Trail of Hope (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) Read Online Free

other reaction amid these men. “Chief Ross is right. The Cherokee do not want the same fate as the Choctaw. If the Cherokee are forced to march, many more will die.”
    He turned on his heel to leave, not waiting for a response. Ross clapped him on his shoulder in passing but didn’t say anything. Clay walked from the building chased by the sounds of arguing, of Ross trying to reason with the stubborn men. He understood. The Choctaw leaders had responded in much the same way. No one asked his opinion, but he believed the best action would be to organize and plan, with enough supplies for everyone. One thing he knew: the Cherokee could rely on the consistency of the United States government in their treatment of Indians—to the detriment of the tribes.
    He grabbed the reins and mounted the bay, setting a slow pace. His thoughts wandered back to the beautiful girl he’d seen at the fort near New Echota. Her haunted eyes pulled at something deep inside him—something he’d thought lost. The longer she held his gaze, the more he had wanted to stay.
    When the bay stumbled over the rocky ground, he realized the slow pace wasn’t enough. He stopped and made camp for the night. The heat from his small fire felt good in the night’s cold air. Clay turned the skewered quail, his mouth watering at the smell of roasting meat. After several failed attempts, he’d managed to kill the small bird with his blowgun. He looked forward to meat again, after finishing the last of his aunt’s venison jerky days ago. A few hours that morning had been sufficient to replenish his berry and nut supplies, as he’d found several muscadine vines and an abundance of hickory nuts. Once he met with John Ross and the Cherokee Committee, he would take the time to hunt game for the long trip home.
    As he stirred the wood, a weak flame flickered deep inside the pile, bouncing higher as it drank in the crisp night air. He lay back on the hard ground and listened to crickets chirping back and forth to each other as his thoughts returned to the council. Watching the thin film of smoke curling into the night sky, a bad feeling churned in his gut. He dreaded the approaching turmoil between the soldiers and the Cherokee. The only somewhat comforting thought was that he could now continue searching for the men who’d killed his family. His eyes closed and the tightness in his muscles loosened, slowly relaxing from his weeks on a horse.
    A faint crack sounded to his left. Before he could move, the cold bite of a knife blade pressed into his throat, making it hard to swallow. The smell of sour sweat and tobacco wafted over him, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably. The only visible part of his attacker was a tattered, dark blue sleeve, with part of the frayed gold trim dangling where the stitches had been pulled out, and a filthy light blue pant leg and muddy boots. Clay wondered whether the soldier ever bathed.
    “What…?” he spit, then growled when a fiery burn moved across his neck as the soldier pushed the knife deeper into his skin.
    “You gonna be sorry, injun. Should’ve turned yerself in with them others,” the soldier groused. He pulled Clay’s upper body off the ground as he moved backward. The soldier’s harsh tug pushed his chin higher and made breathing difficult.
    “Hey, Joel! Git over here an’ help me tie ’im up.”
    “I’m a comin’!” Joel yelled from behind.
    Clay waited to see what they were going to do, knowing he had to try to get away before their ropes took away any chance for freedom. Joel, who looked to be about twenty and just as grimy as the other man, squatted at his feet with a rope in his hands. Before the soldier could tie his ankles together, Clay kicked, striking his arm. He used the distraction of the kid’s high-pitched squeal to twist out of the first soldier’s hold. Unfortunately, when he tried rolling to his feet, the larger man’s fist knocked his head sideways. His head dropped back to the