Free Chasing the North Star by Robert Morgan Page B

sight. He seemed to have reached a stretch of still, level water, with few trees on the banks. As he paddled he could watch the moon and the stars above. A dog howled in the distance. He saw lights on the hill to his left. There were so many lights it must have been a town.
    The boat scooted along the still water, and from time to time something scampered down the bank ahead and plunked into the stream. After walking all day and climbing the pine tree, it felt good to rest on the seat of the little boat. His arms did all the work, guiding and pulling the paddle. He crossed his legs and almost knelt in the shallow boat, which nudged weeds here and a sandbar there. It was the easiest traveling he’d done yet, gliding over the water. He wished he could float and paddle all the way to the North. He wished he could get in a current that would sweep him hundreds of miles away from the posse with torches, from Mr. Williams with his black snake whip.
    The creek made a slight turn and Jonah saw a light ahead, and it seemed to be out in the middle of the stream. He quit paddling and drifted, straining his eyes to see the light better. Had somebody from the posse ridden out ahead and now lay waiting for him around a bend in the creek?
    It seemed that on either side of the creek there were open fields and no trees to hide in. He stopped the boat and listened. He heard no voices. He would sit in the boat and wait to see what happened. He could try to paddle back upstream, but that would be hard, and there were no woods to scramble into.
    Jonah pushed the boat to the bank and pulled it up on the sand, working as quietly as he could. The bank was covered with briars and vines, and they tore at his clothes as he climbed to the edge of the field. From there the light ahead was hidden by brush, and he walked ahead as quietly as he could, watching for the light.
    Keeping a clump of brush between himself and the light, he tiptoed up as close as he dared. He expected to see men with shotguns and torches, but instead he spied an old man wearing a straw hat and holding a fishing pole. The man was barefoot, and Jonah saw he was a black man. The man was so still Jonah thought he might be asleep. He held the long bamboo pole out over the still water of the creek. And then Jonah saw the pipe in the man’s mouth and smoke curling past the hat brim.
    â€œHowdy,” Jonah said.
    The old man turned to look at him, his eyes reflecting the lantern light. “Now ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the old man said.
    â€œWhat creek is this?” Jonah said.
    â€œThis be Mud Creek, I reckon,” the old man said.
    â€œAnd where does Mud Creek go?”
    â€œGo to the French Broad, and don’t ax me where that go ’cause I don’t know, ’cept maybe it go to the ocean.”
    â€œDoes the French Broad run north?” Jonah said.
    â€œBoy, you ax a lot of questions,” the old man said. He looked at Jonah like he was trying to remember his face. “Ain’t seen you ’round these parts before,” he added.
    Jonah figured he’d better not say any more. The old man would not believe his lies, and it would be foolish to tell him the truth.
    â€œReckon you could use some cornpone,” the old man said. He unwrapped a cake of cornbread from brown paper and handed it to Jonah. Jonah took a bite of the pone. Nothing he’d ever put in his mouth had tasted better. The bread had cracklings in it and tasted like gravy.
    â€œFish ain’t biting no-how,” the old man said and stood up. He knocked the ashes from his pipe and raised the fishing pole until the hook baited with worms swung back within reach. Stripping the bait off the hook, he wrapped the line around the tip of the pole and stuck the hook into a joint of the bamboo.
    â€œYou be careful, boy,” the old man said and picked up the lantern. He seemed in a hurry to get away, and Jonah guessed it was because he didn’t