Kings Pinnacle

by Robert Gourley

  “Save your wind, lad. We’ve got a ways to run!” shouted the Longhunter at Alex’s back, thinking that Alex would be spent soon.

  Alex heard the Longhunter and glanced back over his shoulder at him. He saw the large gap he had opened up ahead of the Longhunter, but he also saw a dozen or more of the warriors sprinting down the trail behind the Longhunter, and they were gaining on him. Alex thought he could probably outrun the pursuers, but he knew that the Longhunter couldn’t. So he slackened his pace and dropped back to run alongside the Longhunter.

  “Keep running toward the ferry, I’ll catch up to you,” panted Alex as he slowed his pace even further to fall behind the Longhunter.

  When the Longhunter was several strides ahead of him, Alex suddenly stopped and turned around to face the warriors. The braves were so completely caught off guard by the unexpected maneuver that they immediately stopped running and were staring at Alex, wondering what he was doing. As they stood there looking at him in astonishment, Alex let out a Scottish war whoop. He dropped to one knee, brought his rifle up to his shoulder and fired a shot into the chest of the brave closest to him, dropping him to the ground in the center of the trail. The sound of the shot caused the other braves to instinctively drop to the ground and to take cover as well. Alex jumped up while the warriors were still down and raced back toward the Longhunter, who was almost a quarter mile ahead of him by that time.

  The band was angered by the deception and recovered quickly. They were soon on their feet again, chasing after the two fleeing men. Before long, the warriors realized that even their fastest brave was no match for Alex’s speed, but they kept up the pursuit. Alex was still well behind the Longhunter when they approached the town of Williamsport and the ferry, but the band of braves was further back, still trying to catch up.

  The small community of Williamsport was first founded on the eastern bank of the Potomac River. At that time, there were very few houses and buildings on the east bank and the expansion of the community had not reached the west bank of the river at all. As Alex and the Longhunter approached the Potomac River, running as fast as they could, the ferry had just landed on the eastern bank and discharged a few passengers and livestock. The passengers and ferrymen had heard Alex’s rifle shot and the war hoops of the Iroquois and had stopped what they were doing. When they saw Alex and the Longhunter running through the middle of the town toward the ferry while being chased by the Iroquois warriors, they hastily re-boarded the ferry, both people and livestock. The townspeople quickly ran into their houses and stores when they saw the Iroquois chasing the two men down the town’s main street. Pulling down their shades, they locked their doors and hid, hoping the band would pass them by.

  As soon as the passengers and livestock were hurriedly loaded, the ferrymen who had pulled the ferry across the river immediately cast off the gangplank and began pulling the ferry back across the river towards the west bank of the Potomac, without waiting for Alex and the Longhunter. The gap between the east bank and the ferry was beginning to widen just as Alex caught up with the Longhunter. Both of them ran side-by-side the last few paces to the river bank and, without missing a stride, they simultaneously jumped from the river bank toward to the departing ferry.

  Alex’s leap landed him with both of his feet on the deck of the ferry. The Longhunter’s leap fell so short that he landed in the water. But he managed to grab the moving ferry deck with both hands after tossing his rifle onto the ferry. Alex dropped his rifle on the deck and lunged for the Longhunter’s hands holding on to the edge of the ferry deck. Just as Alex reached for him, the Longhunter’s hands slipped off the deck as his weight in the water dragged him away from the moving ferry, causing him to lose his grip. Alex’s hands closed over the Longhunter’s wrists just at the last second before the Longhunter’s head went under the water. With both hands free, Alex pulled the Longhunter out of the water and up onto the deck of the ferry.

  Gasping for air, they both lay on their backs on the ferry deck, side-by-side, totally winded from the long run and frantic leap.

  The Iroquois band stopped running after them when they saw that the two men had made it onto the ferry. The braves knew that they couldn’t swim the fast moving Potomac and catch Alex and the Longhunter on the ferry, so they gave up the chase. Turning around, they slowly headed back to where the Longhunter had left his horses and supplies.

  “Ye run like a hare, lad,” panted the Longhunter.

  “So I’ve been told,” replied Alex who was already regaining his breath.

  “I owe ye a life, Alex,” said the Longhunter.

  “You lost your horses and supplies,” said Alex, slightly embarrassed by the Longhunter’s statement.

  “They can be replaced, but ye can’t replace a life.”

  “Who were those warriors anyway?”

  “They’re part of an Iroquois band that lives northwest of Fort Cumberland. It’s unusual for them to roam this far to the east. Their leader is old Tinachock.”

  “Why did they attack us?” asked Alex rising up onto one elbow.

  “I’m not certain, but it could be because old Tinachock holds me responsible for the death of his daughter.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She was my wife; her name was Onatah. It means Earth Mother in their language,” said the Longhunter with a sigh, drowning in memories of his younger days and a wife and son that he had barely known.

  * * * *

  Samuel

  Samuel Ruskin and his two friends were seated at a table near the back of a small tavern close to the docks in Philadelphia. They had been sitting there for some time when a scruffy looking, buckskin-clad man got up from his chair and walked up to them.

  “Word has it that yer looking fer someone to guide you west,” said the stranger.

  “Maybe I am and maybe not,” replied Samuel.

  “You’re either looking or you’re not. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “Who told you I was looking for a guide?”

  “People talk.”

  “What people?”

  “Just people in general,” replied the sly stranger.

  “What makes you think you can guide me?”

  “I didn’t say I could; I asked if you were looking for a guide.”

  “You look like someone who might be a guide,” said Samuel as he eyed the man’s buckskin clothes and animal fur cap.

  “I might be and I might not,” said the stranger with an easy smile.

  “Look, this conversation is getting us nowhere,” said Samuel in an exasperated tone of voice. “What if I was looking for more than a guide? What if I was looking for someone who could help me trade with the Iroquois?”

  “Trade what?”

  “I have the kind of goods that the Iroquois want and need to make their lives easier.”

  “Exactly what kind of goods are ye talking about?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, maybe too many,” said Samuel dangerously.

  “When it comes to trading with the Iroquois, it’s best to know exactly what you’re getting into, if you value yer life,” said the stranger.

  “Are you willing to guide me?” asked Samuel.

  “Depends on what’s in it for me,” replied the stranger.

  “A small piece of the pie,” said Samuel, as he realized what kind of man he was dealing with.

  “I’ll take that and something up front for my trouble,” said the stranger.

  The stranger had been a scout for the Pennsylvania militia in his younger days, but he had been discharged for theft and now made his living by his wits as best as he could. He knew that Samuel Ruskin had been asking around town for a guide to lead him and his small party west to trade with the Iroquois. Based on the talk and who was passing it around, he guessed that it was either whiskey or guns. It didn’t matter to him which one it was as long as there was a coin to be made. So he found out where Samuel Ruskin was located and soon spotted him in the tavern. He had been drinking ale an
d eying Samuel and his two friends for some time before he walked up to their table. It didn’t take long in the conversation for him to realize what kind of man Samuel Ruskin was and that happened to be a man after his own heart.

  “What can I call you?” asked Samuel.

  “My name’s Tom Jenkins,” replied the scout as the two men shook hands and sat down to work out the details of their arrangement.

  * * * *

  Alex

  “Ye are welcome to bunk with me at my cabin west of Fort Cumberland for a while till ye figure out what ye want to do or where ye want to go, lad,” said the Longhunter.

  As soon as it had become clear the Iroquois band had retreated, the ferrymen had returned the ferry to Williamsport, again unloading the people and animals, this time including Alex and the Longhunter. Alex and the Longhunter had stayed in Williamsport for a couple of weeks while the Longhunter resupplied. The Longhunter talked to some of his old acquaintances and acquired two horses. He spent most of his coins at the dry goods store in Williamsport run by an Irish couple, Sean Kelly and his wife, purchasing a few items he could not beg or borrow to tide him over until he could hunt and trade again. The Longhunter had lost practically everything he owned to the Iroquois except his rifle and the clothes on his back. Since he had just been back east to trade his furs, he had enough coins in the pouch at his belt to pay for the horses and basic items that he needed. But he would have to get to hunting soon to replenish his stash of food and furs. Alex had dropped his rucksack back at the ambush site with his few possessions in it, but he still had his musket, powder horn, boot knife, dirk, and few coins in his pocket. While in Williamsport, Alex earned a few extra coins doing odd jobs for local merchants, so he could make a few necessary purchases. The Longhunter had previously done business with the Kellys, who had no children, and they gave the Longhunter and Alex good prices on their purchases.

  When they had acquired everything they could afford, Alex and the Longhunter once again set out on The Great Wagon Road, heading west out of Williamsport. They followed the main trail for about two miles and then left it to continue on westward along the banks of the Potomac. The Great Wagon Road turned south at this point on its way toward Winchester, Virginia, and away from the Longhunter’s cabin. Following the route along the banks of the Potomac River, the two men passed deeper into the virgin forest. They stopped briefly at Fort Cumberland to resupply and gather any news to be had. The local militia, called the Maryland Rangers, was permanently stationed at Fort Cumberland. Most of the Rangers were out on a patrol, so there was no major news to be learned. But the Longhunter had many friends at the fort, and he and Alex were well-received and well-fed during their visit there.

  They left the fort and rode further west toward the Longhunter’s cabin, with the Longhunter riding a dappled grey horse and Alex riding a sleek roan pony that was still a bit untamed. Those had been the only two horses for sale in Williamsport, and the Longhunter had been lucky to find them. The roan pony had been found wandering nearby and one of the town’s men had chased it down. Speculation around town was that it had belonged to an Iroquois who had met an untimely end. The pony was swift and reminded Alex of Hack. Alex wondered how Hack was doing back in Scotland. He also wondered how his bothers and father were getting along. He still missed them badly, but his new association with the Longhunter had helped fill the void and made him feel not quite so alone in America.

  “Looks like some smoke just o’er the tree line there,” said the Longhunter, pointing to the southwest, when the two men rode out from under the trees into a small clearing.

  “Anything over in that direction?” asked Alex.

  “There’s an Irish settler family just put up a cabin in that direction a few months back,” replied the Longhunter. “I was by their cabin a couple of times and traded with them a bit. They’re related to that Irish couple that owns the dry goods store in Williamsport.”

  “Maybe we should take a look,” stated Alex.

  They kicked their horses to a trot and veered off on some game trails to the southwest to see about the smoke. After a few miles of easy riding, they spotted the burned out cabin.

  “Looks like that same raiding party that we ran into at the ferry may have moved into this area or this might be the work of a different band. There’s a whole bunch of Iroquois bands that live west of Fort Cumberland,” said the Longhunter.

  “Let’s take a look and see if anybody survived the raid and the fire,” said Alex as he grabbed his reins and was just about to kick his pony forward.

  “Whoa, lad,” said the Longhunter lifting up his rifle and pulling the sheath off of it. “That raiding party might still be around. Let’s take it real cautious-like.”

  Alex pulled up his rifle also as the two men dismounted and slowly walked, leading their horses, up to the cabin. The fire was mostly out and the cabin was almost completely gutted, but still smoking. The smell of burned flesh led the two men to the bodies of the man and a woman who were about the same size. They were both burned beyond recognition inside the cabin.

  “There’s no sign of the Iroquois. I think they’ve gone,” said the Longhunter.

  “This is not what I was hoping to find,” said Alex, looking at the dead bodies.

  “What bothers me is what we didn’t find, lad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This couple had a daughter about your age,” said the Longhunter with a frown.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  Robert and Hugh

  “Robber, where’re all the soldiers?” asked Hugh.

  Robert shook his head as the two brothers slowly rode past the castle in the town of Stranraer. The medieval tower house, called the Castle of St. John, was located in the center of the village. It had been a military garrison during the Killing Times in the 1680s. The Killing Times were a period in Scottish history when the English government attempted to suppress the Presbyterian religion in Scotland by stamping out sedition using field executions without a trial. But these days the castle was no longer manned with a full garrison. It now contained a few safe-keeping troops who provided only a token military presence in the town. Since Stranraer was not a ferry port for cattle or passengers, the troops were not on high alert and were probably not looking for the two brothers.

  Robert and Hugh soon found their way to an empty table at an inn near the waterfront docks. One of the main sources of income for Stranraer was the fishing fleet. Each day the fishing boats left early in the morning to fish Loch Ryan. And they returned every evening to the docks where they were tied up for the night. The innkeeper was a tall, fat man wearing a short apron. He strolled up to their table with a dirty towel in his hand, wiping a tankard with it.

  “What can I do for ye lads?” asked the innkeeper.

  “We’re famous highwaymen, and we be looking for all the soldiers so we can turn ourselves in,” replied Hugh with a grin, having some fun with the innkeeper.

  “The Sheriff of Wigtown and the Lord Advocate are currently holding court in St. John’s. Will that do ye?” replied the innkeeper, wanting nothing to do with the levity.

  “In that case, we’d better have a pint of ale each before we ride over there and surrender to the sheriff,” said Hugh, still grinning at the innkeeper.

  The fat innkeeper gave Hugh an exasperated sneer and walked off to fetch the pints.

  “What do you think we ought to do?” asked Hugh, turning his head to look at Robert.

  “I think we ought to finish off our ale and then take a walk down by the docks,” said Robert.

  Robert and Hugh drank their pints slowly, paid the innkeeper, and then strolled out of the inn down to the docks, trying not to attract too much attention. As they walked along the docks, Robert observed the men and boys who were working there, evaluating each of them and either discarding them or filing them in his mind for future inquiry. The fishing fleet had just arrived and tied up at the docks, so there were a lot of men and boys mil
ling about unloading the day’s catch of fish. Robert finally selected an old fisherman who was repairing nets and walked up to him.

  “Guid Sir, I was wondering if I might be asking ye a question?” Robert queried the old fisherman.

  “Course ye can laddie,” replied the old man, stopping his work and turning toward Robert and Hugh.

  “Me brither and I are looking to hire a fishing boat to go out on the loch and I was wondering if ye might be able to direct us to a likely one?”

  “Aye, laddie, I might be able to help ye me self. Why do ye want to go out on the loch?” asked the old fisherman.

  “We thought about trying our luck at fishing,” said Robert meekly.

  “I see,” said the fisherman as he looked both ways to see if anyone was eavesdropping on the conversation.

  As a group of dockworkers and fishermen walked by, the old man said, “I’m sorry lads, but I can’t help ye,” in a loud voice, and he stuck out his hand to shake hands with Robert. Then, as he shook hands with Robert, the old fisherman leaned toward him so that his mouth was close to Robert’s ear.

  “Meet me on the tip of the Scar at midnight tonight and bring two pounds, all in coins,” whispered the old fisherman in Robert’s ear.

  Robert acted like he hadn’t heard the whisper, but as he turned away, he glanced toward the old man and gave him a slight nod, indicating to him that he had heard and was giving his assent. He and Hugh continued walking along the dock as if their task was not yet complete. After they had walked along the docks for a while, they turned and strolled back toward the inn.

  “What’s the Scar, Robber?” asked Hugh as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone.

  “I’ve heard of the Scar but have never seen it. It’s a mile long sandbank near the middle of the western shore of Loch Ryan, where the shore turns to the southwest. The Scar juts out into the loch almost due south from that point. It extends well out into the loch. It looks like the barb on a fishhook. It’s said that the Scar has caused many a shipwreck over the years. Most sailors wouldn’t expect it to be where it is and to extend so far out into the loch. The loch itself is supposed to be about eight miles long, and I’d say the Scar connects to the shore about four or five miles north of Stranraer. We would have to ride north along the west shore of the loch and when we get to the Scar, turn back to ride almost due south along it back out to the tip,” said Robert as they strolled toward the inn.