River

Ben

The sun has just slipped down beneath the horizon back behind me somewhere, but it won’t be dark for a while yet. I come up on one of the roadside inns, but just keep walking past it. I’ll find a spot to lay down off the road later.

The Trace has seemed weirdly crowded all day. I don’t remember seeing so many people passing by before, heading both north and south. I wonder, though, if it is really only that David was always the one that would cheerfully greet them, while I could just walk silently on, next to his side. Now, I find myself awkwardly staring at the ground every time I pass someone, hoping they don’t try to talk to me. I am missing David’s company for things I had never even realized he was doing for me.

I hear a horse approaching quickly from the south, so I move to the side of the road to make room for it to go past. I continue walking as I hear it come up from behind. I suppose it’s the mail - they always are in a rush.

But suddenly there is a flurry of unexpected movement. I expect the horse and rider to just pass by on my left, but instead of continuing on and leaving me to my silent walk, the horse rears back just as they have gotten past me. The rider leans back in the saddle, hanging on to the reins, as the horse’s hooves flash in the air. I dodge backwards in alarm.

I have the strange sense that this has happened before, and the image permeates my mind of the first time I saw Gregor, riding up on his rearing horse. In the middle of the pandemonium of this strange moment, I have the wild thought that this looks like the same horse as the one Gregor was on, huge and dark brown.

What is this rider doing? Is this a highwayman come to rob me? They won’t get anything except the food the cook packed for me.

My heart is pounding as the horse settles back on all four legs while I stare in shock, wondering if I should try to run, when I hear, “Ben?”

Stu

We’re just a few miles out from Natchez now. I don’t think Little and James are familiar with this territory, and I am not keeping them updated about how close we are getting. But we are near enough now that I recognize everything, and I am starting to evaluate the landscape as we pass by, looking for opportunities. I’ve spent an enormous amount of time wandering the Natchez area by myself, when I wasn’t working and didn’t feel like spending time or money in the taverns. I have learned everything there is to know about the region. There are assorted nooks and crannies everywhere. I am hoping to find a way to slip away into one of them.

The sun has long since gone down, and we aren’t on a road, so the terrain is trickier to navigate.

My heart leaps when I hear one of them stumble behind me.

“Shit!” I think it’s James.

“What?” I hear Little ask.

“I just hit some snakehole or something, turned my ankle. Hold up.”

I turn around, holding the loathsome sack, and in the dim moonlight see James sitting down and rubbing his ankle.

Little huffs with impatience. “How close are we?” he asks me.

“Still miles away. I expect it’s too dark to keep going. There’s lots of holes and rocks in the ground around here.”

He stands indecisively, watching James.

“Let’s just start up in the morning,” James suggests. “I don’t want to hit any more holes.”

Little sighs deeply. “Fine.”

I put down the sack, and shudder as I am finally rid of it.

I am trying to remember everything I know about the immediate area.

“There’s a little stream just over there,” I say, pointing. “I’m gonna go fill up my water bag.”

“Don’t try anything,” Little says, pointing his pistol at me. It’s dark, I’m not sure how well he can aim in the moonlight, but I still want to be cautious.

I hold up my hands, then walk a few yards away to the stream flowing west. Always west, always towards the great river. We are just upstream from a small area of rapids, where the water rushes noisily downhill past some rocks. Just before the rapids, the stream bends, looping back on itself, before straightening again and going back in the original direction. In the little oxbow that this creates, just feet away across the stream, is where I hope I can make my escape.

I bend over and let the water flow into the spigot of my bag. I take a drink as I walk back, then seal up the spigot.

When I get back over to them, I see the horrifying sight of Little reclining on the ground and using the sack as his pillow. God, Mason would hate that. I almost upchuck the cool water I just drank. But I control myself.

“Want me to fill yours, James?” I ask him.

He grunts and hands me his water bag. I am hoping that having gone and returned once, they won’t be quite as attentive to my second trip.

I head back over to the stream, lean down as though to fill the bag, then let myself slip quietly right into the rapidly flowing water. I make myself roll across the stream as fast as I can, staying low in the water, until I reach the opposite side a few feet away, just before the rapids. There, as the water begins both flowing over the rocks and the shape of the land causes the bend in the stream, I know that the force of the flow has carved out a niche in the bank. The edge of the stream there is overgrown with foliage, a stand of winterberry holly bushes, which hide a little crevice created by the rushing water. The space under the holly should still be above the waterline at this season. With it being dark, and the sound of the rapids covering my splashing, I think it could work.

I have to roll across the stream blind, not knowing if Little has noticed me missing yet. He could be standing over the stream ready to shoot me in the water. But it is a small distance, and I cross it as quickly as I can.

I reach the opposite bank and scramble under the holly, finding myself in the crevice with just a few inches to spare between the overhanging bushes and the flowing water. Just enough room to scrunch myself into.

It worked.

I can see the bank through the cover of the bushes, and nobody is standing there yet.

I hear James say, “Hey!”

Little appears at the bank of the stream in another minute, and says, “Oh, shit. Where’d he go?”

James limps up on his sprained ankle, picks up the water bag I discarded there, and they both stare up and down the banks of the stream, look behind them, then finally look at each other. I suspect if the sun was shining they’d be able to see me through this bush, but not at night. I remain completely still in my tiny hiding spot, only ten feet away from them across the stream. My heart is thundering.

“I can’t believe that fucker got away from us,” Little says, then emits a shrill, mad giggle. “Well, his loss. I really was going to split the reward with him. More for us, I guess.”

They leave the bank, and go back to their resting place.

I can’t believe it either.

I stay in place for now, just to let some time pass before proceeding, to make sure that they aren’t watching. But by morning I’ll be long gone.