Blackbird by Nancy Henderson Page B

down.  You’re bleeding.”
     
    With his gaze fixed ahead, he pushed her out of his way and continued toward the meadow.  “Leave me.  Now is your big chance.”
     
    Blocking his path, she forced him to halt.  A quick--if not a bit rough--inspection of his wound told the tale.  The lead ball had entered just below his right collar bone.  She dug a finger into the hole.  When he cried out, she withdrew.  “I think it’s gone clean though.  You have to get some help.”
     
    “I’m going home.”  He pushed past her.  “You can do what you wish.”
     
    He started to sway, and she ducked under his arm to steady him and wrapped her other arm around his waist.  “I’ll help you.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “Because I don’t want you to die.”
     
    Adahya stopped walking.  He swayed, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Chogan--”
     
     
     
     

 
    CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
     
     
     
     
    IT was far into the morning and beginning to rain by the time Katherine had dragged Adahya back to the canoe.  With great effort, she pulled his unconscious body into the canoe, being careful not to stop on the delicate bark as he had instructed her yesterday.  She prayed he would not die.
     
    He had lost a large amount of blood. 
     
    After rummaging through his fishing pack, she found a hank of cloth and used it to wrap the wound.  In only moments, the cloth was saturated.  She had no idea how much blood a man could lose and still live.
     
    Finding the paddle, she pushed the canoe in the water.  Before she had mastered how to steer, she had it stuck on the opposite bank.  Adahya might die because she could not figure out how to paddle a stupid canoe!
     
    Finally, she managed to get the canoe out into the middle and moving in the right direction.  She prayed harder as she paddled.  Said the Rosary twice.  Even asked his Hawenneyu for assistance.  But Adahya did not stir. 
     
    She thought she knew the way back to the village.  Gradually, certain landmarks became recognizable, and her nerves began to calm.  Soon the stockade wall of the Mohawk village came into view.
     
    After much fumbling with the paddle, she managed to get the canoe to the bank.  Her foot had punched a hole in the bottom of the canoe, as she rolled him out onto the grass.  In little spurts, she dragged him steadily toward the stockade. 
     
    Five fierce-looking Mohawks met her halfway. 
     
    The largest one, Two Guns, his eldest brother, inspected Adahya.
     
    “He’s been shot,” Katherine said, trying to catch her breath.
     
    Two Guns did not answer her.  The others spoke among themselves in their native tongue.  Then, as if Adahya weighed but a feather, Two Guns slung him over his shoulder and carried him to the village.
     
    Two Mohawks roughly grabbed each of Katherine’s arms and followed closely.  She fought to walk on her own, but they would not let go.  She tripped once, and they jerked her arms so violently she thought her shoulder would dislocate.
     
    Her panic grew.  Adahya was taken one direction, while she was taken another. They pushed her toward the center of the village where three poles jutted up from the earth.  One of them tried to bind her hands.  She fought him, but the other one slapped her hard enough to make her teeth rattle.  They bound her hands and feet and dragged her to the center pole, tying her to its base.
     
    The rope was so tight around her waist she could barely breathe.  She fought against the knots, but her efforts were useless.  She’d had every chance to escape, and had passed it up to save the very man who was her captor. 
     
    Would Adahya die?  Would they even tell her if he did?
     
    She looked up at the pole to which she was bound and then at the other two.  Each of the three poles was at least ten feet high.  All were blackened halfway up from the bottom. She glanced down at the ash she sat in.  Her legs were filthy with it.  Something had been roasted