Timecachers (29 page)

“Let us hope,” said Benjamin, “that it is not all in vain.”

Alice didn’t have the heart to tell him that in her history, it was.

Chapter twenty-six

Y
ou ride well, Tom,” said John Carter.

They had been traveling at a quick gait since leaving the barn. After the first mile or so, Tom had no trouble controlling his horse. He was actually enjoying his ride on the well-trained steed, despite the seriousness of their mission. He was also enjoying his dialogue with John. They rode side-by-side so they could converse.

“I used to ride quite a lot,” Tom replied. “My parents have a place in central Virginia, where I grew up, and they’ve always kept horses. I haven’t had time to see them much lately, so I’ve gotten out of practice.”

“You live far away from your parents?”

“Kind of far; it takes about four hours to get to their place from mine. Of course that’s by car, er, motorized transportation. If I had to go by horseback it would take much longer.”

“It would be most unusual for a Cherokee to live that far from his family. I can see how that might not always be the case in the future, as we become more integrated with the white culture.”

“It’s still not something that most families like doing, even white families.” Tom said. “But in our society it is sometimes necessary to move away to a larger city in order to find work, as in my case. I think most people would prefer to live close to their family.”

“It would not be very pleasant for me,” said John. “It is bad enough to be away for so long when traveling. I do not think I could bear to live apart from my family all of the time.”

Abruptly, John held up his hand, signaling Tom to stop. He reined his horse to the side of the road. John looked back down the road in the direction they had come. Tom followed his gaze, and could see a dust cloud being raised by something coming along behind them. Listening closely, he could hear the hoof beats of at least several horses in the distance.

“I think it would be prudent for us to avoid whoever that is.” John’s voice was tinged with uncharacteristic nervousness; he seldom showed any sign of unease. “If you feel you can handle a short gallop, there is a place up ahead where we can get off the road and remain out of sight until they pass.”

“Lead on,” said Tom.

They kicked their horses into a gallop, and Tom did his best to keep up with John’s pace. He was exhilarated by the speedy ride, yet he was apprehensive about John’s sudden urgency to steer clear of whoever was behind them. His exhilaration was short lived; after only about a mile John reined his horse to a quick stop and dismounted. He pointed through the roadside brush to a small creek about ten yards from the road.

“We can leave the road at this point and use the creek to cover our tracks,” John said. “We will have to walk from here, and lead our horses through the creek a short way. If you would go first, I will follow and cover our tracks leaving the road.”

Tom dismounted and led his horse to the creek as John directed. John used a leafy branch to brush out their tracks leading from the roadside, and took precautions to assure the vegetation they walked through was disturbed as little as possible. He joined Tom at the creek and said, “If a good tracker is following our tracks, I doubt this would fool him. It is likely they are simply traveling along the same road, and not following us. I do not want to make their acquaintance in any case. My hope is that there are enough other tracks on the road that perhaps it will not draw attention to ours suddenly coming to a stop.”

They walked along the creek bed until there was enough cover to keep them well hidden yet still have good visibility of the road. “Let us wait for a moment here,” said John, “and watch as they pass.”

Within minutes, a dozen horsemen thundered by; the same group of men who had stopped Benjamin’s wagon. They did not pause at the point where John and Tom had left the road, to Tom’s great relief. Both men now breathed more easily, but Tom sensed that John was still tense.

“It looks like your trick worked, John.”

“Yes, we were fortunate. I recognized the man at the front of that group. He is Jebediah Barnett, a quite nasty character from New Echota who is at the center of much terrorism. He is often used by the colonel to perform disagreeable duties that could not be assigned to the federal troops. I expect he may be on a mission for him now, perhaps to locate me, since the colonel has been looking for me. We seemed to have evaded him for now. I hope that none of the others encounter him today.”

“Is this man dangerous? Would he assault them?” asked Tom.

“He can be most dangerous, but do not be too concerned. Both Jimmy Deerinwater and Benjamin have enough wits about them to keep calm and endure his verbal abuse. They will avoid provoking him to violence. If Jebediah is on a mission to find me, he would not waste much time with the others. I am more concerned about his encountering Yonah and Sal, since they can both be somewhat inflammatory individuals. Fortunately they are traveling overland, and the chances are slim that they have crossed paths today.”

“Hopefully,” said Tom. “Do you have any idea why the colonel is looking for you?”

“I am sure he suspects me of carrying messages from Red Clay to the people here, and of holding illegal meetings among the Cherokee. I believe that the closer we get to the deadline for removal, the more anxious Colonel Lindsay will be to have me incarcerated. He is surely under orders to purge all those who are engaged in organizational activities.”

“Purge? Is that a euphemism for murder?”

“I think that would only be a last resort. But I am certain he would like for me to be locked away safely in his stockade.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we got off the road then, before they caught up to us. Should we risk traveling on it further?”

“They will eventually return to New Echota, and most likely use this road to get there. It would be best if we avoided the road the rest of the way. We can follow this creek for a couple of miles and reach a much less traveled path. It will take us a little out of our way to reach Guwaya’s place, and our pace will be somewhat slower.”

“Slower is better than not getting there at all.”

“Agreed. See how your wisdom is growing just from being with the Cherokee for a short time?” he said to Tom with a half-smile.

Chapter twenty-seven

I
t was nearly dark by the time they reached Guwaya Ward’s cabin. Tom had studied the topographical maps for this part of Georgia in preparation for their trip, but the lack of modern roads and landmarks made it difficult to determine his location accurately. From what he could remember of the landscape, and the northwest direction they had been traveling, he guessed that they were somewhere north of Dalton, Georgia. Possibly they had gone as far as Caloosa County. Or at least where those places would be someday. John told him that if they had stayed on the road, they would have followed a more northerly route, and dropped back southward to reach the Ward place. The alternate route they took was a circuitous path that followed hunting trails coming up from the south.

He remembered that Tunnel Hill was located somewhere in this vicinity, thinking at the time that it might be worth a short historical side trip. Tunnel Hill was the place where the first southern railroad tunnel was built, through Chetoogeta Mountain. It played a major role in the Civil War, obviously as an important railroad supply route for the Confederacy. The tunnel was also part of
The Great Railroad Chase
, a Civil War event where Union civilians hijacked a locomotive intending to disrupt the Confederate supply lines. He laughed to himself when he realized that if he wanted to visit the site of this historical event now, he’d have to wait about thirty years for it to happen.

He began to enjoy the journey again as he got over the anxiety of the close brush with John’s pursuers, relaxing as he rode the trail through Georgia’s northwest hill country. After leaving the road, they rode silently, following the narrow trail through the dense forest as they made their way through valleys and across the hilltops. When they crested the hills he could see a mountain range not more than a few miles to the west. Most likely, he thought, the border of what would become the southern part of the Chattahoochee National Forest. The countryside was astoundingly beautiful. Horseback riding through this remote part of Georgia, unencumbered by all of the modern paved roads and established towns—was an equestrian dream come true. It was as if nearly the entire state was a protected wilderness area. He understood that progress demanded the growth of towns, cities, and highways, and he was happy to have the advantages of modern life, but there were times when he longed for such an opportunity; a chance to experience the pristine beauty of the pre-industrial South.

Tom began to notice more signs of wildlife activity as evening approached, especially in the low-lying areas between the foothills. They had startled several small herds of deer out for their evening forage, and came across a large female black bear and her cub. Both experienced woodsmen, they kept their distance from the bear, even though she showed more interest in sharing a meal of termites from an old log with her cub than she did in the two humans. The black bear made Tom wonder how Sal was getting along with Yonah. In a way, he was a little envious. He was sure Sal and Yonah would have nothing short of an incredible adventure—if they didn’t strangle each other first.

As he topped one of the larger hills, he was treated to a spectacular pre-sunset view over the mountain range to the west. The glowing orange globe of the sun, not quite touching the top of the highest peak, lit the soft silhouettes of the tree line horizon across the mountaintops in brilliant gold. Ironic, Tom thought, the brilliant gold of the western sky forewarned of an infamous tragedy about to occur, one of unpardonable human suffering that would be inflicted on the Cherokee people, brought on in part by the brilliant gold beneath the Georgian ground.

John broke the silent contemplation of their ride. “Guwaya’s cabin is just ahead.”

As they left the cover of the woods and entered the clearing at the front of the cabin, John paused courteously waiting for recognition from the occupants. A man chopping wood in the front yard shielded his eyes from the glare of the setting sun to get a better look at the two visitors approaching on horseback. His face bore a stern countenance which quickly changed to a wide grin when he recognized John Carter.

“
’Siyo
,” the man called to John. “
Tsilugi
,
to-hi-tsu
? Welcome, are you well?”

“
’Siyo
, Guwaya,” John said as he dismounted and walked up to the man. “
Tdo`hi quu,
Yes, I am well.
Ni-na
? And you?”

“
Osda
, good,” Guwaya replied. “I am happy to see you! I expected you may be coming for a visit, and we were concerned about your safe arrival.” Tom wondered how the man could possibly have been expecting them, out in this isolated wilderness. These Cherokee seemed to have mysterious ways of communicating.

“Tla utso-a-se-di
, no trouble,” said John. “I would like for you to meet my friend, Tom Woody.
Tsi`tsa-ne-lv,
I rode with him today, and journeyed with him before on the trail back from Red Clay. He has been staying with Benjamin Rogers, helping out at planting time.”

“
Osiyo
, Tom Woody,” said Guwaya, shaking his hand.

“
Osiyo
, Guwaya,” Tom replied.

“
Hi-tsalagi-s
?” Guwaya asked.

“Uh…,” said Tom, looking perplexed.

“Guwaya asked if you are Cherokee,” John interpreted with an amused smile.

“Oh, no, I’m not. Well, actually I guess I don’t really know,” he stuttered. “My family has American Indian ancestry, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about my genealogy. I only know a few words of Cherokee that John and Benjamin taught us, like hello and thank you.”

“Tom is not Tsalagi,” John expounded on Tom’s answer. “He is from up north. He is aware of the conflict over our people’s rights, is sympathetic to our cause, and offers to be helpful in whatever capacity he can.”

“I see,” said Guwaya with a shrug. “You are most welcome, Tom from up north. And I will try to remember not to speak Tsalagi to you unless it is to say hello or thank you.” His eyes sparkled as he grinned at John.

Guwaya was about six feet tall, about the same height as Tom and John Carter. His build was leaner than John’s, though his well-muscled arms were evident beneath his thin sleeveless shirt. He had the darkest complexion of the three men. His black hair hung loosely past his shoulders, and he wore a red and black headscarf, similar to Yonah’s but tied in back rather than in front. Tom thought the man look less middle-eastern than Yonah, and a bit like a biker. He could easily imagine him astride a Harley, clad in motorcycle boots and sporting a “Born to Ride” tattoo on his bicep.

“Please come inside and rest from your long ride,” Guwaya said. “J
a-yo-si-ha-s
? Excuse me, Tom. Are you men hungry? Woyi must be nearly ready with the evening meal.”

“
A-gi-`yo-si
, yes, I am hungry,” said John. “But perhaps we must make Tom learn some more Cherokee words before we give him any food,” he said as they entered the cabin, laughing and placing his hand firmly on Tom’s shoulder.