THE TRAITOR
We stood together, there in the forest glen, for a minute or two
exchanging swift whispers. The fellow Lentz--I did not know who he was
then, unfortunately--stood a few feet from us. He was listening to the
woods. Then he came to us.
"I thought we might have been heard. Was any one following you?" He
addressed it to me.
Nanette and I had feared pursuit, but there had seemed none. We had
tried to head south--Josefa had said she would direct our pursuers the
other way. She was to have fired a shot--to make plausible her story
that we had escaped her. We had heard no shot. Nor had Alan and Lentz.
And in these silent woods the shot would have been heard plainly.
Nanette and I were wholly lost. I realized it when I tried to tell Alan
which way we should go to reach the tower.
"We must get there at once," said Alan. He gestured toward Lentz. He
whispered: "That fellow--I may be wrong, but I don't trust him."
We could not agree on where we were, or which way might be the tower.
"Oh, Lentz!" He came closer to us. Alan whispered: "Which way would you
say?"
The patch of starlight overhead was too small to help us. I suggested:
"I'll climb one of these trees. If I can see the camp fire at
Turber's--"
But it would take too long. By now there was undoubtedly a Turber party
of Indians in these woods searching for us. They might cut us off from
the tower, or locate the tower itself.
"I think," said Lentz, "this way."
To me it seemed that he was right.
"But that's south," said Alan.
I did not think so. Lentz said: "I led you wrong before--it was my
mistake. But I am sure now."
His frankness convinced us. We started. Lentz was leading; Alan and
I guided Nanette. Slow, careful going. We made as little noise as we
could. We came to a slight rise of ground. A distant gleam of water
showed ahead of us.
"Alan, look!"
"That's the East River."
"Yes, I think so."
It seemed so; it was very faint through the trees. Lentz had not seen
it--or he ignored it. But he heard that we had stopped; he turned and
came back.
"What is it?"
"That water--the river off there! We're going wrong."
I became aware that we were standing in a patch of starlight. "Not
here, Alan! Don't stand here!"
Almost in a panic we left the hillock and crouched in a thicket at its
foot.
Lentz whispered: "That river--that's to the east. Then Turber's aero
is off there--the western river." He pointed behind us. "And then the
tower would be this way."
It seemed so. We started again at almost right angles to our former
course. For what might have been half an hour we crept along. It was
eerie. The woods seemed empty of all human life save ourselves. But in
the silence, the insect life screamed with tumultuous voices.
* * * * *
We heard, in the distance, the mournful hooting of an owl. Or was it an
owl? Was it, perhaps, some Indian signaling?
My nerves were tense; I was trembling, straining my eyes to see, and my
ears to hear. It was difficult, keeping Nanette from falling. It seemed
as though the noise we made must reverberate through all these woods.
How far we went I do not know. It seemed miles.
A glow of light showed ahead of us! The tower? We stopped. Not the
tower. Why--a stockade! A high picket fence. A building. A northern
outpost of New Amsterdam!
Realization swept us. That river we had glimpsed was not the East
River, but the Hudson. We had turned exactly the wrong way; had
wandered far to the south. Or had been misled by Lentz. At one time,
until we checked him, we were headed for the Turber camp. The fellow
realized we understood. He was beside Alan; and as Alan turned on him
Lentz leaped and struck with his knife. Alan fired. The shot roared
like a cannon in the woods. It caught Lentz in the hand; the knife
dropped.
So quick, all this, that I had not moved from Nanette. Like a cat,
Lentz eluded Alan. Leaped behind a tree. And then ran, with Alan after
him.
I called, frantically: "Alan, come back! We'll lose each other!"
Alan's revolver spat again. Then he came back; we could hear Lentz
plunging off through the underbrush.
"What rotten shooting!" Alan groaned.
We seized Nanette and ran north; heedless of noise. Voices were behind
us. Torches showed back there.
"Not so fast, Alan. We're making too much rumpus!"
We slowed. Then we stopped to listen. The woods seemed full of voices.
Heavy tread of feet, pounding in the brush. Behind us. Then ahead
of us! We crouched; no use running now. We were surrounded. Torches
flared. A dog was howling. I saw, off in the trees, the heavy figure of
a man holding a blazing torch aloft. He held an ancient fowling piece
half raised; the dog was on a leash leading him.
Figures closed in on us. They saw us in the light of their torches.
"No use, Alan."
Alan stuck his revolver in his pocket. We stood up, holding Nanette.
The Dutchman seized us, and stood jabbering. Sturdy fellows, in shirts
and broad jackets, flowing pantaloons and hobnailed shoes. They were
almost all bareheaded; hastily dressed. They stood amazed at us. They
pulled at Nanette.
"Let her alone," said Alan.
It was a mistake. English! One of them spoke English. He said:
"You English?"
They tore us apart from each other. They hurried us off. I heard one
say: "English! The damned English here already! Well can I speak it!
Ho, but our good Peter will be pleased at this midnight foray."
They dragged us south, into New Amsterdam.