As any good hunter must, he heard the two Englishwomen long before he saw them. Not that they were being excessively noisy. In fact, it seemed to Uncas that they were probably trying to move quietly through the woods. Their words came at infrequent intervals and were hushed, and they made not as much sound as they might have were they males. Uncas had seen British soldiers before and had not yet met a one whose woodland skills he could confidently recommend.
He watched and waited for a while, bemused, his senses alert because there could be no good reason why two white women were in this area unaccompanied. Still, it was pure curiosity that motivated him to stay and not any sense of philanthropy. Nathaniel, who had earlier jested with him about coming home empty-handed the previous few days, would surely be intrigued by this find!
Uncas crouched, the position as natural to him as sitting was for some men, and waited for them to make their way to him. He was armed with a long rifle, bow and arrows, several knives, and a small but deadly hatchet. Not that he imagined he would have to use any of them, but it was within the realm of possibility that the women were some kind of trap. This was bordering on Huron territory, and while he was fairly sure no one knew he was here, it was not impossible for the hunter himself to become the hunted. So he waited.
When the women were only a few steps away from his hiding spot, and he had ascertained that there were no others within shouting distance of them, he rose quietly and stepped out.
He wasn't sure how he had expected them to react. He was fully dressed (he had heard of this foible of white women, fear of man's natural state, from his father), his stance was not threatening, and he bore none of his weapons aloft. For a moment, they stared at each other. The older one had eyes like black ice. She was scared, but more than that, angry. The one who cringed behind her, a child he thought on first glance, was terrified. Skin white as snow. Both of them were soaked and dirty and clearly in need of assistance.
He smiled. It was not an expression his people commonly used with each other, but he had grown up with a white brother, and Chingachgook had educated him in most of the manners of the Yengeese.
The older one stiffened and drew the younger one fully behind her. Uncas showed her his palms in what he assumed they would know was a pacificatory gesture. "You are English," he said, in what to him was a simple statement of the obvious. She must have perceived it as a question. Her eyebrows drew together in a slight, wary frown. "Yes. You are...?"
"My name is..." He hesitated briefly, wondering if he should use their word--Fox--for his name or give it in the original. He decided on the latter. "Uncas. Of the Wolf people; Mohegans. This is my people's ground, although the Huron are also here. Are you hurt?" He couldn't see any evident sign of injury, at least not on the one in front, but he had to know what he was dealing with before making any decisions. All he could see of the younger one was big grey eyes and a mess of pale hair and ridiculous-looking skirts.
The older one shook her head. "Only tired and thirsty." She hesitated, then drew the younger one slightly to her side. "Can you help us?"
Clearly it cost her an effort to say this, and he noticed she didn't meet his eyes at the exact moment of asking.
"Are you being followed?"
"I don't know."
"What are your names? Who--" he thought for a moment and then concluded, "Who do you belong to?"
"I'm Cora and this is my sister Alice. Our father is Colonel George Munro, now at Fort Oswego. We were traveling from Albany with an escort of ten men but..." her voice faltered and failed. Uncas could see the details would have to wait till he got them to relative safety.
"Come," he said then, reaching for her arm, and after a moment she, and the young one trailing after her, followed him.
Dusk was not long off, and had Uncas been alone, running, he could easily have made it back to his father's cabin before the sun sank too far beneath the trees, but with two exhausted and stumbling women to guide he knew they had better not attempt it. Instead, he took them as far as they seemed able to go, found a good location for them to camp and for him to keep watch, and they settled there. For nourishment, he gave them strips of dried meat he carried with him as part of his provisions, of which he had plenty. He was used to spending days away from the cabin at a time, as were both his father and adopted brother. Both Cora and Alice initially looked askance at the weathered offerings but, once he demonstrated chewing a piece, their obvious hunger clearly assuaged any misgivings they might have still had about the origins of the meat.
And so it was thus that night in the forest came upon them. The sisters huddled together on the ground, occasionally murmuring to one another. Uncas took up guard not far away. The younger one was evidently still frightened of him and he didn't want to worry her needlessly, but he wasn't going to be more than a few bounds out of reach either, in case they were in fact being followed. He did not attempt to strike up any conversation with them, but he watched them, intrigued by their dissimilarity--not just their dissimilarity to him, which was of course great, but their dissimilarity to each other.
Nathaniel would know what to do with them. Throughout the night as doubt occasionally assailed him he repeated this thought in his head.
He was not tired. Sleep, like hunger, was something he could put off until such a time as it was more convenient to him to deal with. The women, however, were obviously exhausted, and despite the damp hard ground and whatever other discomforts they were dealing with, had fallen asleep within an hour or so after having eaten and settled down. They lay not exactly in an embrace but Alice had her head pillowed on Cora's arm and the older sister had her other arm curved protectively around the girl as if she were a child. She was a child, Uncas thought, although now that he could see her closely, not as young as he'd initially thought. Just frail and unused to work. A winter baby, perhaps. He himself had seen nineteen strong summers, with each one growing stronger and healthier, able to keep up with and sometimes surpass Nathaniel, who was two years his senior.
The night remained silent and free of threat, with only the normal forest sounds, muted somewhat. There was a light wind stirring the trees, which were in full foliage now. He had thought to be back home by now with a fresh kill to show for his absence, but as he looked down at the strangers who had prevented that he couldn't muster up any irritation. Cora's form was partially shadowed by the bushes at her side, but a shaft of moonlight was coming down directly on Alice's shoulder, gleaming off the pale fabric of her dress. How could they move at all in such things? He wondered if it was an indication the British preferred their women useless and dependent. His own people believed a woman to be capable as a man when it was required, even if that capability was limited in the sphere in which it could operate.
As soon as morning dawned, its grey light creeping through the forest and giving just enough illumination to see by, Uncas roused Cora by a hand on her shoulder. She stirred and woke, her eyes blank with a lack of recognition for a few moments. Then, with an effort, she scrambled up, pulling a drowsy Alice along with her.
He told them, "We've got to keep moving."
"Where are we going?" Cora tried to restore some order to her impossibly tangled hair and gave up within moments.
For all her dirt-streaked face and dark-circled eyes, there was an inherent dignity about her, Uncas thought. "Somewhere you'll be safe."
Those were the last words they exchanged until mid-morning, when they arrived back at the cabin.
Nathaniel was outside, struggling to reconstruct the pair of A-frames that they used for training vegetable vines along. Earlier that week the frames had come down in a minor storm and it appeared he had only just gotten around to setting them back up. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard them approach, turned back to the frames and then looked back a second time.
Uncas greeted his brother in Mohegan. "Hard at work, I see."
Nathaniel's brows drew together in inquiry as he took in the sight of the two young white women. "Where did you find them?"
"By the river." Aware of Cora stiffening, probably because she didn't like them conversing in front of her in a language she couldn't understand, he switched to English. "Where's Father?"
"Went after that deer you didn't get." Nathaniel carefully set the A-frame up against a tree and wiped hands on his buckskin leggings, identical to the ones Uncas was wearing. "You two are way off course, by the looks of things."
Cora faced him. "You're not..."
"Indian?" She could have been forgiven for thinking so, Uncas knew, because his adopted brother not only had long black hair, but his skin was also deeply tanned, though it lacked the copper undertones of the Mohegan people. But it was his piercingly blue eyes that gave him away. "No."
"I am Cora Munro, and this is my younger sister, Alice."
"Nathaniel." He gave just the slightest inclination of his head.
Cora shot a doubtful glance at Uncas. "Your...friend? Said we would be safe here."
"Safe," Nathaniel repeated. "My brother--" he emphasized the word for her benefit "--is optimistic. Well, why don't you two go in the cabin and--" he waved a dismissive hand. "Rest. I can't pretend we have all the latest British niceties, but there's water in the basin and a fire on."
The two women evidently thought that in whatever state of disrepair the cabin might be in, it was preferable to another minute spent outdoors in their current state of dishevelment, and promptly did as he suggested, retreating into the house.
Uncas set down his weapons and fiddled for a moment with the catch of his long rifle, avoiding Nathaniel's challenging gaze. Finally he met it. "Brother, what?"
"You brought them here?"
Rhetorical questions weren't a natural part of Uncas's language, but he understood. "I couldn't leave them. You know what would have happened when they were found--"
Nathaniel cut him off with a quick dismissive grunt. "That wouldn't have been our problem. Now--" he pointed a finger in the younger man's direction "--it is."
"It's not a big problem. They were on their way to Oswego. Their father must have sent for them. We can take them back. Might take a week."
"Might take a month."
"Not if you and Father come with me."
"Uncas..."
"Well, they can't stay here with us, can they?"
"No." Nathaniel sighed and ran a hand along a scratchy jaw. "No, they can't."
Uncas picked up his things again and took them towards the small workshed that adjoined the cabin. His rifle needed to be cleaned and adjusted--it had misfired a couple of times over the past few days. Nathaniel followed him in. "Just say it."
"What?" His back to his brother, he began dismantling some of the outer parts of the weapon.
"You brought them here because you thought it would mean something to me."
"Why would it mean anything to you?"
"Because they're English. They're white. You thought--" Nathaniel's voice raised, accusing. "You thought I'd be happy to see them."
"Yeah." Uncas turned around, a flicker of anger, an emotion that was rare to him, igniting now. "I did. When's the last time you saw a white woman?"
"Same as you. Sarah Webb."
Sarah had been the wife of a soldier-turned-farmer. They were a young couple that had lived several days' travel from their current location, but their cabin had recently been torched by raiding tribes in alliance with the French. Nathaniel himself had made the discovery. Uncas immediately regretted asking the question, knowing what sort of scene his brother must have beheld on that day, and knowing what lay even further back in his brother's memories. For a few moments, neither of them said anything.
"I'll help you bring them back," Nathaniel said finally, quietly. He turned towards the entry of the shed, paused on his way out. "But don't you forget--they are not like us. They are not like me."
Uncas gazed after him, wondering when Nathaniel had gotten so defensive about his heritage. It was unnatural for a man to be ashamed of where he came from.