Seneca Surrender Read Free

help Marisa. But Marisa needed little assistance. She, too, was already seated. Quickly they each picked up a paddle and had no more than set them in the water when the oddest thing happened.
    Thompson suddenly reappeared, splashing his way toward them. Sarah reached toward Marisa’s weapon, for Sarah had already fired off her one shot.
    But Marisa stayed her hand. She said, “Maybe he has come to his senses and will help us.”
    “I fear your heart is too kind!” exclaimed Sarah over the noise of the water and the oncoming enemy. However, Sarah hesitated.
    Meanwhile, Thompson had pulled himself up alongside the canoe, and he plopped himself into it. He even picked up a paddle. Maybe she was wrong, thought Sarah. Amidst all the adversity, perhaps the man had changed the color of his stripes.
    “Let’s get out of here!” Thompson yelled, and Black Eagle didn’t argue. Hoisting himself up into the boat and settling his paddle into the water, Black Eagle guided the boat out into the deepest part of the lake, heading west, away from the enemy, but in the direction of a sound that had Sarah’s heartbeat picking up such speed that she could feel it in her throat.
    It was a waterfall, and from the sound of it, a large one. Was this their only advantage?
    Perhaps it was so, for they were outnumbered. In a fight, it would be the two men against four of the enemy, two French, two Ottawa. Worse, Thompson was an obvious traitor whose actions could not be trusted. Still, now that he was back among them, it was Thompson’s neck as well as their own.
    “Faster!” yelled Black Eagle.
    Arrows, aimed at their speeding canoe, hit the water beside them with deadly force. Marisa’s paddle hit the water at an angle, causing her to tip dangerously toward the water. Sarah threw down her paddle and pulled Marisa back against her with one arm while she gripped the side of wet canoe with her other; though her fingers slipped, Sarah held on fast.
    As she nestled Marisa into her arms, the two women sat silently in the canoe, riding out the jerks and sways of the boat.
    The scent of Thompson’s unwashed body assailed Sarah, causing her to wonder that a human being could emit such odor. Why was Mr. Thompson back? she wondered. And though she feared it was for no good, Sarah held her tongue.
    “Faster!” Black Eagle yelled again.
    Behind them the French and Ottawa kept up a steady stream of fire, the arrows landing dangerously close. It was impossible. The odds were against Black Eagle. And yet, he must escape. They all must. If they didn’t get away …
    How had they gotten themselves into this? Suddenly the idea of journeying to New Hampshire to visit friends seemed a bad idea indeed. Was it only minutes ago—perhaps no more than thirty—when Sarah and her ward had been seated beside the lake, calmly washing up after their noonday meal? It seemed hours ago.
    But that was when they had first caught a glimpse of the enemy. Had it not been for the silver dish that she had left at the water’s edge, the enemy might have passed them by. But it was not to be.
    The Ottawa had spotted the dish. They had investigated. And now, because of her own error, she had taken another’s life.
    The killing of another human being was not an action to be entered into lightly. But it had been kill or be killed. Ultimately for her, there was no going back now.
    The sound of rushing water, of the pounding roar of the waterfall, drowned out her thoughts. Indeed, she could now see the danger. Rapids. Surely Black Eagle wasn’t thinking of braving the rapids, was he?
    Instinctively, Sarah leaned toward the shoreline, as though by sheer inclination alone she might steer the boat in that direction. An arrow hit at the water, scraping her hand. Close; much too close. Perhaps the rapids were their only means of escape after all. Black Eagle must be thinking so, for he was steering their canoe directly toward the source of that noise.
    Again Sarah’s heart jumped