A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [163]
Baz cocked the flintlock with a deafening click.
Peg twitched under Lizzie’s hands, and Lizzie tightened her grip, sensing the girl wanted to break into a run.
It was three yards to the door but they seemed to take an hour to get there.
No shot rang out.
Lizzie felt sunshine on her face.
She could contain herself no longer. Shoving Peg forward she began to run.
Mack was already in the saddle. Peg jumped up on the seat of the wagon and Lizzie followed.
“What happened?” Mack said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Let’s get out of here!” Lizzie said, snapping the reins. “That one-eyed fellow recognized Peg!” She turned the wagon to the east. If they headed for Staunton they would first have to ford the river, which would take too long, and then they would be riding into the sheriff’s arms. They had to go back the way they had come.
Looking over her shoulder she saw the three men in the tavern doorway, Baz still holding the musket. She whipped the horses into a trot.
Baz did not shoot.
A few seconds later they were out of range.
“By God,” Lizzie said gratefully. “That was a nasty moment.”
The road turned a corner into the woods and they passed out of sight of the tavern. After a while Lizzie slowed the horses to a walk. Mack brought his horse alongside. “We forgot to buy oats,” he said.
Mack was relieved to escape but he regretted Lizzie’s decision to turn back. They should have forded the river and gone on. Staunton was obviously where Burgo Marler’s farm was, but they could have found a side trail around the town, or slipped through at night. However, he did not criticize her, for she had been forced to make an instant decision.
They stopped where they had made camp the night before, at the place where Three Notch Trail was crossed by a side trail. They drove the wagon off the main road and concealed it in the woods: they were now fugitives from justice.
Mack looked at his map and decided they would have to go back to Charlottesville and take the Seminole Trail south. They could turn west again after a day or two without coming within fifty miles of Staunton.
However, in the morning it occurred to Mack that Dobbs might be heading for Charlottesville. He could have passed by their hidden campsite after dark and reached the town ahead of them. He told Lizzie of his worry, and proposed riding into Charlottesville alone to check that the coast was clear. She agreed.
He rode hard and reached the town before sunrise. He slowed his horse to a walk as he approached the first house. The place was quiet: nothing was moving but an old dog scratching itself in the middle of the road. The door of the Swan tavern was open, and smoke came from its chimney. Mack dismounted and tied his horse to a bush, then cautiously approached the tavern.
There was no one in the bar.
Perhaps Dobbs and his sidekick had been heading the other way, toward Staunton.
A mouthwatering smell was coming from somewhere. He went around to the back and saw a middle-aged woman frying bacon. “I need to buy oats,” he said.
Without looking up from her work she said, “There’s a store opposite the courthouse.”
“Thanks. Have you seen Deadeye Dobbs?”
“Who the hell is he?”
“Never mind.”
“Would you like some breakfast before you go?”
“No thanks—I wish I had time.”
Leaving his horse, he went up the hill to the wooden courthouse. Across the square was a smaller building with a roughly painted sign saying “Seed Merchant.” It was locked up, but in an outhouse at the back he found a half-dressed man shaving. “I need to buy oats,” he said again.
“And I need a shave.”
“I’m not going to wait. Sell me two sacks of oats now or I’ll get them at the South River ford.”
Grumbling, the man wiped his face and led Mack into the store.
“Any strangers in town?