Crossed Arrows: Mountain Men (The Mountain Men Book 1)

by Terry Grosz

  Crossed Arrows

  by

  Terry Grosz

  Kindle Edition

  © Copyright 2015 Terry Grosz (as revised)

  Wolfpack Publishing

  48 Rock Creek Road

  Clinton, Montana 59825

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.

  ISBN:

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Curse of the Spanish Gold, Book 2

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  I wish to acknowledge all those hearty souls from long ago who had the dream, curiosity, devotion, foresight, and the courage to wander west. West to the great American frontier when the land was savage, untamed, unforgiving, and belonging to other cultures who fought to hold their lands. The West was a harsh land for all those who historically ventured upon it but was also one of great beauty, having come directly from the hands of God. And, one not seen since those times in its natural state...

  It is to those brave souls that I wish to acknowledge their efforts in the discovery, taming, and many times making the ultimate sacrifice in the building of one of the greatest countries on earth.

  I only wish that I had been one of you...

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Genesis in the Flight of an Arrow

  Zzip...thunk went the steel-tipped arrow into the middle of Lemuel’s sweating back. He plunged against the plow handles. Then Lemuel felt the searing pain as the arrow lodged deeply into his lungs. The pain was so intense that he instinctively struggled to reach the arrow and tear it from his back. Quickly realizing he was struggling in vain, Lemuel reached for his Pennsylvania rifle hanging from the plow handles in order to face his attacker. He staggered forward while trying to cock the firearm. He turned slightly, then became aware of the fast approaching darkness at the edge of his eyes and the loss of strength flowing from his muscular arms. Seeing an Indian running towards him only a few yards distant with an upraised tomahawk, he vainly struggled to raise his rifle. The rifle now felt like an immense, heavy lead weight far beyond his lifting capacity. Making one last desperate effort to bring the rifle to bear, he helplessly felt it slip from his weakening hands.

  * * *

  Thwack went the steel-bladed tomahawk as it viciously split the farmer’s skull. Bear Paw, leader of the raiding party, let out a primal yell as he cleanly snatched the rifle from the hands of the mortally stricken farmer. Bear Paw's victory scream was quickly echoed by seven other Indians from the raiding party as they raced across the plowed field for the white man’s log cabin and its inviting open front door.

  * * *

  Sarah, hearing the frightened braying of the mules in the field, turned from her washing in time to see her husband’s deathblow struck. She screamed and started to run to Lemuel’s aid and then in the same instant, realized to do so would bring a like violent death to her and her infant son. Racing back inside the cabin terror-stricken and finding it difficult to breathe, she scooped up young Jacob from his cradle and ran for the back door. Once outside, she grabbed and turned over a wooden tub spilling the drinking water across the ground. She hurriedly shoved Jacob under the upside-down tub, then turned and ran back into the cabin. In a controlled terror bordering on panic, she grabbed the double-barreled, muzzle-loading fowling piece hanging over the fireplace. She turned just in time to observe the first fiercely painted Indian bursting through the open doorway of the cabin. She fired, barely having time to cock the hammers and shooting from the hip. A tremendous explosion and cloud of white smoke followed as did an ounce of lead pellets into the Indian’s midsection. Blood and what was left of the Indian’s cornmeal and venison breakfast explosively spewed out his backside, decorating the cabin wall with his essence. A second Indian rushed past his falling companion and met with the same fate; the second barrel from the fowling piece sent an ounce of lead tearing through his face and out the backside of his skull, crumpling him instantly.

  Sarah realized she was now defenseless. She tried to escape out the cabin’s back door. However, she ran headlong into another Indian, who knocked her senseless with the butt of his stone-tipped war club. The next instant, the cabin filled with madly yelling Indians victorious over their success.

  * * *

  Chief Bear Paw arrived at the cabin and seeing two members of his raiding party bloodied and dead by the front door, flew into a rage. He grabbed the white woman by her long amber-colored hair and dragged her from the cabin and out onto an adjacent woodpile.

  There, he ripped off her clothing in rage. It was then he was surprised at the bright white color of her body except for her tanned arms, face and neck, which were normally exposed to the elements.

  Not like the soft brown color of our women, thought Bear Paw.

  Leaving the woman unconscious, spread-eagle and naked over the wood pile, he joined his companions as they tore the cabin apart looking for useful items. Guns, flints, powder, pigs of lead, fish hooks, brass pots, brightly colored clothing, knives and Dutch ovens fell prey to the still excited raiding party. Even the Dutch oven cooking a venison stew on the stone hearth had its contents dumped out on the floor so the pot could be easily transported. Cleaning out the last of the farmer’s meager possessions, they exited the cabin. Then with live coals from the fireplace, the cabin was quickly set on fire.

  * * *

  As the cabin burned, the six remaining Indians took turns on the still unconscious woman lying on the woodpile.

  Coming to, Sarah became aware of the burning indignity between her legs and the tearing of flesh on her back as she was violently raped over the woodpile. Her plight came into focus. She tried to ignore the pain and shear brutal agony of her violation. Indian after Indian forced himself on her as she quietly cried inside over the loss of her husband and the shame of the moment. She was also aware that if her infant son lying quietly under the wooden tub was to have any hope of survival, she must submit and pray her life would be spared. Only then would Jacob have someone still alive to care for him. Back and forth over the rough logs she was ridden, as the sexual appetite of the Indians intensified now that she was awake and wide-eyed. Looking skyward, she tried mentally to focus on the blue sky and white fluffy clouds drifting by as the latest Indian painfully chewed on her nipples at the height of his arousal.

  Daniel paused from his labors of pulling oak stumps in his field upon hearing two shots. He looked up. He discovered a wisp of dark black smoke curling up over the treetops from the direction of his younger brother’s cabin. To his alarm, he reckoned it was smoke from a burning building.

  “Zeke
, Jeremiah,” he yelled at his nearby grown sons. When they looked at him, he pointed to the plume of smoke boiling heavily over the treetops. “Grab your rifles and powder, boys,” he yelled as he raced for his rifle leaning on a nearby stump.

  Within moments, the three men had stopped their work and, with rifles in hand, were racing for Lemuel’s nearby farmstead some quarter-mile distant. Like the woodsmen and near “red men” they were, they raced silently through the forest. As they did, they swung their practiced eyes from side to side and looked for any signs of danger associated with the smoke rising over the treetops.

  “Indians,” thought Daniel. That dreaded word lent even more speed to his already flying feet. He silently prayed: “God, let us be in time.”

  Daniel raced to within forty yards of Lemuel’s cabin, then held up his hand for caution. He motioned with a silent hand signal for the plan of attack. The three men spread out and grimly approached the burning cabin’s clearing at a ground-eating but safer pace.

  * * *

  It was now Bear Paw’s turn as he settled down on the white woman. Still upset over her having killed two of his braves, he roughly forced himself deeply into the woman. He used so much force, he felt her flesh tear and was delighted when it elicited groans of pain from the woman. Pushing harder and faster, he smiled at the woman’s obvious discomfort over his size as the other braves stood around yelling encouragement.

  Suddenly, the woman rose up and tore at Bear Paw’s face in desperation with her hands, opening up several long gashes on his cheek.

  Roaring with rage, Bear Paw quickly stood up, drew his knife and plunged it deeply into the still defiant woman’s chest.

  Surprised at his reaction and the new searing pain, the woman grabbed at the knife handle. Then she gasped once and slowly closed her eyes on the final moments of her personal scene of horror.

  Standing there, Bear Paw leered at his knife work on the woman who had the almost pure white body. Reaching down, he jerked his knife from her still quivering chest. As he did, the blood oozed from the wound, ran down her side and contrasted brightly against her white skin.

  Bear Paw’s head burst like a ripe melon as a speeding lead ball found its mark. Bear Paw crumpled to the ground never knowing what had hit him.

  * * *

  Two of the Indians turned at the unexpected intrusion and the sounds of rifles fired from Daniel’s direction as two other raiders received the heavy impact of lead balls hitting them in their chests. The lead balls tore through their lungs at the same instant as the one raping Sarah wriggled his last. No doubt all they ever saw were three puffs of white smoke dotting the tree line as they stepped into eternity. The remaining Indians quickly fired back at Daniel and his sons, hitting nothing but air. Daniel’s father, having fought in the Revolutionary War with Roger’s Rangers, had learned well the techniques and skills of frontier warfare. He also saw to it that his sons and grandsons had learned as well.

  After carefully picking and each shooting an Indian, the three men swiftly moved away from the telltale puffs of smoke left by their rifles. To linger would only invite the same sure death they had just administered. They loaded on the run and were soon ready for the next round of action. Meanwhile, the three remaining Indians frantically reloaded their North West fusils, the poor quality trade muskets normally sold to frontier Indians.

  Boom-boom-boom. Three deadly accurate Pennsylvania rifles bellowed almost at the same instant as their .40-caliber lead balls sped true. The remaining three Indians crumpled as if on cue. There they wiggled their last on the ground as their bodies’ mechanisms for life slowed and then stopped. The light went from their eyes as the three violently angry frontiersmen plunged gutting knives deeply into their necks and chests.

  Daniel left his sons to see if they could do anything for Sarah and to look for Baby Jacob.

  He hurriedly reloaded as he ran to his brother’s side in the field. Then he scanned the edge of the forest to see if the Indian raiding party held more unseen numbers.

  Satisfied the raiding party was accounted for, he knelt alongside his brother and placed his hand on the lifeless body. Tears quickly welled up in his eyes. In deep anguish, he let out a primal moan filled with heartfelt grief. He rocked back and forth over his brother’s body in the emotion of the moment, then he felt Zeke’s hand on his shoulder.

  Daniel raised his tear-filled eyes and asked Zeke, “Where is your brother?”

  “He is back at the cabin, still looking for Baby Jacob,” softly replied Zeke, respectful of his father’s extreme grief. “We couldn’t find him anywhere. Maybe he is still inside the burning cabin...” His voice trailed off into nothingness.

  * * *

  The three men quietly dug a grave under a massive oak and gently placed Lemuel and Sarah together for the last time and forever. By now the small cabin, dry as it was, had pretty much burned itself to the ground. While waiting for the ashes to cool to see if they could find the body of young Jacob, they scalped the Indians. They also removed all the Indians’ fingers from their trigger hands. That way—according to Indian lore—they could not enter the Happy Hunting Grounds because they were missing body parts. And if one were missing body parts, they had to wander forever looking for them. The fingers would later be fed to the men’s hogs.

  Then the bodies of the Indians were hung upside down in the surrounding forest around Lemuel’s clearing—a warning to anyone else possessing a like mind of destruction when it came to the local settlers. As for the scalps, they were sold in town to a passing military contingent who were always looking for frontier souvenirs.

  By then, the cabin’s ashes had cooled and the men looked for Baby Jacob’s remains. Nothing was found and Daniel began to wonder if the raiding party was bigger than he figured. Had they taken young Jacob as one of their own? That very mental picture quickly brought terror to his heart. The rest of the war party might now be at his cabin doing what had been done here.

  With that realization in mind, he quickly yelled at the boys and started to run back to his clearing and cabin several hundred yards distant.

  A low wail from under the overturned wooden tub brought him up short. He quickly returned to the cabin’s remains and turned over the tub. There lay Baby Jacob, none the worse for wear.

  Zeke stepped in front of Daniel, scooped up Baby Jacob and softly cradled him in his arms.

  “We can do no more here,” Daniel said quietly as he headed for the open grave.

  Daniel and Jeremiah finished burying Sarah and Lemuel. They fashioned a crude wooden cross and placed it in the soft earth at the head of their grave. Then Jeremiah went back to the field, unfastened the plow and brought the valuable team of mules from the field of death. The three men sadly returned to their homes a clearing away to report the news to their families carrying Jacob and with the animals in tow. The news, as expected, was met with grief by all the families even though it ultimately meant a genesis for young Jacob.

  Chapter Two

  An Oak Without Roots

  Zeke and his young wife of three years had been unable to have children. It was decided among the remaining clan, since they all had children, that Zeke and his wife would take Jacob for their own. That way, each family would have children growing up to help as the men folk aged. Margaret, Zeke’s wife, was beside herself with happiness at the new addition to their family even though the baby came to her in sorrow. Now, despite the everyday hard work and drudgery associated with frontier life, she would have a child and companion, especially when it came to brightening her long hours while Zeke was away hunting, plowing or clearing additional lands. And so it was into a household full of love and promise that young Jacob grew and learned the ways of the wilderness.

  Years passed and the settlement of Salt Lick, Kentucky, grew as more families moved into the area to settle and develop the rich, forested lands into productive farms. Soon a general store, several drinking establishments, a meeting hall, a barrel factory and a crude hotel—with a
healthy population of bedbugs—graced the frontier community. That was soon followed by a water-powered gristmill nearby on Rocky Creek, a blacksmith’s shop, and a livery stable to round out the rapidly growing settlement.

  Young Jacob also grew by leaps and bounds. By his twelfth birthday, he possessed his dad’s stout arms, bull neck, and powerful hands. He had also hardened his body from the labors on Zeke’s farm, was a crack rifle shot, an excellent tracker, skilled horseman and common sense thinker. Well liked among his kinfolk and the townspeople, Jacob grew like the great oaks he felled as he cleared Zeke’s lands for the plow.

  However, there always seemed to be something missing in the young man. It wasn’t his new parents. They were loving and as good as the real thing. But there were many times young Jacob would stand looking off towards the west for long moments at a time. Looking as if wishing he could leave this dark and bloody ground to follow an unknown, yet mysterious force found in the land of the setting sun, to leave for something else that could salve his yearning soul and fill the emptiness that he constantly carried inside. When he visited the grave of his parents, he would come home quiet and reflective, preferring to be by himself for a time. When he went into the field to tackle the ever present oak and hickory stumps with a vengeance, he’d not stop until his personal demons had left him for the time being.

  By his fifteenth birthday, he was six feet tall and truly stout as the forest oaks. Yet, he was as common and quiet as the rich, dark earth he plowed. But those demons possessing his soul never left him. Even in learning from Zeke to read the weather, animals’ life histories, tracks of every critter, and cultural history of nearby Indians, he still carried that faraway look in his eyes. That look was not something bothersome or crazy. It was the look of a Westering man—one looking towards new horizons and dimensions to further define his life, in order to satisfy the longing and emptiness living in his soul.