A cry split the morning, and Sun Conch spun around.
High Fox lay on the beach breathing in short gasps, his hands clawing at the sand. Mournful sounds came from his lips, desperate sounds, like those of an animal caught in a trap.
She folded her arms and hugged herself.
He cried out again, and bolted upright, panting.
“I’m here,” Sun Conch called softly, and headed toward him. “You’re safe. I’ve been keeping watch all night, as I said I would.”
High Fox seemed to deflate. His shoulders hunched forward and he rubbed shaking hands over his face. “Blessed Spirits, I—I dreamed that my father was hunting me. That he had joined forces with old Hunting Hawk to find me.” He pulled his hands away and gazed at them as though he’d never seen them before. “They cut off my hands, Sun Conch. Both of them. Hunting Hawk cut them off, then my father threw them into the ocean. Wh-what an awful dream. My blood flooded our village. My entire clan drowned in it.”
Sun Conch stood awkwardly, uncertain how to respond. “You didn’t kill her, High Fox. No one is going to hurt you.” He exhaled hard, said, “I pray you’re right,” and stared out at the shining water.
“I promise you that he will come, High Fox. I will make him. Together, we will prove your innocence.”
Sun Conch turned toward her uncle’s dugout canoe, and High Fox got to his feet. He stood for a moment, and seemed to be bracing himself, then walked toward her.
“Sun Conch, please, go carefully. This is a dangerous task. It may cost both our lives.”
“No gain comes without an equal amount of loss.” She pushed the canoe off the sand and into the water.
“Wait. One moment, please.” He trotted to his own canoe, and drew out his bow, war club, and quiver, then hurried back and handed them to her.
“No, High Fox. You will need your weapons, I—”
“I will make new ones.” He thrust them at her. “You always wanted to be a warrior.”
Sun Conch reluctantly took them, surprised by the weight of the war club. “We must hurry, High Fox. It will be light soon. My relatives will be coming down for water and wood. And the sooner we begin this journey, the sooner it will end.” ‘
“I know. I just…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hesitating; then, as if he’d made a decision, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “Sun Conch, listen to me. Just for a time, don’t say anything. I think sometimes that you know me better than I know myself, and so I—I’m sure you are worried that I did not tell you everything last night.” She twisted in his arms, wanting to respond, but he tightened his hold, said, “Hush, please. I want you to know that I will tell you. Not now, but soon. When I can. Will you trust me?”
“I trust you. I do not understand, but I trust you. If I am your best friend, as you say, then why can’t I know?”
“I can’t tell anyone, Sun Conch.” He stroked her hair. “I can’t even talk to my own soul about it. Not yet. Perhaps in a few days I will be brave enough. Then, I will tell you.”
Sun Conch sighed and nodded. “I have to go. I have much to do today. A long way to go.”
He gradually slackened his hold on her, and she stepped out of his arms and turned toward her uncle’s canoe. She waded out into knee-deep icy water, and pulled the canoe off the sand. It rocked and bobbed in the incoming swells.
She stepped into the boat and rested the weapons on the gunwales.
High Fox pushed the dugout into deeper water, and gave it a hard shove. “Be cautious, Sun Conch. You know he’s dangerous!” he called after her. “There is no telling how he will greet you. Keep your bow ready!”
“Look for me in two days,” she said, and dipped her paddle to send the slim canoe forward. “I’ll meet you at the place we agreed upon.”
“Sun Conch?” High Fox shouted. “You carry my soul in your hands. Hurry back to me!”
The words to me lingered in her heart as she guided the dugout along the shoreline, past the fields and patches of woods, and into the main channel of Fish River. Dawn’s light shimmered from the green water and painted the tree-covered shores with patches of pale blue.
“I will save him,” she told the gulls that fluttered around the canoe. “He did not kill Red Knot. I know he didn’t.”
A big white gull dived at her, squawking and flapping its wings. When Sun Conch looked up, she found the bird peering at her through one skeptical eye.
She took two more strokes with her paddle, and inhaled a deep breath of the salty morning air. As she paddled out beyond the wide mouth of the Fish River, The Panther’s island, small and wooded, made a hazy mound on the distant horizon across the choppy waters of Salt Water Bay.