Free The Burying Ground by Janet Kellough

protect it from the blackjacks wielded by the two burly men who stood over her. One of the men kicked at the fallen figure, while the other watched, the sound of his laughter drowning out any noise of Luke’s approach.
    Luke chose to barrel into the laughing man at full speed. The man fell, the club in his hand making a graceful arc as it flew out of his hand. One kick to the body, and he rolled into a defensive ball, his head tucked and his legs pulled up. Luke turned in the direction of the other assailant, arm raised to ward off the anticipated blow of the blackjack, but to his surprise the woman on the ground leapt up and took advantage of the second man’s surprise to land a hard kick between his legs. The man doubled over, and Luke was able to step forward and rip the club out of his grasp. Then he scurried back a few paces, out of reach of either of the attackers. He stood, club at the ready.
    The man who had been kicked was in no condition to offer any resistance. He was moaning, his hands cupped over his injured genitals. The man Luke had tackled, however, uncurled himself, reached down into his boot, and pulled out a long, lethal-looking knife. Luke’s club would be no match for it.
    â€œRun,” he said to the woman, and when she hesitated, he was more insistent. “Go on, run and get help.” She turned then and ran toward the end of the alley, but before she could reach the street the yells from the crowd watching the fire grew suddenly louder and echoed down the low-roofed alley. It was enough to distract the man with the knife for just a moment, and in that time Luke let loose a swinging blow at his hand. The woman ran back, and between them she and Luke pulled the knife out the man’s grasp.
    They backed out of the alleyway, wary of another attack, but the man made no move to follow them. When they reached the street, Luke shoved the knife under his jacket and slid the club into his pocket, but there was no one to see them anyway. The street was deserted. Everyone had gone to watch the fire over on the next block.
    Now that he could see her in the light, Luke realized that the woman he had rescued was younger than he thought, a girl really, no more than eighteen or twenty, he judged. She was tall — almost as tall as he was — and slim, and her coffee-coloured skin stretched over high cheekbones below enormous brown eyes. She was, he thought, extraordinarily striking. She was also far more finely dressed than Luke, her dress beautifully cut and her boots made of fine leather.
    â€œOh,” she said, her hand patting her head,” I’ve lost my hat.” She took a step back toward the alley, but Luke stopped her.
    â€œWait a few minutes to make sure the alley is clear,” he said, “then I’ll go back and get it. I’ve left something behind, as well.” He had dropped Dr. Christie’s package of powders and bandages when he leapt to the rescue. “Who were those men anyway?”
    â€œCatchers,” she said, “from the States. They were trying to grab me so they could take me over the border and claim a bounty.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œBecause of the new law there. They claimed I was a runaway slave, and men like that are paid to track down runaways and take them back to their owners.”
    â€œBut this is Canada,” Luke protested. “They have no call to be here.”
    â€œNevertheless, they are,” she said, “and they aren’t fussy about who they grab up. Any old African will do, whether they’re freeborn or not. Thank you for your assistance. I’m Cherub, by the way.” She held out her hand.
    It was an odd name, Luke thought, but strangely appropriate for so beautiful a woman. He took the hand and shook it. “Lewis. Luke Lewis.”
    She nodded, but said nothing more as they waited until Luke judged it was safe to return to the alleyway. There was no sign of Cherub’s