Chapter 16 Into the Mountains (Sheriff John Miller 4)
I found my way to the pre-arranged meeting spot shortly after sun down. I knew Sarah and Barb and the others worked the night shift under George, so they would make their getaway in the early hours before the sun was up, but exactly when would depend on when the best opportunity presented itself. Until then, all I could do was wait. In the meantime, I released my horse-the way through the pass was full of rough sections that a horse wouldn’t be able to get through. I hoped that when they found Old Fred, they would assume I had died and they would devote some resources to looking for me along the road, which might divert efforts from searching for the escapees.
It was a pleasant fall evening, a bit of a chill in the air, but nothing too hard to take, especially in the sheltered underbrush where I hid. But I knew that up higher it would be considerably colder. In fact, at this time of year there was likely some snow or ice on the ground. That would slow us down, but it would also slow down our pursuers. Regardless, the mine was such an awful place that slaves often didn’t last too long, and I couldn’t take the chance that Barb and Sarah would still be alive when summer came again.
I dozed off and on, listening for any unusual sounds. Finally, just as the sun was coming up, I heard the sound of people approaching. Peering out from my shelter, I saw George leading a small party of women-Sarah, Barb, Pat and Amy. While Barb and Pat wore the khakis and boots of mine enforcers, Sarah and Amy were naked. They looked cold and tired even before the journey had begun.
Pushing the brush aside, I emerged. Sarah rushed up to hug me, tearful, “Thank God, I’m out of that hell hole, Father,” she said. It was very uncomfortable hugging your naked daughter. I think she was so used to being naked in the mine that she didn't really notice.
I broke the embrace quickly and, choked up a bit before I managed to tell her how glad I was too. Barb hung back-I understood her reluctance to trust me, but when I approached her and hugged her she didn’t resist, nor did Pat. I decided to forego a hug with Amy, just shaking hands with her and with George.
“Alright,” I told them, “We are going to need every minute of head start we have, so let’s get dressed and get moving.” I opened the chest and handed each of them a poncho. There were four left, so I put one on myself and gave a second one to Sarah to wear. She and Amy borrowed my knife and cut up the extra ones to make crude leggings to protect their legs. We would need every bit of clothing at the higher elevations.
I laid the boots out on the ground. “I can’t promise a perfect fit. Find the closest to your size that you can and that will have to do,” I instructed. Sarah and Amy managed each to find ones that were reasonable fits.
Once everyone was dressed, I divided up the dried food. “We’re going to follow the brook up into the mountains, so there will be plenty of water along the way,” I assured them. “Now let’s get moving.”
I began leading the party through the dense forest, listening carefully for the sound of the brook. It was slow going, making one’s way carefully over roots and fallen trees and rocks, but finally I heard the rushing water. Despite the drought in the lowlands, it had rained in the mountains and the water was about knee high.
“We’re going to cross,” I warned them. “They will have dogs for sure, so we’ll cross back and forth as we go up. That will make it harder for the dogs to follow our scent.” I waded into the water. It was cold, almost numbing to my feet even through the boots. I reached out my hand; Barb grasped it and waded out, shivering, then reached her hand out for Pat. Eventually, all the women made it across, with George bringing up the rear.
We turned uphill, more or less following the brook. To call our route a trail would be an exaggeration. It was a path of sorts, overgrown with bushes, some with thorns that pierced our clothing, tearing at our skin. It was in much worse shape than I remembered from my younger days, probably because the deteriorating conditions of society left fewer and fewer people with the time or inclination to come up here. There were downed trees in many places that we had to climb over or under, which made progress painstakingly slow.
As we climbed, crossing and recrossing the brook, it got distinctly colder. When we stopped to rest, which was necessary quite frequently given the effort of fighting our way through the forest, I could see everyone shivering, their breath turning to steam, their teeth chattering.
By this point, the maples and other hardwoods were mostly gone, replaced by birch, spruce and balsam, the trees prevalent at higher elevation. This didn’t mean that the path became easier, however. In fact, it became harder. We were now entering the actual pass, where the way passed between two mountains, with cliffs on both sides. Over the millennia, many large boulders had fallen off the cliffs, blocking the way, forcing us to pick our way around and sometimes over them.
The difficulty was made worse by the fact that at this altitude there were patches of ice, especially in shaded areas where the sun didn’t reach. I cautioned everyone to be careful. However, about 15 minutes later, I heard a scream and turned around to see that Amy had slid on a patch of ice and down an embankment, where she lay, her right leg pinned under her.
I went over to her as quickly as I could, accompanied by George and Sarah. George grasped her leg and tried to move it from under her. She howled in pain and I could see that the lower part of the limb was bent at an odd angle. We helped her up, but as soon as she tried to put any weight on the leg, she crumpled to the ground.
I took George aside, leaving Sarah to comfort Amy. “She won’t be able to walk, especially over this rough ground and there is no way we can carry her in this terrain.”
George nodded. “If we leave her here, she’ll either freeze to death, die of dehydration or be found by the searchers and tortured to death.” It was my turn to nod. “The kindest thing to do is to shoot her,” he said. Our eyes met. I handed him a pistol.
George and I approached the spot where Amy lay, her head in Sarah’s lap. I grasped Sarah’s arm. “Come with me," I ordered, pulling her a short distance away.
“Father, what are you going to do?” she asked, her eyes brimming over with tears.
“Sarah, she can’t walk. There is only one thing we can do.” She turned and saw the pistol in George’s hand.
“You can’t, Father. Amy has been my best friend for so many years. And my lover. You can’t.” She started beating her fists against my chest.
“Sarah, if you love her, you can’t leave her to suffer. “ I began leading her ahead on the trail, motioning for the others to follow. As we rounded the first bend, a shot rang out. Sarah screamed. I hugged her, telling her she had to calm down and go on, that Amy would have wanted her to live. After a few minutes, George, having covered Amy’s body with as many branches and leaves as he could, joined us, handing Amy’s poncho to Pat to give her extra warmth. We continued onward, the only direction we could go.