A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [173]
Mack tasted blood. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t know I might as well have the satisfaction of shooting you through the head!”
Mack realized Jay meant it. Sweat broke out all over him. He felt the impulse to beg for his life but he clamped his teeth together.
Peg screamed: “No—don’t shoot—please!”
Jay pointed the rifle at Mack’s head. His voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “This is for all the times you’ve defied me!” he screamed.
Mack looked into his face and saw murder in his eyes.
Lizzie lay belly down on a grassy tuft behind a rock, with her rifle in her hand, waiting.
She had picked her spot the night before, after inspecting the riverbank and seeing the footprints and droppings of deer. As the light strengthened she watched, lying dead still, waiting for the animals to come to drink.
Her skill with a rifle was going to keep them alive, she reckoned. Mack could build a house and clear fields and sow seed, but it would be at least a year before they could grow enough to last them through a winter. However, there were three big sacks of salt among their supplies. Lizzie had often sat in the kitchen of High Glen House watching Jeannie, the cook, salting hams and haunches of venison in big barrels. She knew how to smoke fish, too. They would need plenty: the way she and Mack were behaving, there would be three to feed before a year passed. She smiled happily.
There was a movement in the trees. A moment later a young deer came out of the woods and stepped daintily to the water’s edge. Bending its head, it stuck out its tongue and began to drink.
Lizzie cocked the flintlock of her rifle silently.
Before she could aim, another deer followed the first, and within a few moments there were twelve or fifteen of them. If all the wilderness is like this, Lizzie thought, we’ll grow fat!
She did not want a big deer. The horses were fully loaded and could not carry spare meat, and anyway the younger animals were more tender. She picked her target and took aim, pointing the rifle at its shoulder just over the heart. She breathed evenly and made herself still, the way she had learned back in Scotiand.
As always, she suffered a moment of regret for the beautiful animal she was about to destroy.
Then she pulled the trigger.
The shot came from farther up the valley, two or three hundred yards away.
Jay froze, his gun still pointed at Mack.
The horses started, but the shot was too distant to give them a serious scare.
Dobbs brought his mount under control then drawled: “If you shoot now, Jamisson, you’ll warn her and she could get away.”
Jay hesitated, then slowly lowered his gun.
Mack sagged with relief.
Jay said: “I’ll go after her. The rest of you stay here.”
Mack realized that if only he could warn her, she might yet escape. He almost wished Jay had shot him. It might have saved Lizzie.
Jay left the clearing and headed upstream, gun held ready.
I have to make one of them fire, Mack realized.
There was an easy way to do that: run away.
But what if I’m hit?
I don’t care, I’d rather die than be recaptured.
Before caution could weaken his resolve he broke into a run.
There was a moment of stunned silence before anyone realized what was happening.
Then Peg screamed.
Mack ran for the trees, expecting a bullet to slam into his back.
There was a bang, followed by another.
He felt nothing. The shots had missed him.
Before more shots came he stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in the air.
He had done it. He had given Lizzie her warning.
He turned slowly, keeping his hands up. It’s up to you now, Lizzie, he thought. Good luck, my love.
Jay stopped when he heard shooting. It had come from behind him. It was not Lizzie who had fired, but someone back in the clearing. He waited, but there was no more gunfire.
What did it mean? McAsh could hardly have got hold of a weapon and loaded it. Anyway,