War Path Read Free Page B

albeit a humiliated one.
    Stark turned his back on the warriors arranged before him. He half expected a volley from their muskets to cut him down. He crossed to the Medicine Staff and tugged it from the ground, faced the Abenaki, and raising the Staff before him, broke it over his knee then tossed the shattered length of wood aside.
    Still alive , Stark thought, and swallowed, dry mouthed, amazed they could not hear his hammering heart. He had begun to feel the bruises now, for he had not run the gauntlet unscathed. But he willed his body not to betray him, refused to limp or favor his left shoulder that felt as if it were fractured; pain shot through his right side with every breath.
    The wall of warriors barring his path gave way at a word from Atoan. Stark walked from the river, retraced his steps, paused a moment as if in silent communion with the dead then continued past the bodies of his fallen companions, and ascended the grassy slope to where the Abenaki had left his belongings, intending to contest for them later after their prisoners had been dispatched.
    He leaned down to gather up his leather shot pouch, powder horn and possibles bag, his knife and tomahawk, brass hunter’s horn and Pennsylvania rifle. A shot rang out as he straightened. The report reverberated among the emerald hills. Stark froze, steeling himself against an impact that never came. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Kasak had armed himself with a musket. But the gun had discharged into the air, through no fault of Kasak’s. Atoan had apparently batted the barrel upward as his son had drawn aim on the long hunter. The sachem angrily wrenched the weapon from his son’s hands and tossed it aside.
    Johnny Stark deliberately took a moment to load and prime his rifle then tucked the weapon in the crook of his arm. He brought the hunter’s horn to his lips and blew a loud, clear blast of defiance that reverberated through the trees and to the hills beyond. Then without so much as a “by your leave,” Stark vanished into the forest, heading southeast on a deer trail that would eventually bring him home.
    â€œYou should not have stopped me,” Kasak snapped, his features flush with indignation.
    â€œJohnny Stark …” Atoan said the name aloud. “This was a man,” he added, determined to remember everything he had seen this morning. The sachem returned the French dirk to his son, the same weapon the Yankee had taken from the proud young warrior. The blade was stained from the superficial wound it had left across Kasak’s throat.
    â€œHis blood was not yours to spill,” said Atoan. “By taking his life you would have dishonored yourself. And you would have dishonored me.”
    â€œThen why didn’t you stop him?” The younger man scowled.
    â€œJohnny Stark returned your life to me. And I will not take his,” Atoan matter-of-factly replied. And then he grimly added: “At least not today.”

The Gathering Moon
    1757

1
    T he pert young woman in hunter’s garb knew Johnny Stark was miles away, leading a detachment of English troops to aid the beleaguered garrison of Fort William Henry. He had to be a good two-day’s march from this clearing, yet Molly Page heard the long hunter’s words of caution whisper in her mind.
    Gently now, curl your finger around the trigger, breathe easy ’cause this white-tailed rascal will hear you sigh. Be like one of the trees around you, lass, be like the faintest breeze. Like the Injuns, let your spirit call out and hold that young buck in his place. See, hunting’s a lot like praying, only something’s gotta die when you “Amen.”
    Molly sighted along the barrel of her rifle, allowing for the wind, the angle of the shot, taking into account how the white-tailed buck grazed a moment on the sweetgrass then ambled forward, raised its head, senses searching the surrounding countryside for any threat.
    Molly