disappeared inside. Quickly, his gaze turned back to the pistol lying a few feet away. He looked over his shoulder.
Now, he thought.
Concealed by Meekers horse, Smede inched his way towards the unguarded firearm until he was able to close his fingers around the guns smooth walnut grip.
He took another deep breath, gathering himself, waiting until the Indians attention was averted. One chance at a clear shot; thats all he would get.
And then he would run.
He knew the woods like the back of his hand; if he could just make it to the trees, the forest would hide him.
Maybe.
His main fear was the Mohawk, because the pistol, with its single load, was all he had. But his brothers killer came first. An eye for an eye, so that Levi could go to the grave knowing that his brother had exacted revenge. So
In one fluid motion, Smede snatched up the gun, rose to his feet, took aim, and fired.
As the blood-smeared figure tilted towards them, Wyatt, caught between supporting the wounded Archer and reaching for his weapon, let out a yell. Alerted by his cry, Tewanias and Donaldson both turned.
Too late.
The ball thudded into Archers chest and he collapsed back into Wyatts arms with a muffled grunt.
Whereupon Ephraim Smede, who was about to launch himself in the direction of the woods, paused, his features suddenly distorting in a combination of shock, pain and disbelief. Mouth open, he uttered no sound as his body arched and spasmed in mid-air.
As Wyatt and the others looked on in astonishment, Smedes legs buckled and, one hand clutching the spent pistol, he pitched forward on to his face.
It wasnt until the body struck the ground that Wyatt saw the stem of the hatchet that protruded from the base of Smedes skull and the slim figure that, until then, had been blocked from view by Smedes temporarily resurrected form.
No! Coming out of his trance, Wyatt threw out his arm.
Tewanias, whose finger was already tightening on the trigger, paused and then slowly lowered his musket. A frown of puzzlement flickered across the war-painted face.
Wyatt felt a tremor move through Archers body. It was obvious from the uneven rise and fall of the wounded mans chest that death was imminent.
The eyes fluttered open one last time and focused on Smedes killer with a look that might have been part relief and part wonderment. Then his expression broke and he grabbed Wyatts sleeve and pulled him close.
Wyatt had to bow his head to catch the words:
Keep him safe.
The farmers head fell against Wyatts arm. Wyatt felt for a pulse but there was none. He looked up.
The boy, though tall, couldnt be much more than eleven or twelve years old. For all that, the expression on his face was one that Wyatt had seen mirrored by much older men when the battle was over and the scent of blood and death hung in the air.
A shock of dark hair flopped over the boys forehead as his eyes took in the scene of devastation, his jaw clenching when he saw the body on the porch. Running across the clearing to where Wyatt was crouched over the farmers body, he fell to his knees.
Close to, Wyatt could see tear tracks glistening amid the grime on the boys face. A trembling hand reached out and gently touched the dead mans arm.
Aunt Beth told me to hide in the cellar, but I came back up. The boy looked to where Ephraim Smedes corpse lay in the dirt. I saw that man shoot her. Then he fell off his horse and I thought he was dead. But he was only pretending.
The boys voice shook. I wanted to warn you, but there was shooting out front, so I went round the back by the woodpile. I saw the man pick up the gun. I was too scared to call out in case he saw me. I picked up the axe thinking I might scare him. Only I was too late. He The boy paused. He shot Uncle Will, so I hit him as hard as I could.
The boys voice gave way. Fresh tears welled. Letting go of the farmers arm, he lifted a hand to wipe the wetness from his cheeks and looked over his shoulder, his jaw suddenly set firm. He wont hurt anyone again, will he?
No, Wyatt said, staring at the axe handle. No, lad, he wont.
An equine snort sounded from close by. Wyatt, glad of the distraction, saw it was Tewanias and Donaldson returning with the captured mounts. Behind them, Billy Drew, flanked by Jem Beddowes, was leading one of the two farm horses, harnessed to a low-slung, flat-bed cart.
As they caught his eye, Wyatt gently released the farmers body, stood up and shook his head. Sorry, Billy. We wont be needing it after all.