Ironhawk (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series Book 6)

by Roy F. Chandler

  The scout chuckled grimly. "Even the best gunpowder settles out, and as a horn or keg lowers, the finer powder will gather at the bottom. Musket shooters need not care as they are fortunate to hit anything, anyway, but riflemen—at least real riflemen—judge carefully the texture of their powder. Large powder grains are not as powerful as fine grains if the same quantity is used."

  Quehana looked up to meet Ironhawk's eyes. "You should remember these things, Ironhawk, because during this hunt you may gain a musket of your own. I cannot be certain how many guns the Shawnee have, but they have more than one."

  Finally ready, Shatto studied the sky and held a moistened finger to the wind.

  "During the rain, the wind came mostly from the south. Did you notice that, oh Hawk?" Ironhawk was chagrined that he had not believed the detail important.

  Quehana continued. "If the Shawnee had a fire during the rain or early this morning we have not smelled its smoke. That could mean that their camp is not to our south. At least it is not to the south and close to us.

  "Now, the breeze is from the north, and there is strength to it. Still, there is no scent of smoke. Where then do we search?"

  Rob answered his own question. "We will use the wind by crossing the stream and moving well into the forest on the other side. We will turn then toward the river and be able to scent any smoke upwind from us. If we do not find smoke or tracks, we will move further from our stream and make the great circle I spoke about yesterday."

  Ironhawk was more than ready to move. His mind saw Bright Morning being marched steadily away, and every moment lost increased the Shawnees' chances of escaping their search.

  Quehana leaped the creek using exposed stones, but Ironhawk found the steps too wide, and his muscles were too stiff. He floundered to the other side making loud splashing that caused Quehana to wince.

  The Arrowmaker led into the woods for nearly a quarter of a mile before turning toward the river. There he paused to allow Ironhawk to catch his breath.

  "The Shawnee would not have camped closer to the creek than where we now stand, Hawk. From this place on use your nose as well as your eyes. They could be close or they could be far, but when we come to them, we do not wish to be surprised.

  Ironhawk’s eyes squinted, and he seemed about to speak. Rob paused to discover his question.

  The Hawk was tentative. "Quehana, even now I believe I smell smoke."

  "You smell smoke?" Shatto was doubtful, but the young often had sharpened senses.

  Ironhawk remained insistent. "I cannot be sure, but . . ." They both sniffed the breeze.

  Ironhawk’s voice was firmer. "I do smell smoke."

  Rob did not, but he wished to. "From where, Ironhawk?"

  The Hawk was again unsure, but he held his arm directly into the small breeze that now drifted through the timber.

  Shatto checked the priming of his rifle and led the way. He slid among the trees as quietly as the smoke Ironhawk believed he scented, and before they had covered one hundred steps, Quehana halted, and motioned Ironhawk to his side.

  Quehana's breath whispered into Ironhawk's ears, but the youth's thudding heart threatened to rob his hearing.

  "You are right, Hawk. I, too, smell camp smoke." Quehana sniffed. "Do you smell cooking meat?" The Hawk nodded excitedly.

  Quehana said, "String your bow and choose an arrow." He waited until Ironhawk was ready. Then he moved cautiously ahead.

  The trees became large and widely spaced with little underbrush, and Quehana flitted among them choosing lanes where he could see further ahead yet be mostly concealed by other intervening trees. Ironhawk saw how he did it and attempted to follow his footsteps.

  The wood smoke grew stronger until it dominated other scents, and within moments the smoke became visible as it blew among the trees. Quehana slowed, and his steps became cautious with careful looking before movement.

  Voices rose close ahead, and Rob crouched low behind a laurel before motioning Ironhawk to him.

  Quehana signaled the youth to peer cautiously and pointed out how he was to do it. The technique was to look from beside the bush with leaves still above helping to disguise the shape of the head.

  Rob slowed Ironhawk's movements as the youth sought to see. His whisper in the Hawk's ear cautioned slowness, and Ironhawk obliged.

  Beneath larger trees, a fire struggled to live. Its damp coals emitted a thick smoke cloud and Ironhawk wondered that the clever limper allowed it to bum.

  There were two Shawnee in view, and after a moment Ironhawk saw another figure seated close beneath a tree. The figure was slight and had draped a thin blanket over its head so that features were hidden, but Ironhawk knew.

  There in his view sat Bright Morning. For all of his life he had seen his lodge sister, and he recognized every body position or shape she might assume. The heart of Ironhawk thudded, and he hungered to charge lest they somehow again lose her to the Shawnee. Quehana's hand on his shoulder calmed him, and he sank again to his haunches.

  Quehana's eyes questioned, and Ironhawk was quick to nod assurance that Bright Morning was indeed at the fire.

  Quehana's voice was soft in his ear, and Ironhawk recognized that the frontiersman's whisper was a trained and practiced skill that was developed in the mouth and did not descend into the throat where a rasp might occur. The sibilant whisper was little more than a passing breeze, but the words were clear.

  "Move to our left and forward until you are in a shooting place.

  "Watch the woods around you. There are three Shawnee not accounted for.

  "I will shoot the Shawnee closest to Bright Morning. When you hear my shot you will kill the other guard."

  Quehana waited for Ironhawk's nod of understanding.

  "Go quickly then to Bright Morning, and move her into these trees we now hide among."

  Ironhawk slid away with commendable quiet, and Rob began to work closer where his field of view would be unimpeded. When he fired, he wished to have both guards in sight and, if possible, within range of his pistol.

  He checked the wind by judging the fire smoke, and although it had fallen off and was more flighty, it continued to blow from the Shawnee.

  Something unutterably foul assailed his nostrils, and Rob screwed his face in disgust. He wondered why the Shawnee would have camped close to something long dead.

  He edged ahead, suffering an increasing stench, and was almost in position when movement caught the edge of his eye.

  Quehana’s muscles tensed and his nerves jumped, but it was not the missing Shawnees. The barely detectable form appeared to be a small buffalo, but Rob doubted his eyes. There had been no buffalo in these valleys since his youth.

  A bear then, but the shape was not really right for either. Whatever the animal was, it was closer than he to the Shawnees, and it too stalked the same camp.

  Rob saw animal hair, but the thing appeared to be poised on its back legs with a front paw merely balancing against the ground. The vile stench came from whatever the creature was.

  Then Rob saw a loincloth, and memory of the strange moccasin prints came clear. Hairs rose on the back of the Arrowmaker’s neck. What sort of monster were they about to face, and what were its intentions?

  Without warning, the man-animal charged the Shawnee camp. Muscle swelled along its flanks and its speed was impressive, but the power of the charge was purely awesome, and Quehana found himself staring over his rifle sights as the monster plunged into the Shawnee.

  As he charged, the animal screamed, and the hair rose on Rob Shatto's neck. The shriek was inhuman and, like The Warrior's battle cry, the sound jerked nerves and disrupted concentration.

  A large stone was gripped in a paw-like fist that was larger than anything Rob had ever seen, and the thickness and length of the arm that flourished the primitive weapon exceeded belief.

  The man-beast's screech brought Shawnee eyes staring, and for a crucial instant the sight of approaching death froze the disbelieving Shawnee. The beast
surged through the clearing, scattering the fire without notice and slammed his stone weapon at the head of the Shawnee closest to the cowering Bright Morning.

  Too late, the Shawnee guard regained mobility. Instinctively, his forearm rose to ward off the man-animal's sledging blow, but the weight of the stone and the power of the arm shattered the Shawnee's bones, drove them through the skin, and kept on going. The strike of the stone against the Shawnee's skull was crushing. The guard was driven to the ground, and blood and brains spattered the giant clubber and rained onto the cowering Bright Morning.

  Ironhawk had been ready. His arrow was nocked, and he kneeled in a steady position. He had steeled his mind to kill without hesitation, but the charge of the monster and the insane shriek stunned all of his senses, and he stalled at half-draw unable to move or to think clearly.

  His eyes saw with utter shock the smash of the stone into the skull of the Shawnee, and he was barely aware of the stench that almost as suddenly enveloped him. He hung unmoving, attempting to understand what mad fury had driven into their ambush of the Shawnee.

  For a bare instant the Hawk wondered if Quehana had somehow turned himself into a creature too terrible to behold, but the man-beast did not pause after killing the single Shawnee. A great arm swept down to snatch Bright Morning from the earth, and his grotesque body turned as if to again disappear into the forest.

  Bright Morning's tether brought the beast up short, and the monster snarled in mindless rage, as it hauled futily as if to split Bright Morning in two.

  Rob could not shoot. Uncertain of the man-beast's intentions, he had delayed his shot. It could have been that the ferocious attacker wished only to rescue a captive, but the beast's savage tugging on the hapless Bright Morning destroyed doubts.

  The girl's body blocked Rob's sights, and he held grimly waiting for the monster to expose himself to the rifle ball.

  Ironhawk had as clear a shot as he would ever get. His dazed mind remembered to hold low, and in fear that the monster would disappear into the timber and Bright Morning would again be lost to them, he drove his arrow with desperate haste.

  The range was short, and the Hawk's iron tipped arrow slid into the beast's lower back. With satisfaction, Ironhawk saw the arrow drive deep, and he believed that he had made a killing shot, for no human could survive such a wound.

  With the arrow hit, the snarl of the beast heightened into a maniacal shriek of agonized rage, and the creature flung the female aside as if she were already dead. The beast’s glaring eyes fixed on Ironhawk, and his body leaned into a new attack. Frantically, the Hawk struggled to free his tomahawk before the monster struck him as dead as he had the Shawnee.

  Now Rob had his shot. He stroked his trigger and hung on as the dampened powder took a seeming eternity to fire.

  The crack of the rifle was utter relief, and Rob knew he had struck true. He had held on the beast’s chest, and before powder smoke hid his view he saw fur jump exactly where he had aimed.

  Rob leaped aside to see past the smoke cloud. The beast still stood, but he was turning away. Ironhawk’s arrow was driven deep, but as if unwounded, the creature bent low and using both hands against the ground lurched from sight.

  Rob jerked his eyes from the beast and sought the second Shawnee. Only now was the paralyzed guard returning to life. His panicked scream tore at their ears, and he fled wildly from the clearing. Rob judged that his course took him directly to the hiding place of Ironhawk.

  The Hawk had heard and seen the strike of Quehana's bullet. The blow had stopped the creature's charge, and Ironhawk expected the monster to fall where he stood. Instead, the beast pawed his chest and twisted his body away. Then he was gone into the forest as silently as a moth in flight.

  Now, the second Shawnee was coming, and Ironhawk gripped his tomahawk and waited. The enemy reached Ironhawk’s tree with his scream still in his throat, his eyes blind with panic, and seeing only the safety of deeper forest.

  Ironhawk did not hesitate. An enemy attacked, and he drove his tomahawk with all of the strength of forge-hardened muscle and sinew. The shock of the sharp-edged hatchet’s bite as it punched through the breastbone of the Shawnee flowed up the arm of Ironhawk.

  The tomahawk jammed within the shattered bone and the Hawk was dragged from hiding by the falling body of the Shawnee.

  Frantically, Ironhawk fought himself erect, and bracing a foot on the corpse’s chest, he jerked the tomahawk free.

  Ironhawk felt no wish to screech in victory or dance in triumph. His mind reeled with the suddenness and finality of the murderous battle. His strength had drained away, and his eyes jerked about almost as wildly as had the Shawnee’s.

  Quehana—where was Quehana? The Hawk saw him in the shadows reloading his rifle with swift precision his head turning to study the forest around them.

  The beast? It was gone, and undoubtedly dead or dying not far away.

  Finally, Ironhawk turned again to Bright Morning. She was struggling to rise, and she gained her feet as the Hawk reached her. Ironhawk slashed the loop of hide fastening her to the tree and held her close.

  He supposed there were words of meaning, but the Hawk would remember only gentle touching and the soft sobbing of Bright Morning's relief. Her body was stiff against his, as if she could not really believe that he had come and that she was truly freed.

  What must she have felt when the monster had snatched her from the ground, nearly pulled her in two, and then flung her aside. Terror had surely ruled the mind of Bright Morning, but the Hawk knew that she would rally swiftly. Hard had been the days for Bright Morning, but his woman was not weak. She was strong like . . . Quehana's stern tones jerked the Hawk aware.

  "Cut the rope from her waist and get her into the woods. There are still three of them out there somewhere." Quehana's eyes scanned the forest that seemed suddenly to press in on Ironhawk.

  He hurried to slice the hide rope with the bloodied edge of his tomahawk. Then he led Bright Morning by the hand until they neared the stream they had only an hour earlier stepped across.

  Quehana brought up their rear, his eyes working, and at times he flitted away to be able to observe further or more clearly.

  Rob halted their party before they reached the water. He examined Bright Morning and spoke with her, putting pleasure in his voice and attempting to weaken the terrors that must be riding her spirit.

  They spoke in Delaware because the couple were most fluent in that language, and Rob Shatto also preferred the smooth flowing tongue of The People.

  Ironhawk was still recovering. His fingers trembled, and he tried to hide them, but the Hawk had done well. He had killed his enemy, and he had driven an arrow deep into the body of the creature that had surprised and terrified all of them.

  Rob said, "Proud is Quehana of his warrior nephew, Ironhawk."

  The Hawk was not so sure. "I have never imagined being so afraid, Quehana. Fighting the Shawnee was worse than I had expected, but when that thing came out of the trees, I feared my knees would fail."

  Rob allowed a quiet laugh. "War is always frightening. There is never an easy time, but the Hawk stood and struck with his mind as well as his arm." Quehana chuckled again. "Certainly we did better than the Shawnee."

  Ironhawk questioned with more than a little fear in his voice. "What was that beast-man, Quehana? I have never . . ."

  Rob cut him short. "Neither have I, Hawk, but it was surely the thing that left the strange moccasin prints at the river. Whatever it was, it must now be dead. Your arrow probably pierced a kidney, and my ball went straight into his chest. I cannot see how he lived to run at all."

  "He was huge, Quehana."

  "He was that, Ironhawk, at least three hundred pounds, I would guess—perhaps more. He looked almost human, but how such a shape could grow and live I do not know."

  Rob held his nose in memory. "I have killed bears that had rolled in dead things, and they smelled like that creature. Perhaps he had an almost human form with an an
imal's mind. How else could he be explained?"

  Ironhawk said, "He wore a breechcloth, Quehana, so he was human."

  Rob nodded acceptance of the Hawk's reasoning. "You are right, and some day I will find his body to see better what he was."

  Even as they talked and rested, Rob marveled at their success. Almost without error they had sorted out the limper's trail, and they had recovered Bright Morning without injury to themselves. The trick now would be to finish what should be done and to return Bright Morning to the safety of his home on the Little Buffalo.

  Quehana allowed only a little more time before he explained what they must do.

  "Three of the Shawnee still live, and one of them is the limper. I saw his tracks, but he was not one of those that were killed."

  Bright Morning's soft but still fearful voice explained who the limper really was and how he had spoken of meeting white men nearby.

  Shifting to English, Rob said, "We cannot simply try to escape them. I do not know if this Yellow Jacket will seek revenge or if he will slink away. It is never wise to leave an enemy at your back, and there are also the whites who have planned this thing. I will follow them until I know who they are. Then I will ask them why they stole Bright Morning, and they will tell me."

  Ironhawk's soul shuddered, and he knew that if Quehana found them it would be so.

  Shatto paused as if weighing his words.

  "Before our white law became strong, I would have simply killed the men we now seek, but whites believe that such men must be tried before their own people with those people deciding how they should be punished.

  "Yet, I fear that if they were brought to Carlisle they might merely be beaten or imprisoned, and they deserve more."

  Ironhawk wished to interrupt for he knew what he wished to do, but he held his silence while Quehana decided.

  When he spoke again, Quehana’s eyes and voice were heavy with determination, and the spirit of Ironhawk strengthened with his words.

  "For most of my days I have lived within these hills. I have sought no wars and desired no enemies, but when challenged, I have killed those who came against me.