Was the bear coming after him now? If he paused to listen, would he hear it crashing through the undergrowth as its great black nose smelled out his trail? Seth could not risk stopping to find out A charging bear, bent on killing, could run down the fastest man alive.
His bare feet, already large and rawhide tough, splashed into a shallow creek. He plunged upstream, praying the water would carry away his scent. His lungs burned. His breath burst out in labored gasps as he toiled uphill against the icy current.
Seth stifled a cry as his left foot slipped on a mossy stone, wrenching the ankle. Pain lanced his leg-a sharper pain, even, than the hot, flat sting Pa’s belt had caused last night when Seth had dropped a jug of whiskey into the river. For what it was worth, at least Pa would never beat him again.
Grimacing, Seth stumbled out of the water, crumpled against the overhung bank and curled there like a clenched fist. He could not see or hear the bear. All the same, he felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck, a sure sign that danger was close by, and he knew there was nothing he could do.
Helpless, he shrank deeper into the shadow of the high bank. “Pa!” he wanted to shout. “I’m here, Pa! Come and help me!” But he knew it would be no use.
He was alone in a thousand square miles of wilderness. Worse than alone. This was Shawnee territory, his father had told him. The Shawnee were savages who would just as soon cut out a white man’s innards and roast him alive as look at him. Better the bear than the Shawnee. At least a bear would kill him swiftly.
The way it had killed Pa.
The silence around him had taken on a dark weight of its own. The birds were quiet. Even the insects had stopped buzzing. A drop of sweat trickled along Seth’s collarbone, cool against his hot flesh, as he waited.
He heard a sudden dry rustling sound. Then something leaped off the bank, landing almost on top of him. Seth glimpsed a flash of bare brown legs and beaded moccasins. Then a rough, smelly blanket enfolded him, cutting off breath and sight. Powerful arms lifted him high. Wild with fear, he kicked, squirmed and punched the stifling darkness, mouthing every curse he had ever heard Pa utter. “Turn me loose, you filthy savage!” he screamed. “Let me go, or, so help me, I’ll have your hide!”
It was then that Seth heard, through the blanket, a sound that sent a shiver all the way to the marrow of his bones.
The sound was laughter.
Fort Pitt, April 1761
“Enough of this foolishness, Clarissa Rogers!” The older woman’s voice pierced the cool spring twilight. “It’s getting dark! We should all be getting back to the fort!”
“I’ll be there shortly! You go on, Aunt Margaret!” Clarissa tugged deftly at the long string, making the kite soar and dip against the roiling clouds. A storm was moving in over the spring-swollen river, the breeze was perfect for kite flying and she was having the most wonderful time of her life.
“You’d better do as she says.” The lieutenant, one of three young officers who raced alongside her, scowled worriedly. “Look at the sky. It’s going to rain any minute.”“You can go back anytime you want to.” Clarissa tossed her head, loosening her red-gold curls to stream in the wind. She could not remember having felt so free-not, at least, in the seven years since her father had died, leaving her in the care of her dour older brother
and their stern housekeeper, Mrs. Pimm. Junius Rogers had turned their once-cheerful Baltimore home into a gloomy, suffocating prison, banishing music, laughter and freedom. For Clarissa, this visit to her aunt and uncle on the Pennsylvania frontier was like a breath of fresh air.
Behind her, the stout ramparts of the fort rose against the sky. Stiffened by the breeze, the Union Jack, which had so recently replaced the French tricolor, snapped smartly from its pole on the blockhouse. On either side of the low spit of land, the river waters flowed brown with spring silt where the Monongahela and the Allegheny joined to form the Ohio. Flatboats, pirogues and canoes dotted the shoreline. Wooden shacks and lean-tos had sprouted around the fort’s outer walls like mushrooms around a tree stump. This growing sprawl of taverns, trading posts and settler cabins had already taken on a name of its own-Pittsburgh.
Clarissa laughed as she ran, one hand bunching up her embroidered petticoat to save it from grass stains. She had no illusions about the reason Junius had sent her here. She was seventeen, of marriageable age, and he wanted her out of the way, safely wed to some promising young officer. It was a practical plan, for she was neither impoverished nor plain, and there were plenty of eager suitors here. But there was one thing Junius hadn’t counted on. His headstrong young sister was having far too much fun to settle on any one of them.
“Clarissa, do come in now!” Her aunt’s impatient voice broke the gathering darkness. “They’ll be closing the gates soon, and Molly will be putting supper on the table! You can fly that ridiculous kite again tomorrow if you insist!”
Clarissa halted, causing two of her escorts to collide in mid-run. Lanterns had begun to flicker above the ramparts of the fort and in the settlement below. Lightning flashed in the east and, as thunder stirred across the horizon, she felt a single raindrop wet her eyelid.
High above, the kite tugged compellingly at its string, wheeling like a brave white bird against the darkening sky. Clarissa gazed up at it for a moment, then sighed. “All right,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be there as soon as I reel in the twine!”
“Now, Clarissa!” Her aunt’s tone clearly indicated that she’d lost all patience. “One of the young men can bring in your toy!”
“Oh…very well!” Not wanting to try the good woman further, Clarissa turned and was about to hand the twine ball to one of her companions when a stiff gust of wind struck the kite. Jerking at its string, the kite took an abrupt dive. With a suddenness that caused Clarissa to cry in dismay, it plummeted straight down, crashing out of sight somewhere between the cabins and the water.
“I’ll go after it!” Second Lieutenant Thomas Ainsworth, the youngest of her suitors, was off at a run, following the path of the string where it trailed across the grass. It was Tom Ainsworth who had made the kite, whittling the sticks of white birch for the frame and mounting the lightweight canvas with a skill that bespoke years of boyhood practice. Clarissa was truly fond of him. If only she’d been blessed with a brother like Tom instead of the stingy, unsmiling Junius! How much more pleasant her life might have been!
“Do be careful, Tom!” she called, shouting above the wind. “I’ll wait for you inside the gate, I promise! I won’t let the guards lock up until you’re back inside the fort!”
The young lieutenant gave no sign that he’d heard her. He raced toward the waterfront, heedless of the lightning that snaked across the sky, heedless of the sinister growl of thunder. Clarissa gazed after him until he vanished into the misting rain. Then, picking up her skirts once more, she spun on her slippered toes and hurried to catch up with her departing aunt. The two remaining officers trailed after her like devoted puppies.
Clarissa was true to her promise. After sending the others on their way, she stationed herself in the shelter of the gate, under the watch of the soldiers who patrolled the parapets. This would not be a long wait, she assured herself. At any moment Tom would come bounding up the slope, grinning as he held the precious kite aloft.
She would kiss him, Clarissa resolved-a playful, sisterly peck that no one could possibly misunderstand. Then, perhaps, she would invite him to supper. That was the least she could do to show her gratitude.
Minutes crawled by, and he did not return. Clarissa