Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 (Louisiana History Boxed Sets) by Blake Jennifer

Author:Blake, Jennifer [Blake, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Steel Magnolia Press
Published: 2012-11-16T16:00:00+00:00

10

IT WAS A TRAP.

If it closed upon them, they would be taken as smugglers with the evidence against them almost in their laps. The penalty was too terrible to be faced.

In immediate, unthinking reaction, Cyrene thrust her paddle deep, pushing it into the mud of the stream’s bottom. The forward motion of the pirogue slowed, stopped. It reversed. She felt Pierre’s strong back paddle surging also, felt the craft respond, floating free of the shore once more.

René was standing ankle-deep in water, poised between the pirogue and the soldiers with indecision on his face. Cyrene shouted at him with fear cracking her voice, “Get in! Get in the boat!”

“Come back,” he called. “It will be all right, I promise.”

Behind him, Touchet turned to the soldiers. “On my order you will commence firing.”

“No!” René whirled on him. “No, you bungling fool!”

His words carried the hard edge of command. Amazingly, they were obeyed, though Touchet muttered something that did not reach them.

René swung back toward the pirogue, lunging after the prow. He did not mean to get in but to catch it, to pull them back to land. Cyrene saw him lay hands on the pirogue, saw his purpose. For a brief, confused instant, her brain refused to function as she saw the soldiers lower their muskets.

Abruptly she cried out, a sound of rage and acknowledged betrayal, “Traitor!”

She plunged to her knees, thrusting out with the muddy blade of her paddle and pushing it into his chest. She shoved with all her strength. He let go of the pirogue, catching at the paddle to keep his balance. Once more she rammed the paddle at him, then she let it go as the pirogue shot backward.

René staggered, off balance. Pierre dug deep, and the long, narrow craft leaped out into the stream. A boatman above all others, he swirled his paddle and the pirogue spun around, heading back the way they had come.

“Downstream,” the older Breton called to his brother Jean. “Their longboat will be waiting around the bend the other way.”

On the bank of the bayou, René was snapping out an order. The soldiers broke formation at a run. Touchet, cursing, snatched a musket from a man lagging behind. The marquise’s agent raised the weapon. He fired.

The booming report rolled over the water. Before the sound reached the racing pirogues, there was a high-pitched whine overhead. Cyrene flinched but did not stop paddling. Risking a glance behind her, she saw a gray cloud of powder smoke floating out over the water and Touchet lying on the ground, nursing his jaw with one hand. Of the soldiers and René, the only sign was their retreating backs as they raced toward their concealed boat.

Bend, dip, pull. With aching muscles and back-wrenching effort, they sent the pirogues speeding over the water. The distance separating them from the place of attack lengthened. Ahead of them lay a winding curve. They began to take it, cutting across it to save precious time.

Behind them, there was a yell. They looked back to see a longboat just bursting through the pall of smoke.

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