AT FIRST SIGHT: A Novella(29)
“Utter nonsense,” she spat at Adam’s side, but fear lurked in the shadowed blue eyes. “I belong to no one.”
He clamped a warning hand on her wrist. He had learned that Indian were addicted to gambling to a prodigious degree. Their tools, their cooking utensils, their clothes, and their weapons would all be staked at games of chance and often their personal liberty upon a single cast of dice. He would make this work to his end purpose.
“Agreed.” He dug into his saddlebag and withdrew from the oilskin packet one of two parchments, much the worse for wear but still legible. “On the condition that should I win, the great sachem will also affix his name on this deed as having proprietary rights to 1,500 acres along the Susquehanna River and, as firm and legal, sell the acreage to English settlers of the Commonwealth – this in exchange for gold that buys many fine gifts.”
She shook her head vehemently. “You have lost your mind. You cannot possibly win.”
Mayhap, he had lost his mind. But he reckoned that without her as his liaison between Peminacka and him, he would lose any hope of acquiring the land. And, at least, he had a chance, by fighting, to keep her here in the colonies and out of Craven’s clutches.
The reluctant-looking sachem and Rasannock talked at length. Clearly, Peminacka did not want any more white people trampling the Lenape hunting grounds. But there was to balance against that the weighty gleam of gold.
At last, Rasannock nodded at Adam. “So done – by Lenape terms. No weapons. First to pin shoulders of the other to ground wins.”
Adam grimaced. He had been hoping for knives as weapons. A knife he could handle. But after the two-day flight with Evangeline in tow – he was as spent as their horses had been. Fighting on equal terms with Catamount, more than his match in height, would require more than strength on Adam’s part; it would require outwitting the savage.
He reached across and plucked the feather from Catamount’s topknot, and with a growl of rage the big Indian sprang up, in his hand a knife whipped from his leggings.
Adam grinned for the effect and told Rasannock, “A quill for signing the deed. Have you a pot of war paint?”
At this Rasannock also grinned and passed on the request to his uncle, who signaled for the paint.
Within minutes, the deed was signed in vermillion and stowed in Adam’s saddlebag along with the voucher Craven had signed against his mortgaged estates
And within the hour, the villagers turned out for the wrestling match, an event of unbridled festivity and worthy of the Lenape women wearing their finest jewelry of shells and beads and the men sporting faces painted in vermillion and black. Children peeked from behind their blanketed parents to watch the contest between the two men, red and white. Scrawny mongrels barked at the hubbub and snipped at heels.
Despite the cold, Catamount was shirtless. For better purchase in the mud, both he and Catamount went shoeless, he in his tight-fitting hose and breeches and his opponent in his breechcloth and leggings. One look at Catamount’s sheened chest told Adam the Indian had gained yet another advantage, this by oiling his skin. Judging by the rank odor, it was done with bear grease.
Peminacka raised a gnarled hand, giving the signal for the match to start. The two approached each other from opposite sides of the muddied clearing made by the spectators. The rules of the sport were quite simple: each wrestler tried to out-maneuver his opponent in an effort to seize him and toss him to the ground.
Warily, the two circled each other. Catamount made the first move. He grabbed Adam’s calf with one hand and used his body to drive him backward. A wild cheer went up.
Adam stumbled, then managed to grip the Mingo’s tree-trunk thigh. With the leverage, he pressed the Mingo scout back. Both still standing, they held each other in a vice-like grip of the head and shoulders. Muscles bulged and strained. The locked pair circled in what might have been a dance of death. Tramped mud made for a slippery stance. Yet neither gained control.
The Lenape watched in breathless silence. Many of them had wagered on the match.
Catamount grabbed Adam’s knee and yanked, plopping him on his ass. All Catamount had to do now was press Adam’s shoulders against the ground, and the match would be over. Encouraging shouts went up for the Mingo warrior.
This was it then – Evangeline would lose her freedom, mayhap her life, and Adam, well, he lost all hope to regain his estates – and, if Craven had any say in the matter, his life, as well. Off to his right, he perceived, incredulously, a tottering Bonnie Charlie, steadied by Evangeline. Blood clotted the codger’s porcupine gray hair and streamed down his forehead.
Catamount made a sudden lunge, and Adam flung himself to one side. Then he rotated his entire body and in a flash was on top of his opponent. Inch by inch he forced Catamount’s shoulders back. The Indian struggled to escape. His eyes protruded. He gritted his teeth. Sweat poured from his oiled pores. His fingers dug into the mud, and he threw it in Adam’s eyes.
Disapproval rumbled on the lips of the spectators. It was definitely an illegal move.
Blinded, he lessened the pressure of his hold. Catamount took advantage of the moment. He rolled to a crouching stance and yanked the knife from inside one legging. His arm swung out in a vicious jab.
Adam jumped back.
Catamount swiped the blade again. This time, Adam didn’t move as quickly, and the blade ripped a gash between his ribs on his right side. His explosive grunt felt as if it separated his ribs and sucked his breath from him.