"Let's head for Indian country," Colin suggested. Jon, in the lead, took
the left fork in the path and counted heads as everyone passed by.
"All present and accounted for, Tucker."
"All right, boys, let's be quiet and maybe we'll happen upon a party
of Indians. They have ears that can pick up a noise anywhere in the island
and they usually avoid us unless they have a good reason not to. But if we
don't see any, we can still go to their camp. There are bound to be a
bunch of Indians there." Erin tried to walk silently, avoiding the snap of
a stepped-on stick and the thump of a carelessly dislodged pebble like the
other lost boys, but it seemed that the harder she tried, the more noise
she made.
"Don't worry about it, Erin," Todd whispered shyly. "It takes a
while to pick up the Indian tracking techniques, but you'll get it."
"Don't think about not making noise," Samuel added, "Just try to
think about making silence. Don't think about not stepping on dry leaves
and sticks that will crack, but think about stepping on places where it
won't make a sound." Erin shook her head and kept walking, sounding like a
lost elephant among a posse of ghosts. Gradually, the scenery started to
change. The palm trees were replaced by evergreens and maples, and instead
of foreign ferns, Erin saw more plants that she recognized, like the
raspberry bush by the side of the path. Erin couldn't resist plucking off
a few ripe, red berries, and their familiarity made her feel just a little
bit more sure that Neverland was solid and real. The ground was different,
too: instead of sandy soil it was dark red-brown and rich.
"This is Indian territory," Winston explained. "We'll be able to see all
the Indians, and the chief, and T."
"Tiger Lilly?" she interrupted. The boy looked amazed.
"Wow. How did you know that?" He stopped in his tracks. "How do you
know about her?"
"I read about it." Winston looked puzzled. "Read about it? Where?"
She realized that they probably didn't know there was a book about them. Wait a minute, she thought. Them? What is wrong with me? This is only a dream. "Well," she began, "See, back in the. regular world, you see, there was a book published about Peter Pan and all his adventures. They even made movies about it. And Wendy, Michael and John, too."
"That idiot!" Samuel whispered loudly, clenching his fist. "He wasn't supposed to tell anyone about this place. Or about us. Or about anything! Now people will flood into this place, by the Millions! Our land will be ruined."
"I wouldn't worry about it," she explained, "the book is at least fifty years old, and no one has shown up so far. Everyone considers it make-believe. Except me." It took a minute to grasp what she had just said. Except me? What am I saying, that I believe all this hogwash? I wish it were true so much, though. "But what about Peter? I mean, Peter Pan? Whatever happened to him that he isn't here?" Erin inquired. Samuel and Winston both looked around nervously. "Tucker's watching us.we'll tell you about it later." whispered Samuel, but this time it was a whisper of secrecy, not silence for tracking. Tucker plucked a few raspberries off of a conveniently placed bush and motioned the boys to stop. "Well, boys, I guess we should turn around and take the path to the Indian camp. They don't seem." Tucker was suddenly wrestled to the ground by a tall, bronze-skinned man. He screamed and cursed at him. "Indian attack!" all the boys screamed together. She didn't know what to do. Suddenly, a tidal wave of tall Indians streamed out of the trees, and the hatred backed by icy fear in their eyes couldn't be make-believe. Some were carrying bows and arrows; others had long spears with sharp tips glinting in the sun. As an arrow screamed by, missing Erin's head by inches, Erin felt the last shreds of a veil of her own belief that it was only a dream, a make-believe imagining falling away. The arrow lodged itself deep in a tree and Erin felt a wave of panic rising inside her. She shoved the panic down back into a tiny, controlled not at the bottom of her stomach and tried to think clearly. "Get down!" Erin shouted. The boys disappeared into the tall grass. With trembling fingers, she reached into the pocket of the pants. Inside laid a slingshot and sharp, tiny stones. She pressed the point of a stone against her thumb, and a tiny red drop appeared. "Perfect," Erin murmured. "Slingshots! Then, back into the trees. There are too many of them!" Soon the air was filled not only with the Indian's ghostly, chilling war cries but tiny sharp missiles that rarely missed their mark. A few Indians retreated, but most just shot their arrows faster. "Into the trees! Climb up into the trees!" Erin hissed. The boys followed her into the trees, scrambling up the trunks. Erin heard a sharp groan, and saw Tucker kneeling at the base of the tree. "Tucker! Come on!" she cried. "Can't . . . leg . . . Indians . . . they shot me in the leg . . ." Tucker whispered in pain before passing out on the ground.
"Tiger Lilly?" she interrupted. The boy looked amazed.
"Wow. How did you know that?" He stopped in his tracks. "How do you
know about her?"
"I read about it." Winston looked puzzled. "Read about it? Where?"
She realized that they probably didn't know there was a book about them. Wait a minute, she thought. Them? What is wrong with me? This is only a dream. "Well," she began, "See, back in the. regular world, you see, there was a book published about Peter Pan and all his adventures. They even made movies about it. And Wendy, Michael and John, too."
"That idiot!" Samuel whispered loudly, clenching his fist. "He wasn't supposed to tell anyone about this place. Or about us. Or about anything! Now people will flood into this place, by the Millions! Our land will be ruined."
"I wouldn't worry about it," she explained, "the book is at least fifty years old, and no one has shown up so far. Everyone considers it make-believe. Except me." It took a minute to grasp what she had just said. Except me? What am I saying, that I believe all this hogwash? I wish it were true so much, though. "But what about Peter? I mean, Peter Pan? Whatever happened to him that he isn't here?" Erin inquired. Samuel and Winston both looked around nervously. "Tucker's watching us.we'll tell you about it later." whispered Samuel, but this time it was a whisper of secrecy, not silence for tracking. Tucker plucked a few raspberries off of a conveniently placed bush and motioned the boys to stop. "Well, boys, I guess we should turn around and take the path to the Indian camp. They don't seem." Tucker was suddenly wrestled to the ground by a tall, bronze-skinned man. He screamed and cursed at him. "Indian attack!" all the boys screamed together. She didn't know what to do. Suddenly, a tidal wave of tall Indians streamed out of the trees, and the hatred backed by icy fear in their eyes couldn't be make-believe. Some were carrying bows and arrows; others had long spears with sharp tips glinting in the sun. As an arrow screamed by, missing Erin's head by inches, Erin felt the last shreds of a veil of her own belief that it was only a dream, a make-believe imagining falling away. The arrow lodged itself deep in a tree and Erin felt a wave of panic rising inside her. She shoved the panic down back into a tiny, controlled not at the bottom of her stomach and tried to think clearly. "Get down!" Erin shouted. The boys disappeared into the tall grass. With trembling fingers, she reached into the pocket of the pants. Inside laid a slingshot and sharp, tiny stones. She pressed the point of a stone against her thumb, and a tiny red drop appeared. "Perfect," Erin murmured. "Slingshots! Then, back into the trees. There are too many of them!" Soon the air was filled not only with the Indian's ghostly, chilling war cries but tiny sharp missiles that rarely missed their mark. A few Indians retreated, but most just shot their arrows faster. "Into the trees! Climb up into the trees!" Erin hissed. The boys followed her into the trees, scrambling up the trunks. Erin heard a sharp groan, and saw Tucker kneeling at the base of the tree. "Tucker! Come on!" she cried. "Can't . . . leg . . . Indians . . . they shot me in the leg . . ." Tucker whispered in pain before passing out on the ground.