the crimson flood her face, glinted with devilish amusement.
“Whoa, now.”
“I’d never make a . . . boatman. I’d better sit d-d . . . down.” Ashamed of the stammer in her voice, she moved toward her seat on the platform. Jeff clasped her elbow to steady her when Isaac leaped from the bank and the craft rocked on the water.
Seated once again on the trunk, Annie Lash watched the girl, Maggie, walk slowly out of the woods, cross the grassy clearing to where her parents waited, and leap lightly down onto the raft. She is so curiously lovely, she’s like someone from a fairy tale, Annie Lash thought. Her skin was honey gold, her dark hair a soft swirling cloud about her thin, beautifully constructed face. Her body was boyishly slim except for her small pointed breasts. Her mouth was soft and as red as an apple. She reminded Annie Lash of a picture she had seen of a dark-haired angel floating down out of a misty white cloud with flowers in her hand and a crown on her head.
A pole struck hard against the side of the craft and Annie Lash turned to see Isaac staring at the girl as if he was seeing a vision. His admiration was so open, so frankly intent, that she could not help but think of what Mrs. Gentry had said: “Menfolk say she puts a spell on ’em.” Her swift glance took in the other male members of their party. Light was also watching the girl with the same intensity, and his arms were moving the pole automatically. Zan and Jeff were straining to push the raft away from the bank, their attention absorbed with that task. Silas Cornick leaned on his pole and watched the other raft with a puzzled look on his face.
Annie Lash looked back to where the settlers were hurrying to get their craft into position to follow them. She felt a tinge of apprehension and drew the tip of her tongue over dry lips. With her eyes focused on a raucous cloud of gulls working their way upriver she tried to force her mind away from the thought that something truly new and unimaginable was going to happen, something for which she was totally unprepared.
* * *
The campfire of dry cedar knots and splinters burned with a clear, hot flame and what little smoke there was drifted away to be dissipated among the thick, overhanging branches of the cedar grove. They ate fish again. In a quarter of an hour, Light had caught three perch, a bass, two small white catfish, and a giant pike. Annie Lash had watched him wade out beyond the reeds and, using a hand line, cast a hook to which he had tied a bit of feather as a lure. It had barely hit the water when it was struck by the bass with a violent lunge.
Fish was not Annie Lash’s favorite thing to eat and she wondered why they were eating it when the island was alive with waterfowl. The birds were restless and noisy, and when disturbed the whole island would erupt in raucous clamor and then gradually quiet as they settled down once more. She mentioned it to Zan.
“Ain’t no sense in lettin’ every livin’ thing know we’re here, Annie Lash. A shot’d carry five mile downriver. Hit’s jist a mite easier to catch a mess a fish an’ be on the safe side.” He looked down the shoreline to where the Gentrys were camped. “Damn fools!” he barked loudly. “They ain’t got no brains a’tall.”
Annie Lash watched him lope down the sandy shore toward the big, blazing fire that lit up the whole area. In a few minutes the bonfire was reduced to a small glowing blaze with a shield of dry brush between it and the river, and Zan came back to where she was waiting.
“Jeff done tol’ ’em not to shoot. He ne’er thought ’bout ’em buildin’ a fire big nuff ta roast a buffalo,” he grumbled.
“I’ve heard about the renegades who attack the settlers on the river, robbing and killing—”
“Hit ain’t only river rats, Annie Lash. Injuns use the river fer travelin’, if they cin do it. Hit bein’ spring, they take to prowlin’ considerably. Hit’s plumb queer
“Whoa, now.”
“I’d never make a . . . boatman. I’d better sit d-d . . . down.” Ashamed of the stammer in her voice, she moved toward her seat on the platform. Jeff clasped her elbow to steady her when Isaac leaped from the bank and the craft rocked on the water.
Seated once again on the trunk, Annie Lash watched the girl, Maggie, walk slowly out of the woods, cross the grassy clearing to where her parents waited, and leap lightly down onto the raft. She is so curiously lovely, she’s like someone from a fairy tale, Annie Lash thought. Her skin was honey gold, her dark hair a soft swirling cloud about her thin, beautifully constructed face. Her body was boyishly slim except for her small pointed breasts. Her mouth was soft and as red as an apple. She reminded Annie Lash of a picture she had seen of a dark-haired angel floating down out of a misty white cloud with flowers in her hand and a crown on her head.
A pole struck hard against the side of the craft and Annie Lash turned to see Isaac staring at the girl as if he was seeing a vision. His admiration was so open, so frankly intent, that she could not help but think of what Mrs. Gentry had said: “Menfolk say she puts a spell on ’em.” Her swift glance took in the other male members of their party. Light was also watching the girl with the same intensity, and his arms were moving the pole automatically. Zan and Jeff were straining to push the raft away from the bank, their attention absorbed with that task. Silas Cornick leaned on his pole and watched the other raft with a puzzled look on his face.
Annie Lash looked back to where the settlers were hurrying to get their craft into position to follow them. She felt a tinge of apprehension and drew the tip of her tongue over dry lips. With her eyes focused on a raucous cloud of gulls working their way upriver she tried to force her mind away from the thought that something truly new and unimaginable was going to happen, something for which she was totally unprepared.
* * *
The campfire of dry cedar knots and splinters burned with a clear, hot flame and what little smoke there was drifted away to be dissipated among the thick, overhanging branches of the cedar grove. They ate fish again. In a quarter of an hour, Light had caught three perch, a bass, two small white catfish, and a giant pike. Annie Lash had watched him wade out beyond the reeds and, using a hand line, cast a hook to which he had tied a bit of feather as a lure. It had barely hit the water when it was struck by the bass with a violent lunge.
Fish was not Annie Lash’s favorite thing to eat and she wondered why they were eating it when the island was alive with waterfowl. The birds were restless and noisy, and when disturbed the whole island would erupt in raucous clamor and then gradually quiet as they settled down once more. She mentioned it to Zan.
“Ain’t no sense in lettin’ every livin’ thing know we’re here, Annie Lash. A shot’d carry five mile downriver. Hit’s jist a mite easier to catch a mess a fish an’ be on the safe side.” He looked down the shoreline to where the Gentrys were camped. “Damn fools!” he barked loudly. “They ain’t got no brains a’tall.”
Annie Lash watched him lope down the sandy shore toward the big, blazing fire that lit up the whole area. In a few minutes the bonfire was reduced to a small glowing blaze with a shield of dry brush between it and the river, and Zan came back to where she was waiting.
“Jeff done tol’ ’em not to shoot. He ne’er thought ’bout ’em buildin’ a fire big nuff ta roast a buffalo,” he grumbled.
“I’ve heard about the renegades who attack the settlers on the river, robbing and killing—”
“Hit ain’t only river rats, Annie Lash. Injuns use the river fer travelin’, if they cin do it. Hit bein’ spring, they take to prowlin’ considerably. Hit’s plumb queer
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