Wide is the Water by Jane Aiken Hodge Page A

better.’
    â€˜I hope they don’t hit the horses.’
    â€˜They don’t want to,’ she said. ‘That’s why they’re not firing already.’ The men had started moving forward now, spreading out to present a wider field of fire. Four of them, as the Frenchman had said. ‘We’ll have to reload fast.’ Despite the cold, her hands were damp with sweat on the pistol. The outlaws were coming forward steadily now, silently, drawn by the irresistible target of sledge and horses. If either she or Jed missed a first shot, they would be lucky to get a second. ‘Now!’ she said, and the two shots rang out, dull-sounding against the snow. For a horrible moment she thought they had both missed, then saw the man to the right of the group begin to crumple downwards while the one on the left was cursing and holding his right arm with his left one. No time to be looking at them. She was reloading with cold hands that would shake.
    â€˜After them, my friends,’ shouted the Frenchman. ‘Don’t let the villains escape!’
    That did it. The three who had remained standing turned and fled, leaving their comrade where he lay. The Frenchman turned shakily to look at Mercy for the first time. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘You saved my life.’
    â€˜Then I’d better make a job of it by bandaging that wound of yours,’ she told him. ‘Jed, help me get his coat off. Ruth, there’s a petticoat at the top of the valise. Get it out for me, would you?’
    â€˜Yes, Sister.’ To Mercy’s immense relief, Ruth responded to the tone of command and began obediently tearing the petticoat into strips as Jed and Mercy eased the Frenchman out of his coat. The wound in his forearm, though bleeding freely and obviously incapacitating, was less serious than Mercy had feared. ‘But we must get you to some shelter,’ she said as she bound it up. ‘Do you know these parts, monsieur?’
    â€˜Call me Charles,’ he said, pronouncing it in English.
    â€˜Or
Charles
?’
    â€˜Quick of you, mademoiselle, but English is better. You Americans do not seem to take kindly to strangers. I believe those ruffians back there might have let me alone if it had not been for my accent. No,’ he replied to her question. ‘I am quite a stranger here. I had intended to spend the night at the inn at Somerset Courthouse. The other side of the wood, I take it.’
    â€˜So had we.’ Mercy looked unhappily at the dark bulk of the wood, which seemed increasingly sinister as the light faded. ‘And it’s a long stretch back to the last inn.’ She had been thinking about this. ‘It would be quite dark before we got there.’
    â€˜It will be dark in the wood,’ said Jed.
    â€˜And the longer we stay here talking, the darker it will get.’ She made her voice as positive as she could.

VI
    â€˜Listen!’ said Jed. ‘Someone’s coming.’
    Mercy had been helping the Frenchman into the sledge but straightened up at the sound of voices, a horse’s neigh, the creak of a sledge, clear in the twilight hush. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘Someone else on their way to the inn. We’ll wait for them, go through the wood together.’
    â€˜Excellent,’ said the Frenchman. ‘Have you a lantern, mademoiselle? I think we will need it.’
    â€˜Madame,’ she said. ‘Mrs. Purchis. Yes. Would you light the lantern, Jed? My brother and sister,’ she told the stranger. ‘Ruth and Jed Paston.’ What had made her give him her real name?
    â€˜And I am Charles Brisson, your most indebted servant.’ He pronounced his name English style to rhyme with prison. ‘I am here on business for my government,’ he explained. ‘But the less said about that, madame, the better. I shall hope that these people have less acute ears than yours, and pass myself off