Fourteen tattooed warriors came to the front line on the beach all holding a spear and screaming war cries. When the boats got close enough a big savage stood in the canoe threw a spear. It fell short and stuck in the sand in front of the warrior’s line. A few seconds later the men on the beach started throwing spears with deadly accuracy, wiping out ten or twelve of the attackers. The attackers pressed on, now claiming casualties on the island side. Suddenly, the beach was awash with men fighting and screaming in furious hand to hand combat. Blake clubbed one of the attackers crushing his skull, picked up his spear and skewered another. He could see the chief cutting a swath through them with the cutlass swinging back and forth, taking limbs and heads as he went. Blake suffered a blow to his back and found himself in a death struggle with one of the attackers. The warrior was on top of him with the shaft of his spear across his throat. Blake was using every ounce of strength to hold him off but the lack of air was taking its toll and he started to lose consciousness. He could see his death in the man’s eyes when suddenly his head disappeared and he rolled off. The bloody, gore-covered chief stood above him holding the cutlass. Smiling, he helped Blake to his feet and ran back into the melee. Gasping for air Blake could see maybe ten of the attackers swimming for their boats and scrambling to make their escape. Blake’s tribe had suffered heavy losses but managed to turn them back. Several warriors hurled spears at them but they were soon out of range. The surf was red with blood, men were helping the wounded and others were killing any wounded attackers.
Weeks after the attack, Blake took a small canoe and the woman who nursed him back to health when he got to the island out to where the ship had sunk. Diving in the crystal clear water he searched the wreckage for more weapons. He found one small knife and one short sword. Then he saw something that made him smile, a hammer from his forge. Could it be possible that more of his tools survived the wreck? Time after time he dove, bringing up tongs and other hammers. Blake grew more and more excited as he kept finding tools until he saw the anvil.
Practically leaping into the boat, the two of them went back to it as fast as they could paddle. He ran to the chief and tried to make him understand what he had found. Finally leading him down to the boat he showed him the tools. The skeptical chief was not impressed until Blake pointed to the cutlass. He had learned a couple words in their language; one of them was ‘more’. The chief grinned broadly. For the next week, with the help of the tribe, Blake retrieved the anvil, more tools and pieces of metal from the wreck. While the tribe kept bringing more of the wreckage ashore, Blake built a fire pit for the forge and fashioned bellows from animal hides. He showed women how to make charcoal for the fuel and when all was assembled, he started making weapons. He made them from chains and shackles, from mast bands and even from broken hinges.
Soon he had knives and swords for every warrior in the tribe. He also used small pieces to make arrowheads. Blake showed them how to make bows and arrows and then how to use them. His status rose quickly in the tribe and soon everyone was helping him.
A year or so later they were attacked again. This time they were outnumbered three to one. Blake stood on the beach with the other warriors armed with the weapons he made. The battle was much shorter this time. His tribe lost one warrior and two were wounded. There were no escapes by the attackers. Unfortunately, Blake was one of the wounded. He suffered a blow to the head and was unconscious for a long time. When he awoke one week later, his body burned as if it was on fire. The same woman who nursed him before was there and was rubbing a salve over his body. She helped him to his feet and that’s when Blake realized he was tattooed with the same markings as the warriors in the tribe. Grimacing in pain he stepped out of the hut and was cheered by the entire tribe. Several weeks went by and he was married to the woman who had nursed him to health, who was also the chief’s daughter. They lived happy and content for a year, producing a son.
One day while cradling his son outside the hut a very excited boy ran into the village talking about a big canoe in the water. Blake ran to the beach with the rest of the warriors and saw a large ship anchored past the reef with a small rowboat coming ashore. Blake told the chief not to attack until he could see what they wanted. He agreed and let Blake meet the boat. It was an American Merchant ship investigating the island for fresh water and food. A short portly man who was in charge saw Blake and was taken back for a moment. His words sounded strange to Blake. “And who might you be?” he said. “Do you speak English?”
Blake smiled broadly, “Not for quite some time, sir.”
Blake told the man his long story.
“That’s quite a tale, sir, quite a tale,” laughed the portly man. “I’m sure the captain will be wanting to hear it himself.”
Returning to the ship he came back with the captain and several crewmen who were treated to a feast as Blake’s guests. The captain offered Blake passage back to New York but regrettably not his wife and son, citing that being the only woman on the ship would cause too much trouble. It was the hardest decision of his life. Blake yearned to return home and see his family, he needed to apologize to his parents for leaving, but more so to tell his father that he was right about blacksmithing and how it saved his life several times.
Heartbroken, he explained to his wife about the torment of leaving her. She told him that a warrior must follow his own path and he would never be gone from her as long as his son lived. The next morning he stood on the beach hugging his wife and son as three heavy chests of his were loaded on the rowboat.
“What the hell is in these chests, mate?” grunted one of the seamen.
“My tools and anvil. Never know when they might be of some use,” Blake said smiling. He shook the hand of the chief who looked solemn. “Be well, chief, and may your necklace protect you.” The chief grunted and smiled. The boat pulled away from shore and Blake watched his family shrink. He could barely make out the anvil sitting on the stump and the solid gold necklace around the chief’s neck glittered in the sun.
“My Lawd, that was one tale to remember,” Sadie said.
The night had grown late and Blake was tired. He stood and stretched, “I’ll think I’ll turn in. What do you say, Caleb?”
“T-that w-was r- really s-s-somethin’,” he said shaking his head, walking up the stairs. “R-really s-somethin’.”
Blake followed him up the stairs, went into his own room and closed the door. He smiled to himself because he left part of the story out. When the natives were bringing him all the metal from the ship, not knowing the difference, they bought him all the pirates’ treasure. When they brought him empty chests Blake got an idea. He removed the jewels and melted down all the gold into bars. Then he packed them all into the three chests, taking some leftover and making a huge necklace for the chief instead of the bones. He left the tools for the tribe. When the ship docked in New York he deposited all of it into four separate banks. It all totaled well in excess of a million dollars.
Chapter 9
The next morning found them eating breakfast in the kitchen. As Sadie cleared the dishes, she spoke while wiping her hands on her apron. “It bein’ Sunday an’ all, I’s thought I’s would go to the church for service, if’n you don’ mind none.”
“I don’t mind, Sadie,” Blake said. “I plumb forgot. Have a nice time.”
“You is more than welcome ta’ come. There be only the one church and they welcome everyone. Real nice preacher, too.”
Blake pursed his lips and thought. “Haven’t been to church in a long time,” he said. “I reckon I’ll pass.”
“I-I w-would like t-to g-go, p-please,” Caleb asked, looking hopefully at Blake. “I-I n-never b-been.”
“You don’t need my permission to go, son,” Blake smiled. “We can take the day off. Sundays are a day of rest anyway, right Sadie?”
“Sho nuff,” she said. “He can sits with me, I’ll teach him right.”
“C-could I-I g-go f-fishin’ after?” he w
as grinning ear to ear now.
“If’n you bring a passel a catfish home, I’ll be makin’ ma granny’s recipe fo’ supper, wit’ some right fine cornbread.”
Blake stood up and put on his hat. “It’s settled then. I’ll see you two for supper.” He strolled down to the livery and found Bull in the back paddock happily munching on some hay. When Bull saw him his ears pricked and he trotted over to Blake. “Did you miss me, old son,” Blake said scratching his ears. “What do you say we go work out some of the knots in our backs?”
He led Bull into the barn and saddled him. While cinching the saddle girth, Joe came out of his office. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Seems like a fine day for a ride, and I could use some fresh air.”
Yawning and scratching his belly Joe said, “It is a fine day sure enough. There’s some real pretty country west of here. Just follow the road past the church and turn right at the fork, that’ll take you out near the MacIntyre spread. He sure picked a nice place for a ranch.”
Blake put his foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over Bull, waving to Joe, said, “Thanks, maybe I’ll do that.”
Blake rode out of the livery and turned left up the street, most of the townsfolk were making their way to the church. He saw old fat Weatherby with whom Blake assumed was his wife because she was equally large and sour looking. Josh Dooley and his family were on their way, with Madeline holding firmly onto Hap’s finger, practically dragging him. “Morning, folks,” Blake said tipping his hat. “Hang on tight there Miss Madeline, don’t let him get away.”
“She kinda insisted. Hope the roof don’t go fallin’ in,” Hap grumbled.
Josh and Terry laughed and Josh said, “I think our daughter is the new Episcopal missionary.” Terry just rolled her eyes.
“Well, I haven’t seen any lightning so you might be all right,” Blake teased. “Enjoy the day.” Farther up he passed Chrissy and Bonnie. “Good morning ladies,” he said as he caught up with them.
“Good morning, Mr. Thorton, will you be joining us for service?” Chrissy asked.
“No ma’am. Haven’t been in a church for a long time. I figure Jesus has his hands full enough without worrying about me.”
“The Lord has time for us all,” Chrissy stated firmly.
“Maybe so. But Bull here insisted that I take him for a ride and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I see,” she said cocking her trademark eyebrow. “Perhaps he will wish to rest next Sunday.”
Smiling, Blake said, “Perhaps, but he is a mighty strong willed horse. Good day, ladies.” Blake touched the brim of his hat and kicked Bull up into a trot.
“I’d hate to live on the difference which is more strong willed, him or that horse,” muttered Chrissy watching him leave.
“Him,” Bonnie said quietly. Chrissy looked in surprise at her and they both started giggling.
Blake kept Bull at a trot until they were clear of town, then he eased him up to a moderate canter. He always marveled at his strength and his endurance. Small in stature, sturdy in structure Blake thought. He may never win a race, but he can pound the ground all day long and look for more the next day. Bull seemed like he was enjoying the run and was pushing on his bit a little so Blake said, “If you’re feeling ambitious,” then in a louder voice, “knock on it!”
Blake let him have his head and could feel Bull draw his hind legs underneath him and take off. They were in a trail-eating gallop moving as fast as they could. Blake leaned forward over his neck to cut down on wind resistance and let him fly. The perfect rhythm of Bull’s feet and his breath made him sound like a freight train on a runaway course. Blake saw the trail to the MacIntyre ranch to the right but they were moving too fast to make the turn. Sitting back up in the saddle he began to slow Bull’s pace and, after about a mile, had him back down to a fast walk. Bull was still fired up and had a prance in his walk. Blake rubbed his neck. “How’d that feel, boy? Pretty good? You can still move with the best of them.”
He turned Bull back around and headed for the turn to the ranch. He rode up the turnoff until they came over a small rise. It was one of the most spectacular views Blake had ever seen. There was a huge valley with high hills on either side. There was lush green pasture with several hundred beeves roaming around grazing. In the center with a large stream winding its way in back of a large white house with a wraparound porch and two large barns. Blake could see the smokehouse, bunkhouse, corrals and several other buildings that comprised the MacIntyre ranch. Men were hard at work breaking horses, herding cattle and doing chores.
Behind him Blake heard riders approaching. He turned Bull to meet them when a team of horses pulling a buggy and three riders approached. The driver of the buggy stopped when they were a few feet away. A large, heavily muscled man with a shock of red hair under a broad brimmed Stetson hat eyed him from under bushy eyebrows, “An’ who might you be?” he asked in a thick Scottish brogue.
Blake tipped his hat and smiled. “My name’s Blake Thorton. I hope I’m not intruding. I was told that this was the prettiest piece of land in the territory and had to see for myself.” Blake assumed he was the patriarch because one of the riders was Tom MacIntyre giving him a sour look.
“An’ what is it you’re thinkin’?”
“I traveled some sir, and I have never seen prettier.”
“Tis true, laddie, an’ it would be all mine, Ian MacIntyre is m’ name,” he said holding out his hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Blake responded, giving him a firm handshake.
“These two bonnie lasses are my daughters, Mary and Katherine,” waving his hand to twin girls who were seated behind him. They were very pretty and about fourteen years old. “An’ this is my son, Thomas.”
“Pleased to meet you ladies,” Blake said tipping his hat. “Tom and I have met.”
“Oh?” the older MacIntyre said, looking at Tom.
“He’s a drifter Pa, seen him hanging around town,” Tom said with a slight sneer in his voice.
“Begging you pardon, Tom,” Blake said using a smooth sarcastic tone, “I am reopening the blacksmith shop.” Then with a broad smile, “I’ll be staying a while.”
Ian turned back to Blake genuinely pleased, “Are you now? Tis bonnie news for us all. M’ smith tries to help the town, but his duties keep him very busy on m’ ranch. Are you a skilled smith, lad?”
“I can hold my own.” Blake eyes were burning into Tom’s and Tom smiled back at him.
Ian MacIntyre could never have built a ranch such as this by not being cunning, smart and perceptive. He sensed the tension in the air. “I would be sure Thomas meant no harm, Mr. Thorton. I am wishing you luck and prosperity. Perhaps I will be testing your skills with a wee bit of work my smith canna handle himself.”
Blake turned back to him and smiled. “I am at your service, Mr. MacIntyre. Good day, sir.”
“Good day, Mr. Thorton.” And slapping the reins on his horses, they left.
Blake turned Bull in the opposite direction and trotted away. “I’ve got a feeling this is going to be real interesting,” he said.
Bull snorted and shook his head.
******
Blake enjoyed the rest of the afternoon riding around the surrounding area. The land was green and growing, the sun was warm, and the air smelled of wildflowers beginning to bloom. He and Bull arrived in town around supper time. Blake spent a good half hour brushing down Bull only to turn him out in the back paddock and watch him find a sandy spot and roll until he was completely covered with dirt again. Bull stood and shook, glancing back at Blake as if to say, aren’t you glad you wasted your time?
“Jerk horse,” Blake muttered and started for home.
The smell of frying catfish greeted him at the door and Sadie was in the kitchen singing again. “How was church?” he asked, leaning over the pan breathing in the rich aroma.
“Fine, fine, that preacher sho’ do give a powerfu
l sermon, he does,” replied Sadie.
“I see Caleb had some luck.”
“Fo’ sho’ he did, got us some right fine catfish. Now get cleaned up ‘cause we is almost ready to eat.”
Blake did as he was told and enjoyed the meal almost as much as Caleb’s recounting of the great battle fought against the biggest catfish west of the Mississippi. Sadie rolled her eyes several times and she and Blake shared some hidden smiles. Caleb sure was proud and deserved his time in the sun. Blake seemed to think the boy hadn’t had much of that in his life.
When supper was over and the dishes washed it was dark. They were all sitting on the porch when Blake rose and stretched and said, “Think I’ll head down to the saloon for a nightcap.”
“Caleb perked up, “C-can I-I c-c-ome t-t-too?”
“Don’t see why not.”
“Yo’ come home drunk and I’s will lock th’ door an’ ya’ll can sleep in th’ yard with that fool dog,” warned Sadie.
Blake smiled. “We’ll behave mother, promise,” he teased and kissed her on top of the head.”
“Scat!” she yelled swatting him with a nearby broom.
Making a hasty retreat off the porch Blake and Caleb headed up the street.
The Trail’s End wasn’t crowded so they headed for the bar. Three of the tables were occupied by men playing cards and the piano player had not gotten any better.
The Blacksmith Page 9