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enough to the ground that allowed me to jump up and grab it with both hands.  After pulling up the rest of my body, I carefully made my way to the other side of the tree and onto the large limb hanging over High Street.  I stood on the branch and looked behind me.  No carriage yet.
    All I could do now was wait.  I glanced down at the boulder Gordon was supposed to be hiding behind.  The fact I was unable to see him gave me a brief sensation of panic, but then I remembered his total concealment was exactly what we were aiming for.  I checked my chest once more to make certain that I had two pistols strapped there and ready to fire.  If things went as planned, there would be no reason to fire either of the weapons, but I wouldn’t hesitate to do so if it became necessary.  Lastly, I took a moment to adjust the tricorn atop my head.  I wanted to make sure it was as snug as possible; this little mission wouldn’t be considered a success in my mind if I lost it.     
    While waiting, my thoughts drifted to Captain Winston Trimble.  Finding the elusive captain would be difficult and very dangerous.  I’d never met the man, but I, like many others, had heard countless stories about him.  Legend has it that Captain Trimble doesn’t feel pain—emotional or physical.  It made my blood run cold to think of a man that my pistol wouldn’t slow down; I’d never encountered any man like that before.  I hoped the stories I’d heard about him being unable to feel pain were nothing more than legend. 
    Sailors tremble at the sight of Captain Trimble .  That was the catchy phrase worked in during almost any conversation regarding the ruthless captain.  I’d heard stories about sailors committing suicide as soon as they spotted the red flag flying proudly above the Sea Witch on the horizon.  I can’t say that I blame them.  Better to leave this world on your own terms than in the sick and demented ways Captain Trimble would have you go.   
    I felt a sudden jab of pain on my left hand, the result of a pebble Gordon had thrown to get my attention.  I looked down at him and saw that he was motioning for me to look back.  Before I even had time to whirl around, I could hear the clip-clop clip-clop of hooves approaching. 
    I quickly got into position; my heart began to race as I realized I’d only have one chance to get this right.  One mistake and the armed guards would easily kill me.  I glanced back at the approaching carriage once more and realized that I needed to move a few feet to the left or I’d miss it entirely.  It was hard to make myself tiptoe briskly across the limb, but I made myself do it and managed to keep hidden all at the same time. 
    Two horses, side by side, trotted under me, immediately followed by the two guards seated on a red leather cushion.  I reached outward for a sturdy, low-hanging branch a few feet in front of me and then carefully swung forward, landing quietly onto the roof of the prison carriage as it simultaneously rolled beneath me.
    Just as I crouched down, the carriage began to slow.  Glancing ahead, I noticed a drunken, filthy man stumble into the dusty road.  The carriage came to an abrupt halt. 
      “Get out of the way, you blundering fool,” one of the guards commanded harshly.
    The ‘blundering fool’ he was referring to was Gordon, of course. 
    Gordon slurred an incoherent response, raised his fist at the guards in defiance, and then passed out on the road; an empty bottle of rum fell from his hand and spun into the middle of the road.  The other guard seemed amused, and began to chuckle.  The first guard spoke again and his tone remained harsh. Although he seemed to believe Gordon’s performance was authentic, it was clear he found no humor in it. 
      “I said get out of the way, fool!” he said again.
    Gordon remained still.
      “If you don’t get out of the way, I’ll throw you in the back of this carriage,” he barked.