The Saratoga Inn was really a tavern, offering nightly accommodations to travelers and to its guests who might have imbibed of too much whiskey. The inn was so well situated into the deep woods, it almost disappeared into the scenery. And,because it sat so far away from town, it was a law unto itself. So, if forced to go back there, Miss Stockenridge would surely kill or maim her. Mr. Wilson wouldn’t always be around to stop the woman.
The pain of her linen blouse, as it contacted and pulled at the skin of Abagail’s back, caught her attention. It felt as though her every step caused the wounds already there to multiply.
“My dear Lord,” she prayed. “Help me!”
As soon as the prayer had been uttered, Abagail seemed to come alive, and, in doing so, she smelled something in the air…something wet and fresh. Was it water—a stream or a river? And, if it were a stream, could this give her a chance to erase her scent from the path so the hounds would not be able to follow?
Had her prayer been answered so quickly?
She sniffed again. Yes, it was the clean scent of a stream. Turning, she ran into the wind, which had kindly alerted her to a possible escape route. Hurrying through the trees and the undergrowth, she came to an embankment and fled down it, causing small rocks to fly up into the air and the earth to crumble at her feet.
Quickly, she splashed into the cool water.
It was a shallow stream. Would it really hide her scent from the hounds? Still, whether it would or not, Abagail would take this chance the Lord had given her.
As she ran forward, she slipped on the slimy stones beneath her feet and fell into the water. But, the water, though running fast, was not deep and she righted herself at once and ran onward, but a little more cautiously. Lifting up her skirts which were weighing her down, she splashed through the water as furiously and as fast as she could, hoping the swift-running water would hide her path.
Oh, what a terrible mess she was in. And, it was all because of a mistake. She'd not taken the necklace she’d beenaccused of stealing. Somehow it had appeared in the pocket of her apron. But, how it had gotten there, Abagail didn't know.
And, no matter how much Abagail had pleaded her innocence, Miss Stockenridge wouldn’t believe her…hadn't believed her, certain the woman was that Abagail had stolen the necklace from one of the ladies currently staying at the inn.
But what was it Miss Stockenridge had said to Mr. Wilson? That Abagail had been in league with misfits?
None of the accusations against her were true, and yet Miss Stockenridge had tried to browbeat a confession out of her. And, when Abagail hadn't been able to give one, Miss Stockenridge had pulled out the whip, and…
The yipping of the dogs brought Abagail firmly back to the present moment, and she dashed forward as quickly as she could, surging through the current, slipping now and again, but not falling. She fled onward through the water, listening for the hounds. And, then she heard an even more deadly sound and she knew she was in even more trouble.
Ahead of her was a waterfall. Dear God, how high up was it from the ground below?
Closing her eyes for a moment, she wanted to cry. But, she knew she couldn’t. Instead, she stepped slowly toward the sickening sound of the waterfall.
What was she to do? She couldn’t continue on forward. But, if she were to crawl up onto the shoreline to avert the danger of the falls, the hounds would certainly pick up her scent again.
Oh, what was she to do?
Skenandoah, The Deer, a twenty-four-year-old Oneida Indian, leaned against a post in the white man’s tavern, listening to the drunken singing of the white men. He realized these men were no longer in possession of their good minds, such was the power of the evil-spirit water. Skenandoah never drank the white man’s sinister water. He was a scout; it was forbidden.
“Skenan, there ye be. I’ve been a-lookin’ fer thee, lad.”
Skenandoah smiled before saying in English, “I am glad to see my friend John Wilson. But, I am no longer a lad.”
“I be glad to hear it, son. I be glad to hear it. Now, I be wantin’ a favor from thee.”
Skenan nodded.
“Thar be a lass on her way to Fort Stanwix. She be a fine young lassie and I fear Miss Stockenridge has sent the hounds after the miss. Go find her, lad. See that she gets to Fort Stanwix with no harm befallin’ her. It be a favor to me.”
Skenan nodded. “I will do it. When did she leave?”
“It be a little afore noon. See the gal gets to Fort Stanwix and to the commander there. She be carryin’ somethin’ fer me, now, and it be important.”
“If I can, I will do it. And, if hounds are after her, as you say, I must hurry.”
“That be fine, lad. That be fine. Godspeed.”
Skenandoah picked up the girl’s trail with the ease of long practice, and, leaning his upper body over so he could look at the ground while keeping the rest of the environment clearly within his view, he ran quickly along the path she had made. Ahead of him, he could hear the eager sounds of the dogs on a chase, and, finding their trail, he saw there were four of these canines. Did the white men need so many to catch a mere girl?
Glancing to his right, he beheld the tracks of the white men following the dogs, but Skenan ignored them and the dogs, he being interested only in finding the girl. Soon, he passed by the hounds without any of them detecting his presence, since the four dogs were stopped for the moment, sniffing the ground.
