Broken Trail (19 page)

Here they were, planning to steal food that the Mississaugas had stored up for winter, so that the Mississaugas would go hungry instead of them. What they were doing, he thought, was not much better than what General Sullivan's army had done to the Oneidas when it destroyed their crops and burned their homes.

This was not the kind of thought he could share with any other member of the war party, not even Young Bear. Aside from Carries a Quiver, the only person that might understand was Elijah, and Elijah was far away.

On the third day, when the sun stood directly overhead, Swift Fox called a halt.

“We have entered the Mississauga hunting grounds,” he said. “The war party will now separate into four groups, each with its own assignment. The four groups will return to this spot tomorrow to share what each has learned.”

The warriors sat in a circle on the ground. Swift Fox looked around, meeting the eyes of each of the others in turn. “Black Elk, Walks Crooked, Hunting Hawk and I will each choose one youth and one experienced warrior. My group will search out all the trails that lead to the Mississauga town. We must decide upon the best route, as well as locate paths for escape in case we are discovered.”

Choose me! Choose me! Broken Trail pleaded silently. He was good at reading trails, and eager to earn Swift Fox's respect.

Swift Fox continued. “Black Elk's group will locate the storehouses and find out how they are guarded.

“Hunting Hawk's group will learn where sentries are posted and what signals they use to communicate.

“Walks Crooked's group will find out how to steal the Mississaugas' canoes and also select the best place to load them.”

Swift Fox chose first, passing over Broken Trail to choose Red Crow.

Broken Trail did not allow his disappointment to show. It didn't matter greatly, he told himself. He would willingly serve under Black Elk or Hunting Hawk. Anyone but Walks Crooked.

Walks Crooked won't choose me, he assured himself. He'll want Spotted Dog so he can keep an eye on him and cover up his mistakes.

Black Elk chose Young Bear.

Now it was Walks Crooked's turn. Broken Trail kept his head down. Help me,
oki,
he silently pleaded. Make him say Spotted Dog!

Walks Crooked announced his choice. “I'll take Broken Trail.”

So Hunting Hawk was left with Spotted Dog, that clumsy lump whom his own father would not choose. Good luck to him! If Spotted Dog snapped even one dry branch under his foot, all their lives would be in peril.

But why, Broken Trail wondered, had Walks Crooked chosen him?

BROKEN TRAIL HAD
faced danger more than once before now. For the most part, he had faced it unafraid. But now he was afraid. What he feared were not the bullets and arrows of the Mississaugas so much as a silent knife in his back.

It was some comfort to have Smoke Eater as part of his group. Although not friendly to Broken Trail, he was not hostile, either. But he was blind in one eye. Broken Trail would feel a little safer if Smoke Eater had two good eyes, and much safer if Walks Crooked were not his enemy.

Starting out deep in Mississauga territory, Walks Crooked, Smoke Eater and Broken Trail made their way toward the river. They crept through heavy brush, avoiding trails, crawling under bushes rather than pushing through them. Once
they saw a party of Mississauga hunters glide by, silent as wolves on the prowl, and lay still until the hunters had passed. The sun was halfway down the sky when Broken Trail and his two companions reached the riverbank.

Walks Crooked, standing at the base of a tall spruce tree, motioned Broken Trail to stand beside him.

“You see this tree?”

How could he not see it? It was right in front of them, stretching up and up into the sky. Broken Trail nodded.

“You may wonder why I chose you,” Walks Crooked said. Before Broken Trail could think of a reply, he continued, “I wanted you because you're small and light. You can climb higher than someone heavier, and be better hidden in the branches.”

Broken Trail, who had never before seen any advantage in being small for his age, nodded his head and hoped that this was Walks Crooked's true reason.

“Climb up to the top. From there you will be able to see not only the canoes, but everything up and down the river.” He paused. “Your task is to count the canoes and see if are they guarded.”

Broken Trail nodded.

“And judge the speed of the current.”

“I can do that.”

“And look downstream to see whether there are any fallen trees, big rocks or sandbars that would block canoes from floating away. Finally, I want you to look for a good spot where we can load the canoes.”

“I'll find out everything.”

All this would be important information, Broken Trail realized. Excited by the challenge, he swung himself onto the spruce's lowest branch. Quickly he scrambled up the trunk.

The drooping branches with their dense needles soon hid the two on the ground from his sight. As Broken Trail climbed higher and higher, bark blisters burst under his hands and resin stung his scratched skin. When he reached the crown, clinging like a bear cub to the trunk, he saw hills and forest stretching to the horizon. Below him was the river, and across the river was the Mississauga town.

The town had no defences on the riverbank. But on the land side there was a palisade of tall, pointed poles. It curved in a half circle, embracing the town, with each end of the palisade extending right into the river. At the rear of the town, a gap in the palisade gave access to the forest.

Inside the palisade, the whole life of the town lay spread before him. Women were scraping hides on stretching frames. Meat slabs and whole fish hung on drying lines. A man was applying hot pitch to the seams of a birchbark canoe. Children and dogs were chasing each other around the dome-shaped lodges.

The homes were different from those in an Oneida town. The Mississaugas were not longhouse people, where a clan's many families lived under the same roof. In the Mississauga town it looked as if each family had its own house, a bark-covered lodge with a hole at the top for smoke to escape.

Broken Trail noticed that several lodges had no smoke
hole. A couple of these were very small, not high enough for a man to stand upright inside. They looked exactly like Oneida sweat lodges, and that was likely what they were. But others were much larger. Those must be the storehouses, he thought, crammed full with the food that the war party planned to carry off.

Looking down on the scene, Broken Trail felt no hostility to the Mississauga people. They were not traditional enemies of the Haudenosaunee, as the Hurons had been. Because the Mississauga hunting grounds lay north of the Oneidas' ancestral lands, there had been little contact between the two nations before the Oneidas were driven from their old territory. Since then, a few skirmishes had taken place. Nothing approaching outright war. From now on, Broken Trail thought sadly, the Oneidas and the Mississaugas would be enemies. This war party would make certain of that.

Broken Trail felt a voice of protest within him struggling to be heard. What was he doing here? He knew the answer. He was here because he had to prove himself. He had no choice about that. This war party was his first big test. He must not fail.

On the riverbank lay the canoes. He counted twenty-three, tied together at the bow in bunches of three or four. They were unguarded. That was fortunate, for he had expected to see somebody keeping an eye on the canoes, either a boy or an old man.

He turned his attention to the river. Looking upstream,
he watched for some floating object that would reveal the speed of the current. At length a broken branch, still sporting a few brown leaves, drifted past. His eyes followed it downstream until it fetched up, below the town, against a fallen willow tree that half blocked the river. Debris was piled up in the lee of the willow. This was the sort of obstacle that concerned Walks Crooked. If the canoes were cut free, that fallen tree would stop many, perhaps most, from drifting downstream.

Now that he had all the information he had been asked for, Broken Trail climbed down. Walks Crooked and Smoke Eater were waiting for him.

They listened in silence to his report, nodding from time to time. Neither interrupted until Broken Trail described the fallen willow that half blocked the river.

“How far is that willow from the town?” Walks Crooked asked.

“The distance of an arrow's flight.”

“Too close! It means we cannot push the canoes into the river and trust the current to carry them far enough downstream. If we do, the fallen willow will certainly trap some, and then, if the Mississaugas take alarm, they can round them up and come after us.”

“But the tree can help us,” Broken Trail said. “The riverbank beside the willow will be a good place to load the food.” He rubbed his hands on his leggings, trying to wipe off the sticky spruce resin. “First, we push all the canoes
into the river. When the canoes float by the willow tree, we can have warriors waiting there to snag the first six, then shove off the rest around the end of the tree.”

“A fine plan,” Smoke Eater looked at Broken Trail approvingly. “It's good to have a loading place that even a man with one eye can find in the dark.”

Walks Crooked grunted. It sounded as if he agreed but did not want to admit it. Broken Trail suppressed a smile. He was beginning to feel that he had Smoke Eater on his side.

THE NEXT MORNING
the members of the war party met. They sat in a circle, with the leader of each group ready to report.

Swift Fox began. Using a sharpened stick, he drew a diagram in the earth, showing the position of the river and the town. Then he traced several trails leading north, south and west from the opening in the palisade. He marked a spot upriver from the town.

“Here is a sandbar where we can cross the river in order to reach the town through the forest.” His stick moved rapidly over one of the trails he had already marked. “And this trail is the one we follow. It is the most direct.”

Hunting Hawk reported next. He said, “At night, only two warriors are on guard, positioned separately near the opening in the palisade. No one guards the canoes. There is no sign that the Mississaugas expect an attack.”

“What about the storehouses?” Swift Fox asked.

“I can answer that,” said Black Elk. “There are seven storehouses, grouped together close to the palisade on the downstream side. They are unguarded. One way to reach them is by tunnelling under the palisade. Another is to remove four or five poles in order to make a gap wide enough to pass storage baskets through. Either way is possible, providing that Hunting Hawk's group has first taken care of the guards near the palisade opening.”

“But where do we take those storage baskets?” Swift Fox turned to Walks Crooked. “What have you learned about the canoes?”

After reporting everything that Broken Trail had found out, Walks Crooked added, “I'll wait with Smoke Eater by the fallen willow tree downstream while Broken Trail frees the canoes and shoves them into the river. As the canoes float by, Smoke Eater and I will catch the first six and push all the others around the end of the tree for the current to carry away.”

“Twenty-three canoes? It won't be easy for one person to deal with that many, especially an untested boy.”

Without waiting to be asked, Broken Trail called out, “That's not too many. I've seen how they are tied. It won't be hard.”

Swift Fox turned to Walks Crooked. “How will Broken Trail reach the canoes without being seen? Even after the guards have been removed from the palisade opening, it will be too risky for him to try to sneak all the way through the village to reach the riverbank. There'll be almost a full moon tonight.”

“He won't go through the town,” said Walks Crooked. “It's quite simple. Smoke Eater and I will fasten him under a floating log with a reed to breathe through. He will swim underwater across the river. His arms will be free to control the log. It will seem to drift ashore.”