The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (24 page)

"But the Rangers were trained
by the Creek."

"Betsy, relax.
 
We're far enough ahead for a
respite."
 
Joshua groped in his
haversack for his pipe.

Tom seized his musket.
 
"I hear a horse."

Runs With Horses trotted his steed
over the rise.
 
Joshua signaled him
over.
 
"What news, Cousin?"

"No sign of
Rangers."
 
A little smile curved
the warrior's lips.
 
"But three
White peddlers ride our way."

Joshua cradled his rifle.
 
"We'll stay out of sight and allow them
to pass.
 
No telling what caliber of men
they are."

Runs With Horses' smile
broadened.
 
"I know them.
 
They are harmless except for loving the
sound of their own voices."

Tom turned to Joshua.
 
"If they've been through Augusta,
perhaps they've word of the Rangers."

"All right, then, we'll travel
together aways and hear what they have to say."
 
Joshua motioned the Creek down.
 
"Join us in the shade, will you?"

"No.
 
I ride ahead to find my brother."
 
The Creek's smile became toothy, and he steered his horse back
toward the road.
 
"We follow, stay
out of sight."

"You don't want them to
recognize you, eh?"
 
Joshua
snorted.
 
"Most settlers cannot
tell you two from Catawba or Cherokee."

"Take no risk."
 
A grinning Runs With Horses tapped his
gelding in the ribs and sent him eastward on the road after Standing Wolf.

Squatting, Joshua lit his
pipe.
 
"Don't mind him.
 
He's just weaseling out of a boring
conversation with old friends."

***

Paunchy Harry the peddler leaned
forward in his saddle and gave Betsy a wink of conspiracy.
 
"Got a roll of yellow silk in Charles
Town for a good price because some fool spilled coffee on it.
 
I hung onto it all through Georgia.
 
I knew them soldiers' wives in Ninety Six
didn't have nothing so fine, so pretty.

"So I says to myself, 'Harry,
today is your lucky day.
 
Work the
ladies up to the silk.
 
Show them
cotton, wool, and linen first.
 
When
they see that silk, they'll fall in love and pay your price, see?'
 
Well, do you think I got my price, eh?"

While maintaining the expression
she reserved for tea parties, Betsy wondered whether Harry ever shut up.
 
Over his shoulder, she saw Joshua roll his
eyes.
 
"I don't know, sir."

Harry slapped the pommel of his
saddle.
 
"Them soldiers' wives
argued over the silk like it was gold.
 
I got quadruple my price.
 
That
was double what I paid for it.
 
Was I
clever?"

A bark of laughter escaped spindly
Rob, peddler of deer hides.
 
"Sure,
Harry, you was clever, and it was the last time you was clever."

A surly look enveloped Harry's
face.
 
"You ain't sold too much
lately, so you got nothing to brag on."
 
He flung a look behind him at the carrot-headed herb peddler.
 
"You, either."

"You hear me say anything,
Harry?"
 
The third peddler
scowled.
 
"Get off my back.
 
Rob's too.
 
Folks ain't buying much these days.
 
Here in the Carolinas a man cuts his neighbor's throat, just because the
neighbor looks at him wrong."

Rob gestured eastward.
 
"Aye, and you cannot even blame it on
them redcoats in Camden and Charles Town."

The herb peddler continued:
"They're just plain crazy here.
 
I
ain't making another trip to the backcountry until this war is over."

Sullenness settled over the
peddlers.
 
Tom, who'd been riding in the
rear, sent his gelding forward.
 
"I
take it you fellows were unable to sell your wares at the homes we passed
earlier on the Augusta road."

Rob scoffed.
 
"Last trip those folks was happily
trading.
 
This trip they told us to go
away like we was banditti.
 
Some of the
houses looked abandoned."

"Come to think of it,"
said Joshua, "we haven't seen anybody else on the road today."

"Us, either."
 
Harry sniffed with clear disdain for
settlers who would forgo backcountry traveling, just because a war was on.

So no one had seen the
Rangers.
 
Betsy's intuition prodded her
to remain vigilant.
 
Adam Neville was
coming after her.
 
She felt it in her
bones.
 
"Not even out of Augusta?"

"Nope.
 
Haven't seen a soul except you folks since
we started out at dawn."

"Harry, look yonder at the
road to Ninety Six."

They all gazed a quarter mile ahead
to the crossroad, where eight men waited on horseback, a battered wagon hitched
to a riderless horse with them.
 
Joshua
frowned.
 
"Recognize
them?"
 
The peddlers said no.
 
Joshua tightened his lips.
 
"I know you lads were headed for Ninety
Six today, but let's stick together getting through that group."

Betsy cast about wondering, as she
was sure Joshua and Tom were wondering, why the two Creek warriors hadn't
emerged from hiding to tell them about the men on the road.
 
Were the men bandits?
 
Unease prickled her scalp, the bandit attack
south of Augusta vivid in her memory.
 
If her party turned about and bolted back westward, she wasn't sure Lady
May could outdistance the eight men's horses after a full day's travel.

The distance closed.
 
She saw that the men wore the hunting shirts
and trousers of backcountry folks and ranged from Tom's age to men in their
forties.
 
A day's beard growth and
bloody bandages on several, plus grime on their rumpled clothing implied they'd
just come from a skirmish.
 
Her unease
deepened.
 
Each man carried a firearm.

Joshua trotted his horse to the
front of the party and squared his shoulders.
 
"Afternoon, gentlemen."
 
He tipped his hat and rode through the intersection, making sure his
rifle was visible.
 
The men scrutinized
them and said nothing.
 
Betsy, Tom, and
the peddlers rode by unchallenged, their firearms in the open.
 
She let out a deep breath.

Matching the speed of their horses,
the men encircled them, the last bringing the horse and wagon in tow with a
clatter.
 
A man paced Joshua, his
expression steely.
 
"Are you a
Duffy?"

"Indeed not, sir."

"Where you headed?"

"East."

"I can see that.
 
You trying to be a crafty fellow?"

"No, sir.
 
I answered your question.
 
We don't mind the company if you and your
men are headed east also."

The spokesman and several others
blocked the road, bringing everyone to a stop.
 
"Holy gods," muttered one of the peddlers.
 
Betsy stroked Lady May's neck with trembling
fingers.

"I reckon I was too
subtle."
 
The spokesman pulled out
a pistol.
 
"You folks tell us whose
side you're on, and don't be claiming neutrality.
 
There ain't no neutrals here."

Memory furnished Betsy with details
of a proclamation issued by General Clinton in the aftermath of the Crown's
victory at Charles Town.
 
Any man in
South Carolina not swearing allegiance to the Crown was deemed a rebel,
allowing Loyalists to identify and persecute potential traitors from among
their own neighbors.

A nervous laugh spilled from
Rob.
 
"I'm on whatever side you
lads are on!"
 
The other two
peddlers chimed in with gusto.

"Shut up, all three of
you!"

A man to the right of the spokesman
gestured to Rob.
 
"I know him.
 
He buys and trades deer hides."

"Yes, sir, I do, and they're
the finest hides you ever —"

"Shut up.
 
Recognize anybody else, Zechariah?"

"That one over there sells
cloth.
 
My wife got a decent bolt of
linen off him this spring."

Harry wobbled out a smile.
 
"I'm delighted to hear my customers are
—"

"You shut up, too.
 
Anybody else?"

"We bought horehound from that
red-haired fellow."

Pistol still in hand, the leader
leaned toward the peddlers.
 
"You
three, begone!"

Harry tipped his hat.
 
"Yes, sir.
 
Good day!"
 
He kicked
his horse in the ribs and sent it and his packhorse in tow back to the crossroad,
where he broke into a gallop headed north on the road to Ninety Six.
 
The other two peddlers and their packhorses
allowed him little lead space.

Dust settled while the leader
pinned his gaze on Betsy, Tom, and Joshua.
 
His eyes were bloodshot, and black powder spattered his right jaw.
 
"Now, we ain't never seen you folks
before.
 
What side are you on?"

Tom said in a quiet, firm voice,
"A pox on King George."

One of the men tittered.
 
"To be sure, that old fart is as poxed
as a body can get."

"Quiet, Cain.
 
They were guessing.
 
They ain't Patriots.
 
I wager they came from
Georgia
."
 
He layered such loathing on the word
"Georgia" that it seemed to hang in the air like swamp gas.

"Colonel Clarke works
Georgia," one man volunteered.
 
"Dan and Fred are from Georgia.
 
There's good folks there."

Betsy lifted her chin.
 
"We're from Augusta.
 
What of it?"

"Thomas Brown."
 
The leader spat on the ground, and several
men followed suit.

Betsy felt her heart
flip-flop.
 
"We suspect a group of
Rangers to be following us some four to twelve hours behind."

"Why?"

She took a deep breath and
considered how much she dared tell.
 
"The Ambrose ring."

Cain scanned her fingers for some
sort of jewelry.
 
A blank look
transcended the leader's face.
 
"The Amberly — What the deuce are you talking about, woman?"

"Since you've yet to produce
the appropriate countersigns, I'm not permitted to release more information to
you."

"Countersigns?
 
What countersigns?"
 
The leader cocked his pistol and aimed it at
her, a scowl on his face.
 
"You
think I'm stupid, don't you, woman?
 
No
woman ever called me stupid."

Betsy gripped her reins to still
the shaking in her hands.
 
"Perhaps
not, but your commander
will
label you stupid and then some if you shoot
us and mire this portion of the mission."

"Jesus," said Zechariah,
"she's a spy for the Continentals!"

"She's a lying harlot."

Zechariah prodded the leader.
 
"Joe, the Continentals use women to
deliver messages across lines.
 
The
bloodybacks don't think 'em capable of spying."

Joe waved his pistol at Joshua and
Tom.
 
"I'm not getting a word of
sense out of her.
 
Which one of you
doesn't want his brains blown out?"

Joshua said, "You'll find us
equally unhelpful, sir.
 
Madam over
there is the leader of our triad."

Tom nodded.
 
"We're organized in triads.
 
The senior member — Madam, in our case — is
given most of the information.
 
Our
business is merely to see her safely to the end of her mission."

Even though he lowered his pistol,
a snarl etched Joe's mouth.
 
"Well,
then,
Patriots
, we got Patriot business in these parts.
 
You come with us.
 
Then we'll take you to the captain and let him decide what's to
be done with you."